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The Amos Absolution Series

By Bidie McCucholl

[Overall series rating NC-17]

A playlist of songs to listen to as you read is available on youtube: Absolution Playlist
—x-libris

Prelude

Amos Absolution

TITLE – Prelude

CATEGORY – XA, VA

RATING – R (for violence)

* * *

It was her favorite song, playing on the miniature stereo in the bedroom. It was her apartment, her hallowed asylum from the outside world of falsehood and folly, desertion and deception.

It was the perfect place to die.

She stood, eyeing the stereo with a focused stare, her ears oblivious to all that was around her. The constant rush of traffic below, the occasional yelling of neighbor from window to window, all were forgotten. All that was important, all that mattered to her rested in the tray of the CD player, spinning and circling a beam of light to form the precious sounds she most wanted to hear in her final moments.

Her fingers suddenly remembered the slight sensation of metal in her hand and she closed her eyes, silently willing them to wield the blade upward as the music droned loudly through the room.

Thank God everything was dark, gray. She’d never have the strength to do it if she remembered who she was, who she’d been.

Oh hell. What did it matter anyway? Everything had gone to hell. She couldn’t even recognize herself, after all the years of therapy, for herself, for others. She’d accomplished her objective, but the results had been horrifying, her own dark desires for her patients’ demise; revenge and retribution for the deeds of the man who had driven her to this lonely existence. Revenge on the women he had loved in her absence, in her presence.

She shivered.

In the morning, everyone would know. With the unforgiving light of day, everything would be exposed, discovered, researched, categorized, and used to bring her healing science to an end.

Might as well become a part of that end.

With newfound strength, her hands moved of their own will towards the slender column of her once-youthful neck, turning the blade and positioning it just as she’d practiced, staring at herself in the mirror to make certain she would execute her plans to perfection.

And then a sharp, biting pain, the dizzying sensation of liquid release, and a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread.

She had not pressed deeply enough.

“Oh, God,” she gasped as she felt the thickness of her own blood flow from the freshly-carved slit in her throat. “Not like this…”

The blade dropped from her hand to the floor.

“Can’t go…” she hissed, dropping to her knees to hunt for the weapon in shadows and charcoal moonlight.

Her fingers found the blade again and embraced their old friend, pointing the tip toward her frantically beating heart.

It had to be done.

“No,” she groaned, tearing the knife away. “I just can’t do this to myself!”

<But you already have,> a voice resounded from within her.

She froze.

“No!” she yelled, clawing at her head. “Go away!”

<There’s only one way to go away,> the voice echoed in her mind.

And Nora understood.

Another sharp pain, and another, just above her wrists.

<That’s it, Nora.>

A snarl penetrated her aging features. “Goddamn you,” she hissed. “Get out of my head!”

<You know the way,> the voice taunted.

“You bastard,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder.

“You drove me to this. You made me what I am. What more do you want from me?”

Nora groaned.

“You want it?” She held the knife high in the air. “You got it. But you’d better be prepared to go with it!”

Nora’s skull vibrated from the diabolical laugh penetrating every bone, every nerve.

She began stabbing the air around her, hoping against hope that the demon which had haunted her head for so many years would fall dead by her hands.

<It’s not that easy, Nora. I’m still alive.>

She froze again.

“What the hell…?”

She stabbed the air in front of her, her eyes darting wildly around.

She stabbed the space beside her, the voice ringing as a death knell in her ears.

“I’m your wife,” she cried out, her senses reeling.

The voice laughed again.

The knife glistened in the dim light.

<You’ll feel much better.>

A feral roar erupted from Nora’s mouth, branding the silence with a sudden hellish desire for retribution.

“You’ll pay, you bastard!” she yelled. “I’ll make you pay!”

<Go ahead, Nora,> the voice said slightly. <Do your worst.>

Her hands flew to her throat again, refreshing the wound with a deeper cut of the knife.

The blood was flowing now, pouring from her throat like communion wine on Sunday. Nora gurgled a reply as she felt herself stumbling, falling to the floor.

“You’ll pay, you bastard. I’ll kill you myself, even if I have to go beyond the grave to do it.”

Carefully she crawled her way to the bed, lifting her weight on trembling limbs.

She would die, but not on the floor.

A low hissing began somewhere behind her eardrum, the familiar tingle of the inner voice which had plagued her all this time…but multiplied, intensified into a cacophony of crazed screams and condemnations of her very soul.

<Die!> a chorus of voices chanted, almost in unison.

Women’s voices.

Voices which Nora knew, voices of women she’d treated and cured of their own demons.

Voices to remind her of her unspeakable cruelties.

<Die!>

“No….” Nora groaned, thrashing around on the bed while the blood poured from her throat. “Please let me die in peace…”

<*WE* didn’t die in peace,> the voices hissed with reptilian venom.

“I helped you,” she cried, sitting up to face the invisible demons. “I helped you find peace of your own.”

<You only helped yourself,> a female voice shouted, apart from the chanting crowd.

Nora clutched her head in agony. “No!” she yelled, shaking it violently to wrench the voices free. “You must understand….”

<DIE!> they chanted, louder and louder, until the sound roared throughout her entire head, making it impossible to think, to act, to even murmur a last prayer before she felt herself slipping into the arms of darkness.

She could not die this way, guilty as charged.

There had to be a way to redeem herself in the last few moments of her fading life.

Searching frantically around the apartment, she looked for something–anything to silence those goddamn voices, to please and appease them into acceptance.

There had to be something she could usee…something to show them the great sacrifices she had made for them…denying herself to absorb their pains, their yearnings…their desires…and maybe–just maybe– if she could commit the ultimate sacrifice, they and all the world would know of her efforts to rid the earth of the demons of the mind.

And there it was…the answer to all her prayers, lying on the kitchen counter.

A metal icepick, shining brightly in the moonlight.

Standing on shaky legs, Nora raised high the weapon, brandishing it for all the demons to see, so that they would know the violent truth of what was to come.

“This is not the end, do you hear me?!” she called out to them, announcing her challenge. “You’ll never rest again, as long as there are others like me in the world! They’ll continue my work! They’ll put an end to ALL of you, so help me God!”

She tried to move again, to put to use the weapon she held above her head, but found her muscles failing her, turning to the very liquid she had drained from her jugular.

Oh God.

She had to hurry.

“Forgive me, Father,” she yelled into the blackness as she shoved the icepick into its final resting place, deep within her brain.

And then silence, peace, as both Nora and the song on the stereo faded into a mutual oblivion.

––

Spark

Title: Spark

Author: Bidie McCucholl

Category: S

Rating: R

Spoilers: Never Again, Emily, Bad Blood

Keywords: Scully angst, Mulder/Scully romance

Summary: While investigating the bizarre deaths of several women, Dana Scully listens to the crime scene evidence…a haunting yet beautiful song. The words of the song suddenly begin to have an unexpected effect on her, and without warning, Dana is deep within the world of her own contemplative thoughts…thoughts about her life, her past, her present, and whether or not her future will happily resolve the many inner storms raging inside her psyche.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is a revision from an earlier post in 1998, nearly two years ago. Please bear with this version, as it’s still in perpetual revision — most of my stories are. 🙂 Also, it is songfic, technically, but please don’t be turned off yet! I promise it’s more than just trite, shmoopy fiction based on some song. It’s a unique perspective into the mind of Dana Scully, and you may or may not agree. I hope you’ll at least give it a chance, and just keep reading — I promise it’ll get better as each story goes by and as the layers of Scully melt away. Please let me know if this series touches or affects you in any way.

Thanks to Christa and Paula for some WONDERFUL marathons when I was closer to you and thanks to the Beloveds for all your support. Also, thanks to some wonderful writers in the community who remain my inspirations for writing in the first place. I hope, with this repost, that my work will be seen in somewhat of a new light, with fresh eyes, minds, and hearts.

––––

Gray. Gray. Everything was gray. In fact, gray was the only word to describe the decor of the desolate apartment. Gray walls, gray ceilings, gray furniture. Not a trace of color was to be found, save for the navy trenchcoats of the investigators and the short auburn hair of the lone female in the center of the living room.

Special Agent Dana Scully examined the spartan quarters of Apartment 4B with a disgusted wince on her face, pausing every now and then to collect a small sample of trace evidence with her tweezers. When she happened upon a dead spider surrounded by a blanket of dust, a distasteful groan made its way to the top of her throat.

<God, why me?> she said to herself, turning away from the window. This was not her idea of spending what was supposed to have been a pleasant three-day vacation. She hated this apartment, with its lack of color, of personality, its lack of anything in general, and it was just her bad luck to have been assigned to a case of such dismal proportions. At the last minute, no less.

Slowly she made her way into the kitchen of the apartment, lingering around well-used areas, collecting any possible evidence she encountered, muttering to herself resentfully the entire time.

she grumbled silently, her forehead crinkling into lines of obvious discontent. All those plans, the preparation, everything, ruined within two minutes of being called in to Skinner’s office.

Her only attempt to have a normal, carefree weekend, not only ruined, but non-refundable as well. Dana fought the impulsive urge to slam her hand against the wall as she remembered her argument with the travel agent.

The words she’d said so long ago began to resurface in her consciousness, memories of that day in the office filling her mind. <Unlike you, Mulder, I have a life.>

Liar.

Who was she kidding?

She hadn’t convinced anyone, least of all, her self-absorbed partner, who’d taken a forced vacation on Skinner’s orders. She was sure, if he weren’t away himself, he would be laughing hysterically upon hearing the news of her foiled getaway.

Wherever he was, she was sure he was having a much better time.

Where was he anyway?

He’d said he was going out of town for a few days, but he hadn’t said where. Of course, it was none of her business, but still…it would have been nice to have known where he would be. He hadn’t even given her the basic courtesy of volunteering the information.

What if something happened while he was away? How could he just pick up and leave without informing anyone as to his whereabouts? She sighed and rolled her eyes.

<Mulder must think he’s immortal,> she complained inwardly as she collected bottles of prescription drugs from the medicine cabinet.

She wasn’t mad. No, not mad, just upset that he hadn’t been thoughtful enough to tell her where he’d be. No, more than upset. Hurt. Ignored. Five, nearly six years of working with him, giving him her trust, and then he pulls a stunt like this. It was enough to make her blood boil.

But he’d done it once before, on that same day she’d lied to him and herself about having a normal life. He’d never given her a clue as to his destination, only that it would be what he perceived to be “a spiritual journey”. It was only later, much later, that she’d discovered the hideous Elvis glasses resting on his kitchen table and had drawn her own conclusions.

Why had that trip to Graceland been such a classified secret? Why couldn’t he have told her from the beginning where he would be?

<Because,> Dana reluctantly admitted, <Mulder has a talent for thinking of no one but himself. All day, every day.> She expelled a long breath and rubbed her forehead wearily. That was how it had been for as long as she’d worked with him.

Stepping cautiously into the bedroom, Dana looked around for anything unusual with an eye to the slightest detail. It was a habitual behavior, an automatic action, done without hesitation, acquired through years of repetitive practice. Her mind, however, was anywhere but on the task at hand. It was somewhere in Bermuda, and wondering where Fox Mulder was, all at the same time.

Why did it bother her so much when Mulder went running off on his mysterious destinations? Was it worth the elevated blood pressure, the insomnia, and the headaches she got from the stress of worrying about his safety?

An answer quickly rose to her consciousness, but Dana instantly and expertly pushed it to the back of her mind. That wasn’t the one she wanted, not now, not in the middle of an investigation. Not ever.

She would not think about it.

<Focus, Dana,> she told herself, attempting to concentrate on the drawer of lingerie, searching for any evidence of the reasons behind the deaths in Apartment 74.

Nothing of suspicion was found in the drawer, but Dana took her time appreciatively examining the silken items. Her inner thoughts began to run rampant again, uncontrolled.

Dammit.

<Focus, Dana, focus,> she repeated to herself, over and over again. When it was clear that her thoughts would not give her that privilege, she sighed and leaned her head against the large chest of drawers, closing her eyes. This wasn’t fair.

What was wrong with her? All she was required to do was to perform a routine forensic investigation, something a rookie agent could perform with proficiency, and she couldn’t even think straight.

Turning around, Dana faced the bed, with even more subconscious, licentious thoughts. What the hell…? Why was this happening to her, now of all times? This shouldn’t be happening to her. She was Special Agent Dana Scully, Medical Doctor. She had a job to perform, which she usually did with expert precision.

<Get a hold of yourself, Dana,> she commanded her mind, forcing the thoughts from her consciousness, hoping they would lie dormant again for as long as possible.

Suddenly her attention was drawn to a rectangular object on the bed. A jewel case. Dana picked it up and examined the cover. An unfamiliar artist, with flaming red hair, long and uncoiffed, unkempt, with an unusual name.

<Must be some local unknown,> Scully mused as she opened the case. <I’ve never heard of her before.>

When she found no evidence of a disc, Dana continued to look around for other evidence, searching under the bed, in the closet, on the floor. Suddenly she noticed something peeking from behind the inner side of the door.

A piece of paper.

Dana made her way to the door and pushed it slightly so that she could see more clearly. Something was taped to the door, a poem of some sort, written in sloppy calligraphy. She read the words, gently removing the paper from the door.

When she was finished, Dana frowned. The poem made no sense. No sense at all.

Something registered in Dana’s brain, a sixth sense she had gradually acquired, through years of working with someone nicknamed Spooky. She walked over to the stereo by the bed and opened the CD tray, removing the CD.

This CD, however slight, was evidence. Perhaps this song and the disc held clues as to why the woman died such a violent death. Of course she could be wrong. She could be totally off the mark. The skeptical side in Dana began to viciously taunt her, but she ignored it. For once, she ignored it and quietly hid the paper and the CD in her trenchcoat.

<What are you doing, Dana?> she heard herself ask.

She didn’t want to know what she was doing, or why she was doing it. It was just a measly piece of paper and a CD. No one would miss it. Her colleagues would overlook it anyway, probably take it home to become a part of their private collection. It was better this way. She could at least do her research in peace, without any questions or red tape, and most of all, no joking snickers or condescending looks from the rest of the agents.

Was this what Mulder felt like when he bent the rules to suit his selfish purposes?

Looking around one last time, she walked out of the bedroom. She’d done her part. Carefully handing over the evidence she’d collected from the other rooms, she attempted a civil smile for the SAC. “Do you require anything else, sir?”

“Not at present,” Agent Brandon Tyler replied, “but I might need your medical opinion on the autopsy in a few hours. Will you be near the phone this evening?”

“I anticipate an evening at home, sir,” she said, wishing it were otherwise. Wishing she could go out and cast a few cares to the wind, like so long ago, before the word FBI had become attached to her name, her life, her very existence.

“Good. Thank you, Agent Scully, for coming in on such short notice.”

Those words again. The last words Dana had heard before the fetters of unexplained phenomena had chained her to the FBI basement, to a job she hadn’t wanted, to a partner she’d found incredibly annoying. And now here she was, hearing those same words again years later.

Suddenly Mulder-like thoughts began creeping into her mind. Was Agent Tyler one of Them? Why did he look so sinister? Why did he have so many agents investigating a case that DC Police could have easily handled? What was he hiding? Was this a distraction from something larger?

<Dammit, Dana, stop it right now,> she ordered herself. This was getting way out of hand. She sounded more like her paranoid partner than the skeptic scientist she knew herself to be.

“Agent Scully, are you all right?” Agent Tyler’s words brought Dana out of her reverie.

Dana’s eyes widened as she jumped into the outer world. “I’m fine, sir,” she said apologetically. “I’m just a little fatigued.”

“Well, get some rest,” Agent Tyler suggested. “After all, this is your vacation.”

<Some vacation,> Dana grumbled silently. She fought the overwhelming urge to punch her superior and instead smiled slightly. “I will, sir,” she said, beginning her departure from the apartment.

“What happened to Bermuda, Agent Scully?” one of the agents said jokingly, with the slightest hint of condescension.

Dana winced and uttered a string of whispered curses before turning around to face the agent. “You’re looking at it,” she said, with no trace of emotion in her voice, on her face.

“No side assignment with Spooky Mulder keeping you here?” The agent grinned suggestively.

Fighting an incredible urge to and chose to respond with reservation, her only true defense against the mockery of the world. “Spooky Mulder, as you so eloquently addressed him, is elsewhere at present,” she told him curtly.

“That’s funny,” the agent said, stifling a giggle. “I heard from a reliable source that he was at Tiffany’s picking out rings.” Several chuckles escaped intermittently in his reply, as well as several others from eavesdropping agents.

The phony smile that Dana pasted on her face in response more closely resembled a snarl. “Well, let me be the first to congratulate you on your happy day, Agent Roberts,” she retorted, receiving several appreciative chortles from the listening agents.

The mortified look on Agent Roberts’ face was enough reward to keep Dana in the Bureau for at least another year. Abruptly she turned around and yelled as she was leaving, “Be sure to let me know when you’ve set a date; I’ve always wanted to be the best man.”

She heard the room explode in riotous laughter and smiled. Whenever Mulder arrived from wherever he was, she would be sure to thank him for teaching her the mastery of his best verbal weapon.

–––––

“…Welcome to the six-thirty news. Our top story tonight is a tragedy which has rocked Capitol Hill. Ellen Dorne, wife of Senator David Dorne, has been found dead in an abandoned warehouse building, along with the bodies of several other women. According to DC Police Chief Gerald Brown, the bodies were found in a circle on the floor of the second level of the warehouse, with wounds to their throats, hands, and wrists. News 12 joins police at the scene of the bizarre deaths….”

<Oh, no,> Dana thought miserably as she returned into the living room from the kitchen, holding a pint of ice cream. <More needless, senseless deaths. Another case for someone to solve. I can’t watch this.>

Normally Dana would thrive on news of such subject matter. Tonight, though, she was not in the mood, for some unknown, inexplicable reason. The anchorwoman’s carefully woven tale of the victims and their plight did nothing to arouse Dana’s interest. She’d seen enough death in her life, from first-hand experience, and tonight she wanted nothing to do with it.

Landing on the couch with a thud, she cradled the remote in her hand and began searching for something entertaining on the television. Nothing but news, reruns of bad television programs, and more news.

<Great,> she muttered silently. <Out of fifty damn channels, I can’t get one decent show.>

How would she know? She was never home to watch television at this hour. Usually she was still at Headquarters, working on a case, or somewhere else in the country, working on a case, or still yet, in a library somewhere, researching a case.

How depressing.

Expelling a long breath, Dana downheartedly returned the channel to the Six Thirty News. At least someone else’s problems were worse than hers.

Those very same problems were most likely why many people turned faithfully to their television sets at this hour, to hear of dark deaths and psychopathic killers, carjackings and kidnappings, fraud and embezzlement. All in an attempt to somehow glorify their own dismal, uneventful lives.

As much as she hated to admit it, Dana was beginning to count herself among the masses.

No. She would NOT do this to herself. Dana Scully did not wallow in a murky pool of her own self-pity. Dana Scully was above such destructive behavior. Paternal lectures in the event of any shed tears had eradicated the mere idea of feeling sorry for oneself in the Scully home. “Unacceptable,” Ahab would have said disapprovingly.

What else in her life would her father deem “unacceptable”?

Maybe it was for the best that he was dead. At least he couldn’t see her miserable existence. Her loneliness. She would have really let him down if he’d lived to witness these last few years.

The harsh ring of the telephone brought Dana out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened. Who could that be?

Probably Agent Tyler, requesting her assistance with the autopsy results, or better still, to tear her from the ever-entertaining television news program to follow some new lead. As depressing as it was, Dana actually hoped work would tear her away from her apartment. It was better than moping around all night and drowning her sorrows in a pint of triple chocolate fudge ice cream.

She reached for the cordless phone beside her, turning down the volume on the television. “Hello?”

“You back already?” the familiar baritone voice of Fox Mulder was warm and pleasant to her ears.

“Mulder,” Dana murmured softly, smiling. “How are you?”

“Existing, as usual,” he said with wry humor, “in the limited range of my emotional and social spectrum.”

Dana’s smile grew wider.

“What about you?” Mulder wanted to know. “I was expecting to hear the pleasant sounds of surf and sea.”

“I didn’t go,” she replied frankly, forcing a good measure of nonchalance in her voice.

“You didn’t go? Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t go, Mulder.”

“What, did a hurricane wipe out the resort or something?” When she did not respond, Mulder continued. “Couldn’t happen anyway. Those rich old bastards probably pay the Man Upstairs to bypass the resort when conducting his acts of destruction on the planet.”

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” she replied, with the slightest hint of mirth.

“Exceptional,” he said. “Never better.”

“What are you doing?” she asked him. “Where are you?”

“Beaver Creek, Colorado,” Mulder answered flatly. “A very exclusive ski resort was terrorized a few days ago by what tourists described to be the Abominable Snowman.”

Dana rolled her eyes, grinning even more widely. “And of course you felt it your duty to thoroughly investigate the matter.”

“Thoroughly,” Mulder said, his signature wit exaggerated in every syllable of the word.

Dana nodded her head in complete agreement. It would be just like Fox Mulder to go chasing after an Abominable Snowman, or even a reasonable facsimile. “Any leads yet?”

“Nope,” he said, “but I am enjoying the free room and board.” She heard him sigh contentedly.

“Mulder,” she chided. “Why aren’t you out there chasing your snowman?”

“I’ve had my fill of snow, thank you,” Mulder replied dryly.

Dana giggled softly. “You and me both.”

Mulder sighed again. “I’m still attempting to warm myself after that sojourn in the Antarctic.” He paused for a second before continuing. “This jacuzzi is helping, though.”

“A jacuzzi, Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m in it right now,” he said, sighing once more. “Care to join me?”

She snorted quietly, almost imperceptibly. “I can see myself boarding a plane to Denver just to join you in a hot tub.”

“You mock my invitation, Dana Scully?” Mulder said with feigned incredulity. “Fine. Bring your swimsuit, if you insist, but I can’t guarantee you I’ll be wearing mine.”

A lone auburn eyebrow arched slightly in response. “Miss me much, Mulder?”

“What do you mean?”

“You must be incredibly lonely to invite me out to Colorado for a skinny dip,” she said.

Mulder paused for a moment before replying. “Well, I’ve had my pick of beautiful women out here, but I keep seeing this mirage of a five-foot-two redhead skiing completely in the nude. Which, of course, makes it a little difficult to meet a supermodel.”

“My, Mulder, you must be lonely to be charming this five-foot-two redhead.”

Mulder chuckled. “Is it working?”

“Hardly,” Dana replied, though she was grinning from ear to ear. “Besides, your little fantasy is a little misguided.”

“What do you mean?”

Dana bit her lip to fight the smile radiating from her mouth. “I don’t ski.”

“Then come out here and we’ll learn together,” Mulder suggested. “I think I could tackle the bunny slope if I had someone to hold my hand.”

“You’re a big boy, Mulder. You could do it yourself,” was her reply.

“But it’s so much more fun with someone else, don’t you think?” Mulder’s comment was laced with the slightest trace of innuendo.

When she did not respond, he spoke again, this time with more sobriety. “Why didn’t you go to Bermuda?”

Dana sighed as she felt the weight of her troubles once more descend upon her. “I think I’m a glutton for punishment, Mulder,” she commented softly, her voice far away.

“Dana Scully the Masochist?” Mulder chuckled. “Never mind, don’t tell me. What you do in the privacy of your own home is none of my business.”

“Mulder–”

“Relax, Scully, just trying to cheer you up. You sounded positively abysmal when you answered the phone.” He paused for a second. “So tell me why you didn’t go to Bermuda.”

She sighed. “Skinner assigned me to a case at the last minute. Agent Tyler needed some help with the death of some psychologist in town and unfortunately I hadn’t left the office fast enough. Skinner called me up and requested my help.”

“Did you tell him you were leaving the country?”

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything at all. The entire team was in his office. I had no idea why I was being called up to Skinner’s office in the first place, and when I arrived, Agent Tyler automatically assumed that I had agreed to help with the case. I didn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Mulder mumbled an unintelligible word of sympathy.

“If I said anything, I knew I would disappoint not only Agent Tyler, but Skinner as well. I didn’t want disapproval hanging over my head in Bermuda, so I kept my mouth shut and canceled the trip, only to find out that it was non-refundable.”

“How come everything goes to hell when I leave town?” Mulder asked. “If I’d been there, we’d have been working on something else. Together. Skinner wouldn’t have requested your help on another case.”

“If you had been here, Mulder, you would have been doing this grunt work, not me. I would have been on vacation.” She sighed wearily. It just wasn’t fair.

“Hell no I wouldn’t,” he argued. “I’d be sipping piña coladas and Fast Hard Screws on the Main Deck by the pool with you.”

Dana could barely fight the laugh that suddenly erupted from within. He’d remembered their ‘concoction’ from months ago.

“You would have gone to Bermuda with me?” she asked him, completely amazed.

“Yeah. I would have drunk that ugly shit you call a drink and had the time of my life.”

“But you didn’t request off.”

“Screw it; I would have lied. Or called in sick. Or made up a case.”

“Being in Bermuda with me would have been that important to you?”

“Well, being in Bermuda would have been important.” He paused. “Being with you would be a fringe benefit.”

“Mulder…” Dana attempted to sound slightly annoyed at his remark, but even she was unconvinced. Why the hell was he being so charming? And…why was it working?

“Poor Mulder. You must really be abysmally lonely yourself to want to take a vacation with me. Why don’t I forward one of your skin flicks to you to take your mind off your solitude.”

Mulder responded with a slight chuckle. “Only if you hand-deliver it.”

Dana shook her head, perplexed at Mulder’s sudden, obvious display of interest. Usually they engaged in brief sessions of light flirtation to take their minds off the task at hand. There was no task at hand right now, and quite frankly, Mulder was taking their play to a different level. A deeper level.

Why was he doing it?

“So have your scientific talents been put to good use so far?” Mulder asked her.

“Actually,” she replied, “All I’ve done is collect a few samples from the woman’s apartment, with the possibility of coming in tonight to view the autopsy results and deliver my own conclusions to SAC Tyler.”

“Exciting,” Mulder mumbled dryly.

“Thrilling,” Dana added for good measure.

There was a brief pause before Mulder finally broke the silence. “I tell you what I’m going to do, Agent Scully. Agent Fox Mulder has determined that this ‘abominable snowman’ is nothing more than an elaborate hoax created by a competing ski resort to lure tourists toward their own resort. There’s nothing else for me here. I’ll be on the first plane out of Denver tonight and….”

“And what?” she asked.

“…and return to business as usual.” Mulder’s voice sounded resolute in determination.

“Mulder, are you sure you’re done in Colorado?” Dana wanted to know. “You’re not returning because I….” her voice trailed off. She was not going to say it.

“Because you what?” he asked.

“Because I….have nothing to research or investigate for the Files,” she said, opting for a safer, but less honest, response.

“No,” Mulder told her. “I’m done here. There’s been no sign of an abominable snowman since I came here, and I can’t waste the rest of my life searching for him.”

<But you’ll waste the rest of your life searching for Feegee mermaids and flying saucers and military coverups, won’t you?> she thought with frustration.

“Scully?” Mulder asked, when she did not respond. “You still there?”

“Yes,” she said reluctantly, still lost in her myriad thoughts. “Are you sure you’re done there?”

“Yes,” Mulder said, his voice slightly abrasive with annoyance. “Why do you keep asking me?”

“I just–don’t want you coming back because–”

“Because?”

“Because….” <Because you feel sorry for me. Because you don’t want me to be by myself without a thing to do on what was supposed to be my vacation.> “Because you feel you need to move on to the next case.” There. That was sufficiently believable to not arouse suspicion.

“No, Scully, I mean it. I’m done here. There’s nothing for me to do except kick back and soak in a hot tub until I shrivel up like a prune.”

Dana wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for the inviting image.”

“No problem.”

“You sure you don’t want to soak a little longer?”

“Why? All by myself?” Mulder argued. “It gets to be pretty boring when no one’s here to prune away with me.”

She smiled. “Well, then, come on back. I’ll meet you at the airport and we can discuss our cases.” Now things were looking up. Mulder would be here, and perhaps having him around would distract her.

“Good. I always welcome a free ride.” Mulder paused. “I’ll call you when I’ve booked a flight.”

“I’ll be here,” Dana said, smiling. <Where the hell else would I go?> she thought to herself, breaking the connection.

***

Dana waited for what seemed like hours at National Airport, awaiting Flight 658 from Denver. The attendant at the desk had informed those who were waiting that the flight would be delayed by thirty minutes, due to storms just east of the Rocky Mountains. She, for one, was glad Mulder was on that flight and not her. The sudden turbulence inflicted upon a jet plane during bad weather always brought Dana one step closer to a heart attack.

Yet Mulder would simply sit in his seat, smiling as he mouthed the lyrics to whatever song was playing on his Walkman. How the hell he was able to do it was beyond her.

Regardless of the storms, Flight 658 was more than forty- five minutes late. Dana’s watch confirmed it. She groaned. Knowing her luck as of late, the plane wouldn’t land until midnight. Or worse…

No, that was not an option, she ordered herself. The plane would arrive, in its own time. She told Mulder she would wait, and wait she would.

But Christ, it was boring having to wait. She needed something…anything just to keep her occupied. Something to take her mind off the plane, the storms surrounding it, and worst of all, the storms inside her head. Something to distract her until Mulder could.

Maybe she could buy one of those awful women’s magazines… just for distraction…and read her fill of how to make Him love her, how to meet Him if she hadn’t already, and what to wear, what to do, what to say, in an effort to keep Him and prevent her from being lonely for the rest of her life.

Perish the thought, Dana Scully.

There had to be a Newsweek somewhere.

Dana fumbled around in her trenchcoat pocket, searching for spare change. Maybe she would go in search of a decent magazine and buy something to drink while she was at it. As she searched, she encountered something not commonly found in pockets, and pulled it out.

A jewel case.

The CD she’d taken from the crime scene earlier that day.

Dana searched in the pocket once more, retrieving the folded piece of paper she’d also taken from the door of Nora Benton’s apartment. Why had this woman written the lyrics to a song and posted them on the inside of her door?

Carefully unfolding the paper, Dana read the song, frowning at the complete enigma of random images and ideas.

She’s addicted to nicotine patches She’s afraid of the light in the dark 6:58 are you sure where my spark is here. here. here. She’s convinced she could hold back a glacier. but she couldn’t keep Baby alive doubting if there’s a woman in there somewhere here. here. here. you say you don’t want it again and again but you don’t really mean it you say you don’t want it this circus we’re in. but you don’t really mean it if the Divine Master plan is perfection maybe next I’ll give Judas

a try trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin here. here. here. you say you don’t want it. this circus we’re in but you don’t you don’t really mean it you don’t really mean it how many fates turn around in the overtime ballerinas that have fins that you’ll never find you thought that you were the bomb yeah well so did i say you don’t want it. say you don’t want it. say you don’t want it again and again but you don’t really mean it say you don’t want it this circus we’re in but you don’t you don’t really mean it you don’t really mean it she’s addicted to nicotine patches she’s afraid of the light in the dark 6:58 are you sure where my spark is here. here. here.

Dana folded the paper when she was done and frowned. <No sane person would post a song with this content on a bedroom door,> she thought to herself.

Yet it had been the only object of decoration in the entire apartment, which further added to the mystery.

What purpose did this song have, possessing such an honor? What importance, what meaning, did it have for Nora Benton? Dana was sure that the lyrics of the song held some clue as to why the woman died. It was just a matter of deciphering the enigmatic code.

Deciding to forgo the Newsweek, Dana began examining the song lyrics. This project would certainly keep her busy — or at least provide a welcome distraction.

After several minutes of carefully scrutinizing every word, every phrase, Dana threw her hands up in frustration. This was getting her nowhere. The only way to uncover a deeper, more personal meaning for Nora Benton would be to know something about Nora Benton, and Dana only knew the bare facts surrounding the case. She had never seen the file, never accessed any important information about the unfortunate victim. She hadn’t considered it to be a priority, given her minimal involvement and assistance.

Tomorrow morning, she would make it a definite priority.

Suddenly the voice of the gate attendant boomed through the speakers in Gate 22. “Ladies and gentlemen, Flight 658 from Denver has just landed and is expected to arrive at the gate in a matter of minutes. Thank you for your patience and we apologize for any inconvenience.”

Dana’s head jerked upward with a start when she heard the announcement. Flight 658. Mulder….

Her hands flew to her purse, procuring a small mirror from within. Holding the mirror to her face, Dana began to examine her reflection with a critical eye. She needed something. She looked too pale, too…weary from the stresses of the day.

Weary was not a good thing. The girlish look of expectant eagerness greeting her face wasn’t either.

Retrieving a tube of lipstick from the purse, Dana began to slowly apply the berry color to her full lips, refreshing the fading pigment from a day’s worth of wear. Satisfied, she returned the items to their respective places and rose to her feet, smoothing the wrinkles from her cranberry sweater and dark knit pants.

At least now she could greet Mulder without looking like something the cat dragged in.

But why did it matter? Mulder had seen her in far worse condition. Dana shuddered involuntarily as she remembered her rescue from Antarctica. She must’ve looked terrible. And, she vaguely remembered, she was without a stitch of clothing in that block of ice.

Mulder had seen everything. He had seen it all, regardless of the circumstances. Had she anything left to disguise, to hide, from him?

<Plenty,> she replied to herself, as she watched the plane come to a halt just outside the terminal. The most important things were too deep to be seen even with Mulder’s perceptive eyes.

Besides, he was being very charming lately.

Dana scolded herself for even thinking the obvious.

Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it, Dana?

Slowly, one by one, the passengers began to trickle out of the corridor, looking extremely fatigued. She didn’t envy them; after spending over four hours on a stormy flight, she suspected none of them would be in good spirits.

Except one.

Her eyes widened as she watched Fox Mulder saunter out of the corridor, with–God help them both–a spring in his step. Casually dressed in jeans and an olive turtleneck, he seemed more imposing, more masculine, than in the usual suits and eccentric ties of his occupational wardrobe.

Apparently Dana wasn’t the only woman to notice; several others were eyeing him appreciatively as Mulder passed them. She couldn’t blame them at all, she thought to herself with a wry grin. There was a passion to Mulder, a fire that far surpassed his handsome face and muscular build. A passion to live, to search for meaning and truth in a world of deception and falsehood. It was evident in his mere presence.

He hadn’t seen her yet; his head was craned upward, searching the crowd. For that, Dana was grateful. At least he wouldn’t surprise her or throw her off guard. Fox Mulder lived to tip the scales of her entire equilibrium.

She contemplated standing in the middle of the crowd until Mulder finally found her, just to observe his reaction. Watching the puzzlement on his face turn to a frown, Dana smiled slightly. He probably thought she had given up and left him.

That would never do.

Slowly she made her way through the crowd of people and stepped into the open, meeting the hazel eyes of her partner. When Mulder grinned warmly, she felt her blood turn to liquid heat. How, after so many years, was he able to achieve such incredible reactions within her?

“Scully,” Mulder addressed her, closing the distance between them. “Nice of you to show.”

“Did you doubt me?” Dana asked him, her voice high to the point of near giddiness. She could not fight the warm smile forming on her lips.

Mulder set his bag on the floor, grinning even more widely. “For a brief second, I thought I was going to have to hail a cab. And at this hour, too. It’s just not safe.”

“You poor thing.” Dana rested a hand on his shoulder. “However did you manage without me?”

“Damned if I know,” Mulder replied, extending his arms toward her.

Dana gladly stepped into Mulder’s welcoming embrace, sighing ever so slightly as his large arms enveloped her. “Welcome back, Mulder.”

Mulder increased the pressure of his hold around her tiny frame, nearly squeezing her breath away. “Maybe I should go away again,” he said, “if I can get another welcome like this.”

Dana humphed as loudly as she could, buried in his embrace. “Don’t bet on it,” she countered jokingly, nestling her head in the crook his bent arm provided for her.

He chuckled. “Now that you mention it,” Mulder commented to her, “I believe this is the first time you’ve met me at the airport.”

Dana stepped away from Mulder, from his comforting hold, and arched an eyebrow. “Only because we usually fly together,” she stated playfully.

Mulder frowned in thought for a brief second, then nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he said, as if he had just received some cosmic revelation.

“I’m always right,” she said with a toss of her head, procuring another chuckle from her partner.

“You wanna put money on that statement?” Mulder asked her.

“Depends on the stakes,” Dana replied humorously. “If it’s just a free lunch, forget it.”

Mulder laughed and pulled her again into his arms. “It’s good to be back,” he said, holding her tightly to him.

Dana returned the gesture with a childlike smile on her face. It was good to have him back.

And, as good as it was to be holding him, it was clear that she could not allow herself to remain in his embrace. Although Mulder seemed perfectly content to stand there and hold her, Dana knew she would have to back away.

It was the right thing to do. Order had to be restored.

Dropping her arms from his waist, Dana stepped away and gave Mulder a slight smile. “Where to, Mr. Mulder?” she asked him, trying to forget how it had felt to be in the comfort of his embrace.

For a brief second, she thought she saw Mulder’s brow lower in a frown, but dismissed the notion when a large grin stretched across his face.

“‘Where to’, Scully?” Mulder was clearly amused by her comment. “Next you’ll be charging me by the mile.”

“Tonight’s on the house,” she quipped, “but next time— if there is a next time–you’d better be prepared.”

“Is that a threat?” Mulder hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and spread his legs in a traditional cowboy posture.

“It is if you tear me away from something important.”

“Such as?” Mulder chuckled. “Let me guess. Washing your hair, taking a bubble bath, surfing the Net, or reading one of those steamy romance novels.”

Dana gave her partner an icy glare. “Watch it, Mulder, or you’ll be walking home tonight.” His remark had hit dangerously home, although he had no idea just how perceptive he had been. She began to turn around toward the concourse in an attempt to disguise the sudden flash of sadness in her sapphire eyes.

“Hey, hey,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I was just kidding.”

Dana allowed the corners of her mouth to raise slightly in a brief but barely visible smile. She nodded in response to his apology.

“How about a beer, then?” Mulder suggested. “My place isn’t going anywhere and we have nowhere to be tomorrow morning.”

“A beer, Mulder?” Dana shook her head. “It’s late and I’m driving.”

“So tell me more of the blatantly obvious, Scully,” he joked, retrieving his bag from the floor.

Dana began to walk toward the main hallway, leaving Mulder to frantically situate himself and trot to catch up with her. “Your wit seems to worsen past midnight,” she countered, as he finally joined her.

“But other things get better,” he retorted with an insidious grin.

“I’m sure they do, Mulder.” Dana refused to make eye contact with the tall man beside her.

When it was clear that she was not going to continue the playful banter, Mulder put his hand on her shoulder once more and stopped her. “Scully….”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Dana replied, continuing to walk.

Mulder sighed as he walked to catch up with her. “You know, Scully, you’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh really?” She continued to keep her eyes forward and center as they walked down the hallway.

“Really. You’d fail the world’s most insensitive polygraph,” he remarked dryly. After a few seconds of silence, Mulder spoke again. “Was it something I said back there?”

Silence.

“Whatever I said, I was only joking,” Mulder continued.

“I’m sure you were,” she replied halfheartedly, continuing to ignore him with her eyes.

“So what is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, finally meeting his gaze. “Nothing I want to talk about tonight, anyway.”

“Well, can you clue me in?” he wanted to know. “I am considered to be an expert in this sort of thing.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she retorted curtly, facing forward again.

“Fine, then,” Mulder agreed, opening the door for her. “Will you tell me sometime in the future?”

“Maybe,” Dana replied, accepting the semi-chivalrous gesture with a tight-lipped smile.

Mulder chuckled as they approached the parking garage. “Sounds like you really need a beer,” he remarked, grinning widely. When she glared again in response, he said, “Then let’s at least get coffee. I’m wound up and so are you. We won’t get any sleep for a few hours anyway.”

Dana finally responded, her eyes fixed on her waiting car in the distance. “It’d better be good coffee,” she remarked.

“Good coffee, gourmet coffee, you got it. Whatever,” Mulder said, grinning throughout the long walk to the car.

–––––

After half an hour of driving, Dana had finally settled on a small espresso bar on the outskirts of Georgetown, her weary partner in tow. Apparently everyone else had shared their idea; the only open table was a tiny two-seater located in a dark and slightly dingy corner of the establishment.

Mulder grinned when he saw just how secluded the table was in comparison to the other tables. “You know, Scully,” he remarked jokingly, “we shouldn’t be meeting like this.”

Dana ignored his comment and took the seat against the wall.

“You need the strongest stuff they got, if you’re going to sit there like a zombie for the rest of the evening,” Mulder commented, taking the opposite seat.

“I intend on doing just that,” she answered him, as she opened the beverage menu.

Mulder perused the menu briefly before dropping it in mock disgust. “There’s not a decent drink on this menu, Scully,” he said to her.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to have coffee, then.”

Mulder chuckled once. “Next time I pick for our little tête-à-tête,” he remarked, grinning when two eyes of ice blue glared at him from over the menu.

After several minutes of silence, Mulder shifted in his seat and leaned closer to his partner. “So did Tie Man ever give you a call?”

Dana frowned. “Tie Man?”

“Yeah. Tie Man, more commonly known as Special Agent Brandon Tyler, best regarded for wearing a different tie to work every day.” Mulder paused before continuing. “The man spends a fortune on designer ties he only wears once.”

“Oh.” Dana finally rested her menu on the table. “No, he didn’t call.”

“I guess everything was fine, then,” Mulder suggested.

“Yeah, I guess.” Dana signaled to a waiter on the other side of the shop, indicating she was ready to order.

Mulder grinned again. “Geez, Scully, you sure make it difficult for anyone to pry information out of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” A lone eyebrow arched in response to Mulder’s statement.

“I mean, I’ve been trying to get you to spill the beans about your case since I got off the plane, but you seem to be unwilling to share any of your findings.”

“What findings?” Dana shrugged her shoulders. “All I did was collect a few vials of evidence and that was it. There’s not that much to share.”

“And that’s all they needed you to do? Collect evidence?” Mulder frowned. “Anyone could do that.”

“I thought as much at the time,” Dana agreed.

“So why waste your weekend doing grunt work for Tie Man?” Mulder wanted to know.

“Mulder, I’ve already told you. I didn’t know why Skinner was calling me into his office. I had no choice in the matter.” She sighed wearily. Did he ever listen to a word she said?

“You could’ve spoken up, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you tell them where you were taking your vacation?” he asked.

Dana glared at Mulder, her eyes growing colder by the second. “What is this, Twenty Questions? Am I supposed to have an answer for everything I do?”

“Well,” Mulder replied, “it couldn’t hurt.” He smiled. “It sure would help me to understand why you’d turn down fun in the sun to pick lint off the carpet.”

Dana was about to make a biting remark when suddenly, as if on cue, the waiter appeared with two glasses of water for the couple. “What will you be having this evening?”

“I’ll have a large espresso, with cream, no sugar,” she told the waiter matter-of-factly.

Mulder dropped his jaw in exaggerated amazement. “Getting out the big guns, eh, Scully?”

“I’m tired, Mulder,” she retorted, her eyes downcast. “I’ve been up since six this morning.”

“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.

“I’ll have one of those mocha java banana shakes,” Mulder said, opting for something a little out of the ordinary. “It should keep me awake for a while.”

Mulder leaned in closer again, cocking his head slightly to one side. “So where were we?” he remarked jovially.

Dana kept her eyes focused on the glass of water in front of her, unwilling to meet the hazel eyes of her rather inquisitive partner. “Wherever we were, I’d like to change the subject,” she said with feigned sweetness.

Mulder nodded in understanding. Whatever was plaguing Dana Scully, she was not ready to share it with anyone, even him. “What was the woman’s name?”

“Who?”

“The woman who died in that apartment.”

“Oh.”

Relief settled across Dana’s features as she began to notice the slight change in conversation. She could talk about the case, or at least what she knew about it. Her personal involvement, however, was different. Mulder did not need to know the details regarding her involuntary, or perhaps voluntary, decision to accept the assignment. She barely knew why herself.

“Her name was Nora Benton,” Dana said clinically, shifting into Bureau mode. “Age 38, psychologist in private practice. She lived just outside DC, very eccentric, at least in her choice of decor. Her apartment was bare, with minimal furnishing and every wall in that place was gray, with no pictures, no artwork, nothing to indicate that anyone even lived there.”

“Did she practice out of her home?” Mulder wanted to know.

“That’s anyone’s guess. There were several stacks of what appeared to be important paperwork, but from casual observation, none of the agents could make sense of it. All of it was sent back to Headquarters for sorting and analysis.” Dana shrugged. “Providing the men actually do their job, we should have some information on the contents of those papers by early morning.”

“Who did the autopsy?”

“I’m not sure. Agent Tyler never volunteered that information.”

“He didn’t ask you to do it?”

“No, he didn’t.” Dana shrugged again. “He probably wanted someone directly involved on his team to perform the autopsy.”

Mulder frowned. “If I were you, I’d have been insulted.”

“Why?”

“Because you know as well as I do that your reputation is second to none around here,” Mulder replied. “Most likely Agent Tyler knows it too.”

“Mulder, I was asked to lend my assistance to the case, not to be a direct part of it. I didn’t expect him to hand the body over to me.”

“But what you did expect was to make some sort of vital, important contribution to the case, and you couldn’t,” Mulder stated. “You couldn’t because you weren’t given a chance or a choice in the matter.”

Dana chose not to respond instantly. She felt herself drawing inward, into that inner realm which had plagued her for the last eighteen hours.

“And so you wasted a weekend that was supposed to have been spent in Bermuda,” Mulder continued, “because you thought you could make a difference on this case. Instead you were basically humiliated in front of your peers and superiors, when everyone knew that you were the best damn investigator on that team.”

“Is that your opinion, Agent Mulder?” Dana asked softly.

“That’s damn fact,” Mulder said confidently, sitting up in his chair.

“I see,” Dana murmured, fingering the tall glass of ice water.

“Tyler could’ve given you the autopsy and this case could’ve probably been closed by now,” Mulder said. “Which is precisely why he didn’t. He made you do grunt work in a selfish effort to glorify himself and his team. In an effort to belittle you, and indirectly, belittle me and my work.”

Dana forced herself to smile at Mulder’s statement. “A little paranoid, are we, Mulder?”

“Paranoid? Hell no. Everyone who’s anyone knows Tie Man has it in for me.”

“How so?”

Mulder moved in closer to his partner. “Because of a little practical joke I pulled on Tyler,” he told her.

“Mulder, what did you do?”

He grinned widely. “Nothing short of several federal offenses, namely breaking and entering into his place, stealing all his designer ties, and replacing them with some of my own.”

Dana smiled slightly. “I can just imagine Agent Tyler wearing one of your ties.”

“Of course, he could never prove it,” Mulder told her. “I’d been too careful. But everyone knew those ties were mine.”

“What did you do with his other ties?” she wanted to know.

“Hung them up on the flagpole outside Headquarters,” Mulder told her, his grin now a full-fledged smile. “Along with several pairs of cotton briefs with the monogrammed initials ‘BLT’.”

Dana threw her head back, fighting a suppressed giggle. “I would have loved to have seen the expression on his face when he discovered his underwear on the flagpole.”

“It was priceless.” Mulder leaned back contentedly in his chair.

Dana frowned suddenly, in an effort to piece everything together. “So Tyler has it in for you, just because you embarrassed him in front of everyone at Headquarters?” She snickered.

“Yeah, and apparently he has it in for anyone who supports me and my work. Namely you,” Mulder added.

“But I’ve done nothing to the man,” Dana told her partner. “I’ve been very cooperative and willing to help in whatever way I could.”

“Aha, but you see, you’re poison as well,” Mulder informed her. “Guilt by association, Scully.”

Dana pursed her lips tightly in thought. “Seems like a petty reason to foil my plans for a weekend in the tropics.”

“Tyler gets down and dirty, Scully, but because of his position, he always comes out smelling like a rose. But–” Mulder paused, pointing his index finger for emphasis, “–if you look very closely, you’ll see a slight shade of permanent brown on his nose when he comes out of Skinner’s office.”

Shaking her head, Dana pointed a scolding finger at Mulder. “That wasn’t quite the image I wanted in my mind before drinking coffee,” she told him playfully, as the waiter arrived with their orders.

Mulder attacked his frozen concoction with gusto, savoring every bite with a moan of pleasure. “This is so good, Scully,” he said, between sips of the cold liquid.

“I bet anything tastes good after four hours of airline food and peanuts,” Dana remarked jovially, raising her eyebrows as she watched Mulder consume the contents of his glass in mere minutes. Sipping on her espresso, she smiled as she watched her partner enjoy every gulp of the creamy shake.

She loved this side of Mulder, his playful, boyish behavior, which was a rare occurrence. It was one of the few parts of him that reminded Dana that he was a living, breathing human being, not an overworked, underrated federal agent lost in the machinations and politics of the Bureau factory. She wished she could see that side more often.

Then she thought of herself, her life, and groaned inwardly. How many times had she allowed herself to smile this much, to laugh this much, in the course of these past few years?

She couldn’t even remember.

As painful as it was, Dana had to admit she had become a robotic automaton in the same factory, going through the motions of her job, her scientific rationale, in an endless circle, a continuous twenty-four-hour shift. Even when sleeping she dreamt about work, about cases, about illness, dying, and death.

She needed a good laugh tonight. She’d needed a good laugh for several years, to be honest.

Why had it taken so long?

Dana wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer that surfaced to the front of her mind, the same answer she’d forced into the far recesses of her consciousness earlier that day. Watching the man sitting across from her, grinning as he slurped the remaining liquid from his glass, did nothing to hasten the process.

“Hey Scully, you have to try this,” he grunted, as a stream of chocolate coffee dribbled down his chin.

She gave him a look of mock disgust. “I don’t think there’s anything left to try,” she told him, turning her nose upward.

“Then order one,” he said, draining the glass of its last drop.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she told him, thanking chance for placing them in a less obvious area of the establishment. Although endearing, sometimes Mulder’s slightly erratic, eccentric behavior could be a bit embarrassing. She continued to take small sips of her espresso as Mulder blotted the mess on his face with his paper napkin.

When he was finished, Mulder smiled with satisfaction. “Great suggestion, Scully,” he remarked, tapping the glass of his mug with his fingertips.

Dana shook her head, the corners of her mouth tilted upward in a slight smile as she took another dainty sip of her espresso.

“So Tie Man rained on your little parade,” Mulder commented, bringing the previous conversation into the limelight. “Or at least on your chaise lounge.”

Dana nodded, taking another sip.

“What are you going to do about it?”

She frowned in response to Mulder’s question. “What am I going to do about it? I’m going to try to enjoy the rest of my weekend and not worry about it anymore.”

“Nah-ah, Scully.” Mulder pointed his straw across the table. “That’s the coward’s way out.”

“Would you prefer I confront him about the injustice of the matter?” she suggested.

“Nope.” Mulder returned the straw to the inside of the glass mug. “I say you fight back.”

“And how do I do that?” she asked skeptically.

Mulder leaned in closer. “Get as much information as you can on Nora Benton, anything you can find. Exhaust all possible avenues.” He grinned. “I’ll even contact the Gunmen to help us on this if need be.”

Dana frowned. Had she heard him right? “Mulder, did you say ‘us’?”

Nodding, Mulder inserted the plastic straw in his mouth and began chewing on it. “Sure did.”

“Mulder, you’re not even officially assigned to this case,” she reminded him.

“And you have some position of importance?” Mulder reminded her.

“At least I’m a part of the team,” she replied, “if only a small part of it. If Brandon Tyler found out that you were working on the case outside the proper channels of authority, he’d have your badge in no time. Especially after what you’ve done to him.”

“You think I care?” Mulder asked her, still chewing on his straw. “Has it stopped me before? Has it stopped us before?”

She sighed wearily. “No.” Her reluctant reply spanned several seconds of silence.

“You think some senior agent with expensive ties and monogrammed underwear is going to stop me from having the last laugh?” Mulder continued to chew on his straw as he spoke. “We’re going to solve this case, Scully, you and I, and we’re going to solve it so fast that Tyler won’t even know what hit him. Pretty soon he’ll be so far down the totem pole that he’ll have to sell all those precious ties to make the rent.”

“But it’s not our case to solve, Mulder,” she repeated. “Tyler will end up taking the credit, regardless of who solves it.”

“Not if we beat him to Skinner’s office,” Mulder told her. “Skinner knows the truth. He knows what Tyler’s doing, and I bet you several free lunches that he doesn’t like it.”

“I don’t know.” Dana was hesitant. “We’ll end up looking like insubordinate idiots.”

Mulder leaned in even closer to her, still chewing on the straw. “O ye of little faith,” he remarked dryly.

Glaring at him, Dana finished her espresso in one unladylike gulp and met him, eye for eye, leaning over the table. “All right, Mulder. I’m agreeing to this, only because I know he deserves to be paid back for ruining my vacation. But you steer clear of Tyler, okay? Don’t call attention to yourself, or else you and I will be taking a permanent vacation from work.”

Mulder’s mouth twisted into a half-smile as he chewed the remaining inch of his straw. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled lazily, as the waiter returned to deliver the bill.

–––––—

The bright glare of the morning sun greeted Dana’s sleepy eyes as she attempted to wake from the welcoming embrace of slumber. Normally she was up by now, well involved in the day-to-day routines of her work.

As she stretched languidly in the large bed, Dana silently thanked God for resting at least one day. <If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me,> she reasoned to herself.

Checking the clock, she read the numbers 949 and sighed. Half the morning had been wasted already, all because she’d chosen to spend its wee hours with a recently returned Fox Mulder. Their little meeting had thrown her day completely off schedule.

She sat up in the bed, abruptly, her mind committed to the agreement she had made with Mulder earlier that morning. Maybe all was not lost, as far as finding out the basic details of the investigation. She could still run a brief background check on Nora Benton and retrieve at least a basic amount of information about the victim, before the entire day was behind her.

She’d have to hurry.

Dana quickly rolled off the side of her bed, standing on the floor and yawning several times in succession. She hated the sudden lightheadedness which resulted from standing too quickly. Ignoring the sluggish resistance of her legs, she gingerly walked to her computer and booted the machine.

she grumbled silently. Truthfully, she didn’t think one cup would suffice. The whole pot would probably be needed to get her motivated this morning.

“Oh God,” she said aloud, to the empty space in her solitary apartment. “I’m becoming a caffeine junkie.” She shook her head, questioning her logic in her choice of addictions.

Caffeine was one of the worst substances to be dependent upon, she thought to herself wryly, and here she was, ingesting copious quantities into her bloodstream every day. Yet she continued to brew the pot of warm liquid, a smile escaping her face as she inhaled the rich aroma of coffee beans and hazelnut.

Well, at least she wasn’t addicted to nicotine. God, what a disgusting habit, smoking cigarettes, inhaling tar and other wonderfully toxic substances into the delicate respiratory system, turning cells of creation into cancerous cells of destruction, all for that temporary fix. Yes, caffeine was as safe a vice as one could have.

And thank God she didn’t drink much, either. Alcohol was a pretty poison as well, misused by misguided people attempting to dull the edge from their miserable existences. Hardening livers, destroying brain cells, deforming babies in the wombs of alcoholic mothers, the poison had a special allure, an empty promise of fulfillment.

Babies….oh God.

Suddenly and without warning, Dana bent over, her head in her hands, as she desperately tried to control the flow of tears from her sleep-swollen eyes. This wasn’t happening. Not again. She thought she had mastered it, conquered it, resolved the grief within the depths of her soul.

<Dammit,> she cursed silently, as the tears continued to flow and sobs racked her petite frame. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“Stop it, Dana,” she yelled aloud, ordering herself to recollect her emotions. “Just stop it. Stop it!” Over and over she repeated those words, until the tears slowed to a faint trickle and she was able to stand upright again over the brewing pot of coffee.

She couldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t think about it. She had enough to think about as it was, with Nora Benton and the mystery of her death. No other deaths or personal losses would be allowed in the mind and heart of Dana Scully.

As she poured a cup of the steaming brew before her, Dana tried to concentrate on the wonderful smells of the brown liquid. It seemed to help some, as she continued to fight the sad memories which flooded her consciousness.

It was over. It was all over, before it had even begun. And it was for the best, the best for a child never meant to be, at least for now. But God, what she wouldn’t have given to keep Emily alive, to have some part of her to carry on when she was gone. Flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood, sinew and muscle, bone and cartilage, heart and mind, soul and spirit. The heiress to all of Dana’s hopes and dreams, snuffed out like a candle as soon as the light of hope had graced the fragile wick.

And it was over.

She’d thought it was over.

“No,” she said to the space around her. “I will not do this to myself. I have a life to live. I have a job to perform. I will not let this happen to me, not again.” Her hands were trembling as she shakily poured fresh cream into her coffee.

Misjudging the amount she’d put into the mug, the liquid began to run over the edges. Dana uttered a string of barbaric expletives while running to procure a paper napkin.

If this was how her day was beginning, she wasn’t sure she wanted to live through the rest of it.

But, as always, she had no choice.

No choice. No choice in her assignment to the X-Files. No choice in taking on assignments she didn’t want and canceling vacations she had planned for months in advance. No choice in having no life outside of her work, because work was all she knew and did best. Everything else had been a complete and utter failure.

As she placed the warm mug to her lips, the sudden ring of the telephone caused Dana to spill even more coffee on herself. “Dammit!” she yelled. “Can’t I AT LEAST drink one cup of coffee without spilling it all over SOMETHING???” She stomped in a rage to the cordless phone, wiping one hand on the cotton of her robe and answering the phone with the other.

“Scully,” she said, noticing the caller ID, “and it’d better be good.”

“Good morning to you,” Mulder’s familiar voice chimed merrily, with the slightest hint of puzzlement.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Dana growled into the receiver. “What do you want?”

“Well, I’d like a large pizza with extra cheese, but seeing as how I dialed the wrong number for delivery….” he said dryly.

“Mulder, I’m in no mood for your games this morning, OK?” she hissed into the phone. “I’ve got a million things to do and I won’t let you deter me from them.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Mulder spoke with his signature sarcasm. “You’re so busy on weekends, particularly on weekends when you’d planned to be in Bermuda.” He paused. “Far be it from me to keep you from your adventurous life.”

Dana’s face softened as she listened to Mulder’s comment. His monotone voice bore only the slightest indication of annoyance, agitation, dejection. He was hurt that she’d snapped at him. “Mulder….”

“No, Scully, go on and finish your backlogged agenda. I know I’m somewhere between one thousand and one million in the rankings.” His voice had lost its usual dryness and sounded raspy, somewhat softer than usual.

He was hurt.

Dana winced.

“When you get to me, call me up,” he continued. “Maybe I’ll have solved that case for us by then.”

The case. The case. That’s why Mulder was calling. Oh, how stupid of her to have been so rude on the phone. Softly she asked, “Did you…do you…know something about the case?”

“Maybe,” Mulder replied, his voice again back to normal. “But I won’t bother you now. You obviously seem preoccupied.”

“No, no,” she argued vehemently, repeating the word over and over. “I mean, I…was just…” How could she explain? She couldn’t. “…having a rough morning.”

“Some morning,” he commented dryly.

“Yeah,” Dana agreed, nodding as she cleaned the coffee from her robe. “But I…I’m fine now. Do you know something else about the case?”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone before Mulder spoke. “Get a load of this,” he told her. “I checked down at Forensics this morning. Seems the guys who were working on those stacks of papers haven’t even been there since the papers were delivered yesterday.”

“Maybe they took them home,” Dana guessed.

“Nope.” Mulder paused again before continuing. “The papers are still on the desk in the lab, untouched, unread. They haven’t done anything with those papers, Scully.”

“That’s odd.” She frowned. “It would seem to me that something of that nature would be a priority.”

“Obviously not to the agents in question,” Mulder remarked. “They received the papers, set them down, and left, and that’s the last time anyone’s heard from them.”

“Why would they just leave them there?” she wanted to know. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” Mulder told her. “Nothing I’ve checked into anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Mulder sighed. “Nora Benton never got her autopsy,” he told his partner. “The pathologist in charge never even entered the building for the evening.”

Frowning, Dana began to pace the kitchen in circles. “But she was supposed to have been autopsied last night,” she informed him. “Tyler told me so himself. He said he would call if he needed my opinion after the results were processed.”

“Apparently he didn’t need your opinion,” Mulder told her. “Security confirmed the delivery of the body, but no documentation of anyone on the team entering the morgue can be found for last night. The guard on duty even told me he saw no one come in.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I even had another doctor check Nora’s body for any signs of an autopsy. Nothing. She’s just as she was found.”

Dana stopped in the middle of her frantic pacing. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Nora Benton should have received her autopsy. Tyler said he wanted to have the case handled as expediently as possible. What could have gone wrong? Why has the investigation come to a standstill?”

She heard Mulder chuckle on the other end. “All these years, Scully, and you’re still asking that question?”

Grinning, she answered him. “Now comes the time when I ask you for your theory, O Wise One.”

Mulder chuckled.

“Nora Benton never received her autopsy because Tyler never meant for her to have an autopsy,” he suggested. “Either he or someone on the team never intended for it to happen. Someone with another agenda.”

<Oh, God,> Dana mused, sitting in a nearby chair. <Here we go again.>

“This same person also informed our boys in Forensics to go home for the weekend, that nothing in those papers could be a priority.” Mulder paused. “And I bet you anything that all your work you did yesterday morning is sitting on a shelf somewhere too, untouched.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she told him. “Sooner or later someone’s going to start asking questions as to why that evidence is just sitting around.”

“Not on a weekend, they won’t,” Mulder told her. “It’s obviously not detrimental evidence, not enough to completely cover up, but at the same time, someone doesn’t want anyone uncovering what the evidence may reveal for at least a couple of days.”

“Now why would someone do that?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Mulder replied. “Maybe this person needs time to think. Time to come up with some plausible story explaining the death of Nora Benton.”

“That would explain the delay, at least,” Dana said in agreement. “But who could it be?”

“That, Scully, is anyone’s guess,” she heard her partner say in reply.

She sighed. “So I guess we have our work cut out for us today, huh?”

“Damn straight,” Mulder told her jokingly.

“Well, where do we begin?”

Mulder paused before giving her his suggestion. “I say we go right to the source of the problem.”

“Where?”

“No, who,” Mulder stated flatly. “Nora Benton.”

–––––-

Dana smiled as she entered her partner’s spartan dwelling, making a mental note to hire an interior decorator this year for Mulder’s Christmas present. Hell, even a maid would do. The place was a wreck.

“Sorry about the mess,” Mulder said, closing the door behind her. “I haven’t had a chance to pick up since I got back.”

Dana continued to smile, accepting his excuse. She doubted he would have anyway.

“While you were driving over here,” Mulder told her, “I took the liberty of doing your end of the work this morning.” He handed her several sheets of paper.

“Mulder, what’s this?”

“Nora Benton’s bio.” He smiled. “I did all the digging on her while I was waiting for you.”

“Must’ve been some wait,” Scully commented, casually glancing at the contents of the pages.

“Here’s what’s really interesting,” Mulder told her. “Nora Benton was a psychologist, practicing out of her apartment. She supposedly had a fantastic reputation with alternative psychotherapy. She’d invented a new technique of dealing with repressed memories in adults.”

Dana looked up from the papers to meet her skeptical eyes with Mulder’s excited orbs.

“I found several articles on her as well,” he informed his partner with glee. “Seems she had a faithful following of prominent officials in Washington, though the articles never said who.”

“Really?” Scully frowned. “I can’t imagine her treating anyone in that apartment, much less anyone well-known in this city.”

Mulder mirrored her expression. “You said the apartment was bare,” he said. “And gray. Lots of gray.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Nothing to indicate the woman would have even lived there. Her bed was nothing but two mattresses piled on top of one another. Nothing in her closet but drab gray suits. What little food there was in the apartment was all canned, and bland-looking, in my opinion.”

“Maybe she was between paychecks,” Mulder remarked.

Sighing, Dana chose to ignore his comment.

“There was nothing of Nora Benton in that apartment, nothing of whatever personality she possessed,” she told him. “It was almost as if she refused to express an individual identity of any kind.”

“Instead,” Mulder guessed, “she took on the identities of her patients, absorbing them, so that she could more fully identify with them.”

Dana frowned again. “Mulder, what are you talking about?” she asked.

He handed her another sheet of paper. “One of the articles I read stated that Nora Benton felt a strong attachment to her patients. She would go above and beyond her professional limits in an attempt to identify with her patients, to bring their repressed memories directly into their consciousness, so that they could better deal with the problems haunting them for years.” He took a deep breath. “My guess is that she painted the walls gray so that each patient could identify in a unique way with his or her surroundings and thus open the doors to the subconscious mind, in a form of some—self-induced hypnosis.”

“You’re crazy,” she told him, holding back a slight laugh. “I can’t believe you think this woman made her life so terribly boring so that she could achieve the ultimate results in her patients. It’s a ludicrous notion, Mulder.”

“But one that earned her a lot of money in the process,” Mulder countered. “So someone believed her. A lot of people believed her.”

“You believe her,” Scully said accusingly at her partner.

Mulder nodded. “It’s the best lead we’ve got so far,” he told her. “And if we’re going to find any answers, we need to ask the people who believed her, after we pay a little visit to Nora.”

“And what do you suppose we do when we get there?” Dana asked bitingly. “Conduct an interview with her?”

“Of sorts,” Mulder replied, grinning all the while. “I think it’s high time Nora gets her autopsy, don’t you think?”

***

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dana hissed at Mulder as they walked down the dark corridor of the morgue. “We’re going to get fired, both of us.”

Mulder grinned. “You bring the cardboard box and I’ll pick the alley,” he whispered humorously. “We’ll at least have each other.”

Dana chose to ignore her partner’s comment as she continued to walk.

Suddenly Mulder stopped her. “What?” she whispered.

“I hear something,” he said quietly, holding a finger to his full lips and craning his head to one side. “It might be security.”

“Didn’t you come up with a plausible story before we got here?” Dana asked him.

“Not enough time,” Mulder told her. “That and I couldn’t get a hold of the Gunmen to get me legit access.”

“‘Legitimate’ is hardly the word I’d use for this, Mulder,” she hissed in his ear, as Mulder continued to listen for other sounds.

“Nora Benton’s body should be in the west wing,” she told Mulder. “At least that’s what the records up front said.”

Mulder chuckled. “They need better security in this place,” he said, “if anyone can just walk in and look at whatever they want.”

“Write a note on the way out,” Dana remarked sassily, receiving an appreciative look from Mulder.

Once they had found the west wing, Dana easily located the correct room number. “This should be it,” she said, carefully opening the door and looking around before entering the room.

Rows upon rows of corpse-filled cabinets greeted Dana’s eyes as she searched them for Nora Benton’s name. “She’s not here,” she told Mulder.

“You’re kidding,” he said, attempting to stay as far away from the cabinets as possible.

“They must have taken her,” she guessed, “or transferred her to another wing. I wonder where she is?”

“Keep looking,” Mulder told her. “The records say she’s in here; she has to be in here.”

Dana continued to search along the wall, but to no avail. “There’s nothing here, Mulder,” she told him. “Looks like we were too late.”

“Maybe she’s here,” Mulder said, eyeing an unusual door-like crack in the wall.

“It’s a panel,” Dana said, running her hands over the area. “A secret door or something.”

Mulder grinned. “Tell me, Dr. Scully, why they would have secret panels in the walls of a city morgue.” As he pushed on it, the panel began to open, allowing room for one person to enter at a time.

Mulder entered first, whistling. “Wow, get a load of this, Scully,” he commented, his back to her.

“I will, if you’ll let me through,” she retorted, pushing him through the panel.

What greeted Dana’s eyes as she entered the room was unlike anything she had ever seen before. At least a dozen corpses were laid on examining tables, under excruciatingly harsh lighting. In fact, the light above each corpse was the only light the room provided, casting the spaces between in ghostly shadows.

“What is this?” she asked her partner, her eyes wide.

Mulder shrugged. “You’re the expert here,” he remarked, looking around the room.

“Well,” Scully said, “it…appears to be a mass autopsy bay, with tables for simultaneous work,” she told Mulder. “This kind of room would be well served in a more public area of the morgue, for students, even. Why is it behind a wall?”

Mulder grinned. “Scully, you keep asking the wrong person. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t know everything.”

Dana sighed. “Very funny, Mulder.”

She made her way to one of the bodies and read the identifying tag attached to the woman’s toe. “Linda Norton. It’s not her.”

Mulder followed suit, reading the names on each toe tag, one after the other.

“None of these women have been autopsied,” Scully told him. “They’ve been prepared, but no one’s been here to begin work on them.”

“Whoever it is, he’s got his work cut out for him,” Mulder remarked dryly, moving to another body.

Dana ignored the pun and continued to look at the body. “It can’t be just one pathologist, not for all these bodies. There must be several people coming in,” she told him.

“Answer me this, Scully.” Mulder made his way around the room, reading toe tag after toe tag. “Why do I get the feeling that I should cry discrimination?”

“What?” Dana looked up from the body she was inspecting.

“I mean, I’m the only male in this room.” Mulder grinned wryly.

“Mulder, do you have a point, or are you going to keep delivering really bad jokes for the rest of the day?” she grumbled, returning to the body.

“I have a point,” Mulder retorted, forgetting the other bodies to approach his partner. “All these bodies are women. Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“Not really,” she replied, examining the wound on Linda Norton’s throat.

“I mean, all these women, all kept behind a secret panel. Something’s being pushed under the rug, Scully.”

“Mulder, please.” Scully checked a matching wound on the woman’s wrists.

“But you agree with me,” Mulder said confidently. “You know something’s going down here.” He looked down at the body she was examining. “What are you looking for?”

Dana shrugged. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’d have to do an autopsy on all these women to find anything out, and we don’t have that kind of time.” She pointed to the woman’s throat. “But what does interest me are these wounds, right here, and–” she pointed to both her wrists, “–right here.”

“How did she get them?” Mulder asked.

“Most likely, someone used a knife to cut directly across her trachea, then cut her wrists as well. There are no other external wounds. It looks as if this woman bled to death.”

Mulder grinned. “Yet another blatantly obvious statement from Agent Scully, and two in one day, no less.”

Dana muttered a curse under her breath and continued examining the three wounds with minute precision.

“The angle of the knife was perpendicular to the woman’s body,” she announced to Mulder, the previous joke forgotten. “But what amazes me is how very little force was applied to the throat upon making the incision. Only the skin and surrounding blood vessels were affected. Her pharyngeal and esophageal tracts seem to be intact.”

“Would you mind translating that, Doctor?” Mulder quipped dryly, reading another toe tag.

“What I’m saying,” Scully announced to Mulder, “is that the knife only sliced through her skin and her jugular vein. The killer never made it to her windpipe or esophagus.”

“What a shame,” Mulder remarked again. “Must have had a bad teacher.”

Dana sighed in frustration. Sometimes she wished her partner had better taste in his humor.

Mulder spoke again. “What do you make of that, Dr. Scully?”

“Well,” she replied, “it could be anything, really. Either the killer couldn’t hold the woman down enough to fully complete his job, or–”

“Or?”

“Or–the woman slit her throat herself.” Dana looked up at her partner, whose hazel eyes were wide open in astonishment.

“Scully, are you saying this woman killed herself?” he wanted to know.

“I’m not saying anything,” she said, “but given the depth of penetration of the knife, I’d say it’s most likely.”

Mulder directed her attention to the other bodies in the room. “Then you needn’t bother looking at the others,” he told her flatly.

Scully approached Mulder, who was looking over another body. “Why do you say that?”

Mulder pointed to identical wounds on the body beside them. “Looks like they all decided to play follow-the-leader.”

“Dear God,” Dana murmured as she examined identical wounds on the woman’s throat and wrists. Amazed, she walked to another body, and another body, and witnessed the exact wounds on all the women in the room. “This…this is…”

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Mulder finished her sentence.

“Well…” Exciting wasn’t quite the word Dana had in mind, but interesting pretty much described it. Intriguing.

“Looks like we have a mass suicide on our hands,” Mulder commented as he surveyed the room. “A mass suicide that someone is trying to keep quiet.” He went over to one of the women he had already identified and said, “Does the name Ellen Dorne grab you?”

“Ellen Dorne?” Scully’s eyes grew to twice their original size. “As in the wife of Senator David Dorne?”

“You got it,” Mulder replied, pointing to the body.

Dana walked over to the body of Ellen Dorne and gasped. “Last night…”

“What?” Mulder wanted to know.

“Last night…before you called…I was watching the news. There was a mass suicide somewhere on the outskirts of D. C., all of them women. They were found in an abandoned warehouse.”

“I think we’re looking at the Top Story right now,” Mulder told his partner, as they looked upon the pallid face of Ellen Dorne.

“Damn, I wished I’d listened more closely,” Scully said regretfully. “I was too engrossed in…” she stopped herself in time.

“In what, Scully?”

“In…other things,” she answered, satisfied with her reply. Mulder, of all people, could never be privy to all that had been on her mind last night.

“Other things?” he grinned. “I won’t say what comes to mind.”

“Mulder, you’re impossible,” she said with disgust, turning from him to walk towards a darkened corner of the room. Hopefully he hadn’t seen the vivid flush of crimson on her cheeks. Dana Scully could not afford to reveal even the tiniest flaw in her titanium armor, particularly to a partner with laser-like eyes of hazel.

When she stumbled on something beneath her, all hopes of remaining calm and collected faded swiftly as she tumbled to the floor.

“Scully?” she heard Mulder call out. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she said weakly, turning to see what had tripped her up.

“You know, you should be more careful when walking into dark corners of a room,” Mulder remarked as he approached her. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“Mulder…” she said, her voice trailing off in complete astonishment. “Come here.”

Mulder ran to her side, kneeling before her. “What is it?” he asked her.

Dana shook her head, her eyes wide. “Not what, Mulder. Who,” she said, as she showed him the toe tag of the body over which she had fallen.

Nora Benton.

***

It had taken several plans and attention to detail to procure the body of Nora Benton from the city morgue and into the autopsy bay at Headquarters. Mulder had suggested she do it there, but Dana knew it wasn’t safe enough, given the secrecy of their surroundings, so she had transported the body herself to Headquarters. Luckily there were no prying eyes snooping around the J. Edgar Hoover Building on a weekend.

“Case number 99-2274,” she murmured dispassionately into the miniature recording device. “Subject’s name, Nora Benton. Preliminary observation reveals epidermal lacerations on wrists and hands, and most prominently, one major horizontal laceration above the trachea.” She gulped, cringing from the icepick still lodged in the woman’s skull.

“Subject appears to have died as a result of massive head trauma to the brain,” she continued, trying her best to detach herself as much as possible from the chilling, gruesome feelings ebbing through her body. “Another entry wound reveals cranial and cerebral damage, most likely resulting in instantaneous death. Object used to penetrate cranium: one metal icepick.”

She shuddered involuntarily.

Christ, what a gruesome way to die.

She steeled herself suddenly, speaking coldly into the recorder.

“It is undetermined at present whether or not this wound was self-inflicted; however, given the other physical evidence, it is my opinion that this wound was rendered in a manner similar to the others, and apparently caused with little struggling or dissuasion. Preliminary opinion of subject’s death would be most likely suicide.”

Dana sighed as she bent over the body of Nora Benton. As curious as she was to find out what killed this woman, it was still another autopsy. Another chain in her never-ending circle of existence.

God, she hated circles.

She muttered to herself as she began the external examination, her hands operating autonomously from the thoughts swelling and spiraling inside her head.

she’d said after a late- night autopsy in Chaney, Texas. Everything she did was somehow linked to his benefit. What did she benefit from her findings and explorations into the human body?

Not much, if anything at all.

she repeated again, still lost in her thoughts. She gave him her all, and not just with her medical expertise. She gave him everything she had to offer, her advice, her support, the comfort of her company when he was feeling upset and frustrated with every closing door to the truth he’d been seeking. Yet it was still his work which shaped his destiny, and hers as well.

Dammit, why didn’t she have a desk? Why couldn’t she feel as if she were his equal in their partnership? Why was it always HIS work and not hers that drew the most attention?

Most likely his work on this case would again call attention to himself, and none to his supporting characters. That was all she was anyway to him, a useful device to help him with the work and the truth he’d pursued his entire life. Everything revolved around his egocentric microcosm of a world. Even in this case. He’d felt Agent Tyler wasn’t qualified enough to solve it, and had taken it upon himself to do the honors.

And yet it was more her case than his.

How did he manage to usurp control right from under her nose?

And how did she manage to even ponder the other thoughts she’d been having about Fox Mulder, ever since day one of their quest, knowing his nature?

She didn’t, she reminded herself. She forced them to the back of her mind.

Yet they returned, even stronger than ever, and Dana hated herself for allowing it to happen. She should have more control over herself, over her thoughts.

As she began the Y incision, she thought about the last time she’d felt out of control, what she had done to herself, to Mulder, what that psycho Ed Jerse had almost done to her, and shuddered. She could not let herself lose control like that again, no matter how frustrated she felt.

Suddenly she remembered what Ed had said to her in that terrible bar. <Sounds like your time has come around again.>

Oh God, she hated circles.

he’d said to her.

She felt her hands begin to tremble as the memories of that night and the horror of the morning after began to unfold in her brain all over again. Another event she would have liked to keep in the back of her mind.

<This isn’t you, Dana,> she said to herself, remembering similar words in the face of a fiery demise.

Oh dear God, she could feel the heat of the furnace as if it were yesterday.

The flames were licking at her heels again, her hands shaking uncontrollably. “No,” she cried out, her head in her trembling hands.

“NO!” she yelled, remembering the words she’d pleaded to Ed as the heat of the furnace grew hotter and hotter. “Take control, Dana! Goddammit, take control!”

The scalpel Dana was holding landed on the floor as she grabbed a nearby countertop for support, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“I can’t do this!” she sobbed aloud, holding onto the counter for dear life. “I just can’t keep doing this anymore! When does my life begin?”

Goddamn circles.

Goddamn her job. Goddamn everything related to this joke of an existence, giving her awful nightmares at night, memories of Ed, of Duane Barry….

“Control!” she shouted, banging her hands on the counter.

…Torturous dreams of incredible lovers from her past, in the Academy, of Jack Willis, of the future, of….

“CONTROL!” she yelled violently, gritting her teeth as she squeezed the counter with all her might, fighting the pain of tension in her delicate hands.

It was too much, all of it.

Releasing her hold on the counter, Dana slid to the floor and collapsed into a ball, her arms wrapped around her legs, and began to rock gently, sobbing aloud.

“Why can’t it all just go away?” she asked softly, her voice barely intelligible.

Rocking and rocking, back and forth on the floor, Dana tried to find some sense of sanity in her life. What to do, what to do, what to do….where even to look to find it. Where to begin. How to forget.

Nothing was coming to mind.

“Control,” she sobbed over and over, chanting the word as if it were a mantra of strength, of power. As she continued to repeat the word, an edgy cynicism worked its way into the sadness of her voice.

She would never have control. She would never take control, because she didn’t know how. How could she take control when others held all the cards in life? What could she do to even try?

Rising to her feet, she gazed hatefully at her only option and retrived her scalpel from the floor. Science had always saved her in the past, even if it was a part of that damn circle.

It was a constant. The only constant. The only thing nearest to black and white in her tumultuous, infinite centrifuge of a life. Round and round, at least it provided facts and answers. Explanations. Reasons.

Sighing, she went to wash her hands, as the tears began to slowly dry on her cheeks. Finally, control. Control.

But no relief.

***

Dana wiped the slight sheen of perspiration from her brow as she stood over Nora Benton’s body. The autopsy was nearly complete. And, true to her opinion, it indeed looked as if Nora had done the deed herself.

What could have been so traumatic for a woman to stab herself in the head with an icepick, after slitting her throat and wrists to no avail? It just didn’t make sense. She wished she had more time…time to examine the other women….were they involved with Nora, or something completely different? And why were they all locked up together in a secret room in the morgue?

Answers. She needed answers.

But answers were not worth risking her job. Not this time.

Something told her this was far too involved for them. It didn’t feel right. It just didn’t feel —

The sudden noise of a door opening behind her caused her to jump several inches in the air.

Mulder. Oh thank God.

She caught herself, clutching her pounding heart with a relieved sigh.

“You still here?” Mulder said lightly, approaching her with a grin on his face.

That damn grin.

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Must be an alien or something.” Mulder’s grin widened. “You’ve been working on Nora Benton all afternoon.”

A frustrated huff worked its way up to Dana’s throat as she returned to the body. “Things are going–more slowly than expected,” she told him flatly, attempting to restore some measure of calmness to her demeanor, her voice.

“Find anything interesting, to have taken so long?” Mulder wanted to know.

“Well,” Dana began, “everything looks fine internally. No sign of her having ingested any poison or an overdose of any drug. Of course, I’ll have to run a tox screen on what little blood is left in her body, but I don’t think this woman died of any internal causes.”

“What did she die of?” he asked her.

Dana pointed to the gaping wound on Nora’s throat. “She died in the same manner as the rest of the women.” Proving her point, she held up Nora’s wrists so that Mulder could verify the similarity between Nora and the others.

“Is it safe to say this is another suicide?” he asked.

“Nothing’s safe right now, Mulder,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the body. She could not — would not — encourage him down this path. Not this time.

So she diverted him.

“We have yet to find any evidence of weapons which could have been used to slice these women’s throats and wrists. We can’t even explain what they were doing, lying in a circle, in an abandoned warehouse, and why Nora, who died in her apartment, is locked up with these women.”

“We can’t explain,” Mulder said to her, “but we can certainly hypothesize.”

“Hypothesize all you want, Mulder,” she said matter-of- factly. “This case is going nowhere.”

Mulder slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Always knew I could count on your hopeful optimism, Scully.”

“I mean it, Mulder,” she told him emphatically, trying not to look at him. “With no trace of a weapon, with no other evidence analyzed, our hands are tied. We’d have to spend the rest of tonight and tomorrow in this lab, and we still wouldn’t get anything done before Monday morning.” She sighed. “Maybe we should just give up on Nora Benton and enjoy the rest of the weekend.”

“What?” Mulder frowned. “You want to just quit? Like that?”

“Mulder, I’m not spending my vacation at work, even if you choose to make this place your home.”

“What are you implying, Scully?” he said, his voice lowering.

Dammit, it was hard not to look at him. All she would have to do was look at him and he would cease and desist. Retreat. But she couldn’t let him see her in this condition. It would raise too many questions, questions which neither one of them were ready to address nor resolve.

“This is my vacation, Mulder. I had planned to be in Bermuda for three days, and here I am, doing an unauthorized autopsy on a woman who could very well cost me my job if it were found out. That’s not my idea of fun, though you seem to thrive on it.”

“Are you getting soft on me?” Mulder asked, his eyes penetrating like lasers through Dana’s flesh. “Come on, Scully. You said yourself that you wanted to pay Tyler back for ruining your vacation. Solve his case and you’ll get your payback. Expose his coverup, if indeed he’s behind this, and there’ll be one less conspiracy out there to hinder our work.”

“Our work?” A sarcastic sniggle erupted from her mouth as she continued to close up the body. “Unless I’m mistaken, Mulder, this is your work. Your life’s work. I’m just an overqualified assistant.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mulder said, with a hint of something threatening.

“You told me so yourself,” she said, covering the body. “Two years ago, to be exact. You made it clear that you had ‘busted your ass’, as you so eloquently put it, to get the Files reopened, and that I was just assigned to them.” She dared not look at him now; she knew the look in his eyes was even darker than before.

“Did I say that?”

Dana nodded. “I remember, Mulder.”

“Well, I don’t know about your interpretation of those words, but I clearly remember telling you how important the Files were to me–”

“And assuming they couldn’t be nearly as important to me, because I was ‘assigned’ to them,” Dana retorted, cutting him off.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me, Scully?” Mulder threatened her.

“I’m not doing anything, Mulder,” she said, still looking down. “I’m merely stating fact.”

“You’ve been stating fact ever since you walked into my office,” Mulder growled, his voice strained. “That’s all I’ve heard from you. Fact after fact from Day One.”

“If you don’t like it, there are other options,” she said coolly, trying to disguise the hurt in her voice.

“Other options?” Mulder’s baritone timbre had lowered significantly. “Don’t talk like that, Scully. You know you can’t just walk away from this. From us.”

Her breath caught in her throat. What had he just said? “Us, Mulder?” She leaned over the body, still unable to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t aware there was an ‘us’.”

“Then where have you been for the last five years?” he asked her ominously. “Sitting at home while your dispassionate little clone lived in my office?”

He turned her around forcefully, his hands gripping her shoulders. “We’re a team, Scully. We work together, not apart. File that in your logical brain, if you can comprehend it.”

Suddenly her eyes shot up from the ground, icily meeting his angry stare. “If we’re such a ‘team’, Mulder, then explain to me why you can just go gallivanting off to God knows where without telling me where you are,” she said accusingly, unable to hide her frustrations of the previous day.

“What?” Mulder frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You do this every time you get a lead on some stupid case,” she told him. “You live on your impulses and you leave town without at least letting me know where you’ll be if you’re needed.”

“Who are you, my mother?” Mulder remarked with dripping sarcasm. “Do I have to phone home every time I want to go across the street?”

“No, but it would be helpful to know where you are in case something ever happened.” She frowned. “Why can’t you think of someone else for a change, instead of living in your selfish little world?”

“You think I’m selfish?” Mulder dropped his hands from her shoulders to point at himself. “If we’re going to call each other names here, I’ve got quite a few coming for you, Scully.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she growled, her eyes charged with electric blue. “You won’t turn this around on me. I had a right to know where you were going, and you didn’t even have the consideration or the courtesy to inform me of your whereabouts.”

Mulder spun around abruptly, uttering a string of curses before turning back around, his face livid. “Is this about Colorado?” he said. “Is all this about goddamn Colorado?”

Dana nodded. “Colorado’s only the tip of the iceberg, Mulder.” She moved closer to him, with an edge to her voice she hadn’t heard in a long time.

The twitch of his upper lip was the only response Mulder gave to his angry partner. He continued to scowl as she berated him.

“But,” she continued, “it was the proverbial straw.” She gave him an evil glare before turning back to the body.

“I don’t understand,” he told her. “I came back because of–”

“Because of what?” Dana shouted, her voice seeping with cynicism. “More work to do?”

“Dammit, Scully, would you let me explain?” he yelled. “I came back because the case was bogus. The goddamn case was bogus. Everything about it was fake. Not to mention that I was having a positively dismal time without–”

“Without?” Dana repeated, as Mulder’s voice trailed off.

The lines which had softened on Mulder’s face seconds ago reappeared in a sinister sneer. “Forget it,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You wouldn’t understand even if I gave you the honor of disclosing that information to you.”

“Try me,” Dana taunted, her voice bitter.

Mulder shook his head. “No,” he breathed, walking away from her. “Some things aren’t worth it, Scully. That’s one that isn’t.” He began to move toward the door.

Dana frowned as she watched Mulder leave. “Wait– wait a minute,” she called out to him. “Where are you going?”

“To Hell,” Mulder yelled over his shoulder, as he neared the door. “I hear it’s the off season down there.”

“You can’t just walk away!” she exclaimed, her face contorted with anger. “I’m not finished yet!”

“It is finished,” Mulder told her, finally turning around at the door, his face and voice devoid of any emotion. “If my work measures up to your standards, Miss High and Mighty, I’ll see you on Monday morning.” With that, the door closed behind him.

The loud slam of the door reverberated throughout Dana’s body, over and over again. She winced as she remembered the look on Mulder’s face, the brief, pained expression he’d given her as he’d slammed the door.

She’d hurt him.

But she’d been right. She was always right. She’d had every right to confront him with her frustrations. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted to hear the night he returned?

And this was why she hadn’t told him.

<Oh, God,> she thought to herself, sinking to the floor. <What have I done?> Mulder would never forgive her for insulting his life, his work, his life’s work. She might as well request a reassignment on Monday morning.

But if he would have just given her some common courtesy all these years, she would have never had to insult him. She would have never had to deal with the worry, the frustration, the anxiety that came with wondering where her partner was, if he was alive or dead.

Oh well. It didn’t matter a hell of a lot now anyway. Nothing could compensate for the loss that was inevitable.

Mulder wasn’t going to change, and she was too bullheaded to do anything on her end. The situation was hopeless.

She frowned. What was it that Mulder had said, before he’d stopped himself? What had he meant by making an excuse for his sojourn in Colorado?

Concentrating, Dana closed her eyes, trying to recount every word of their exchange. She heard the words replay in her mind, as clear as if Mulder had been in the room.

<Not to mention that I was having a positively dismal time without….> Without what? she’d asked him. He’d appeared to have an answer for her, but he’d kept it to himself with an evil look on his face, a look of disdain for their petty words.

<You wouldn’t understand.> What would she not understand? True, Mulder was a mystery, but surely any information he imparted to her could only help to clarify and perhaps even justify his actions, his motives, his personality. Maybe she would have begun to understand him.

But he hadn’t let her. He’d kept it to himself.

What the hell had he been trying to say to her?

For a brief moment, Dana had seen Mulder’s face soften with the briefest hint of something gentle. Tender. Something she rarely witnessed in him. Something had caused him to forget his rage, even for a mere second. What had he been thinking?

Were his thoughts the prized information she was unworthy to receive? What could have possibly been running around in his head that he couldn’t have told her? And why did he have to keep it to himself? Why had he deemed her unworthy?

Oh, hell. It didn’t matter now; everything was ruined. She’d be lucky if he even spoke to her again. If she even returned to that closet of an office on Monday morning. If she even had a job on Monday morning.

Rising from the floor, Dana dusted herself off and proceeded to clean the examining table, carefully wrapping the body, though she failed to see the importance of handling this woman’s body with the utmost attention. As far as she was concerned, she was through with Nora Benton. Nora Benton had gotten her into this mess to begin with. Nora Benton had ruined her vacation.

But she couldn’t let Tyler off the hook either. He was responsible for her joke of an assignment, and probably responsible for covering up the investigation as well, for reasons unknown. She had to find out what secret this Nora Benton was hiding, important enough for her to kill herself and somehow influence the suicides of twelve other women. Important enough to warrant a conspiracy cloaked in the guise of a federal investigation.

It might mean her job, but she would probably quit anyway.

With or without Mulder, she’d find the answers.

But God, hopefully not alone.

***

The welcoming decor of the living room greeted Dana’s eyes as she entered her apartment, sighing with relief. She could relax now. No body to worry about; she’d disposed of it accordingly. There were no signs that anyone had ever discovered the bodies of those twelve women and no clues as to who had taken the body of Nora Benton.

Checking the clock on the wall, she sighed. Five thirty. Twenty-four hours since she’d last returned to the comforting chamber of her inner world, her private life. At least here she could be alone with her thoughts for a while and make some effort to sort through them and decide her next course of action, in the following hours.

But first, she needed a shower.

Dana made her way into the bathroom as she divested herself of each layer of clothing, one by one, until she was completely naked. Turning on the shower, she stared at herself in the mirror as the water grew warmer and warmer.

God, she looked frightful. Pale and wan, with dark circles under her swollen, bloodshot eyes. Her lips were closer to the color of ecru than their usual shade of rose. She’d seemed to age ten years in a matter of hours, and she didn’t like the results.

The image greeting her in the mirror seemed to improve as the steam began to fog the mirror and surround her in clouds of magic mist. She smiled as she watched the steam envelop her, caress her skin, and breathed deeply of the hydrating moisture.

She smelled frightful too, she thought, as her nostrils inhaled the lingering odors of Nora Benton’s autopsy. Hopefully her soap was strong enough to wash all her sensory memories down the drain, including the argument she’d had with Mulder.

Somehow she guessed no soap was strong enough to cleanse her of that stain on her conscience.

Gingerly stepping into the shower, Dana moaned as the furious impact of streaming hot water bombarded her pale flesh. She was almost inclined to believe the water contained medicinal properties, seeing as how her spirits were slightly lifted as soon as she felt the rush of the water on her skin.

She took her time, enjoying in the luxury of a free evening with no time constraints, no deadlines, no meetings. Time had stopped for Dana Scully, and she was in no hurry to start it again.

As she ran the bar of soap over her petite body, she felt the faint stirrings of life between her thighs. Gasping, her eyes widened. She’d thought she was too tired. Mentally, perhaps. Maybe her body had other ideas.

It had been so long. Too long for Dana to have been without a lover to grace her shower, her bed, her life. Her body had a habit of reminding her every so often what she was missing in her sacrifices for her work.

She didn’t like to be reminded.

Or did she?

The slippery softness of the raspberry-scented soap felt exquisite on her neck, her shoulders, her arms, lingering just enough on her breasts to tease and excite.

My God, did that feel good. When was the last time she had been touched like that, the last time she had touched herself with such gentleness, with such tender concern? Her body wanted it, craved it, longed for it, and yet she dismissed her desire every day, forcing it to that faraway place in the back of her mind.

Somehow Dana sensed that in that faraway place, two personal desires in particular were having fun with one another.

No. That faraway place was forbidden territory. Forbidden for years, and even more forbidden now. Besides, far more important issues were running around in her mind. She could not allow herself to enjoy the pleasures of fantasy when reality loomed ominously above her head.

Silently willing away the ache within her, Dana took deep breaths as she finished lathering her skin with the sweet-smelling soap. Applying a clinical perspective to her bathing ritual usually had eliminated any signs of arousal in the past.

Once more, Dana thought with mixed emotions, the doctor needed to be restored to the throne, to rule the woman, science sovereign over sentiment, over senses, over….

<Dammit,> she cursed to herself, rubbing the soap more vigorously in an effort to cleanse herself of her damning impulses. She couldn’t come clean. She would rub her skin raw. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried. She’d tried to rid herself of all feeling and emotion for years, if only to keep her sanity, her logic.

If Mulder were here, he’d have dubbed her mental. Obsessive-compulsive. Worse than that, even schizophrenic. No doubt he had seen through her cool facade and passed judgment on her years ago. Who was she kidding, walking into that building with calm reserve, speaking with little emotion, demonstrating even less of it? Thinking only in terms of rational, quantifiable, tangible matters? It wasn’t the person she greeted in the evening, in the wee hours of the night, when she lay in bed awake, alone.

Alone as ever.

When had the doctor conquered the woman? Why had she let it happen? What purpose, what selfish gain, did she have for allowing such a hostile takeover to occur within her soul?

Then again, Dana mused wryly as she turned off the water, she couldn’t remember if she was ever a complete woman, even before med school. It had been so long.

God, she was suffering from some form of dementia. It was a wonder she was still fully functional. Well, mostly functional. Dana wondered if she could actually function on all levels as she claimed to do. She claimed to be proficient at a lot of things. Highly proficient, at that, sometimes to the point of near genius.

Yet her science couldn’t even save the one chance she’d ever had at continuing her father’s good name, the one chance of finally realizing the awe-inspiring power of becoming a mother.

Suddenly Dana heard a voice from within begin to taunt her viciously. <He saved others.>

Dana gasped, remembering the words from the Scripture, of a man who’d mocked the Messiah on the cross.

She couldn’t even save Emily, let alone save herself from the years of a civil war for control of Dana Scully. The world knew the truth. And they were mocking her.

They had good reason, all of them. No person of flesh and blood could be so reserved, so cold, so clinical, without displaying some degree of humanity.

She heard the mocking voice again, loud and jeering, and cringed.

<Physician, heal thyself!>

Dana clutched the small gold cross at the base of her throat and closed her eyes as the voice grew louder and louder.

<Physician, heal thyself!>

“I CAN’T!!” Dana yelled aloud, turning around in the small confines of the bathroom. “I can’t…!”

The voices multiplied in her head, many voices, all mocking her icy bravado and cool reserve. All mocking her, the person she’d become, the person she thought she’d wanted to become.

Dana fought to contain the tears which were brimming in her eyes. Gazing wildly at the door, she opened it and ran into the bedroom, hoping to escape the maddening cry of the mob.

They meant to crucify her.

They meant to punish her for her crimes, against the world, and against the one person who’d suffered under those crimes for years.

Herself.

A fitting punishment for a lifetime of lies.

They meant to crucify her.

“No,” Dana moaned, as she frantically searched for clothes with which to cover herself.

Would they cast lots for her garments as well?

Would they rend them in pieces to divide among themselves?

As she threw on a black knit top and old, faded jeans, she felt a sharp pain in her side. The sword of their maddening laughter had pierced through her shell of pretense, bleeding her of her sanity.

It wasn’t enough to break her spirit, but to drive her completely mad as well? Where was that elusive control she so desperately sought?

Somewhere in Bermuda, most likely.

Well, she wouldn’t let it stay for long.

Swiftly, decisively, Dana ran into the living room, hoping to distract the terrible voices in her head with something else as the focus of her attentions. When her gaze rested on her notes from the autopsy, she recognized something else sitting on the end table.

The CD and the sheet of paper she’d taken from Nora Benton’s apartment.

She hadn’t even listened to it yet. How foolish of her to put it off. She’d taken the skeptic’s way and ignored a direct piece of evidence in her hands, however elusive it might be. Nora Benton obviously had placed this song, whatever it was, on some plane of importance, some deeper level of meaning, to paste it on her bedroom door, with nothing else on the walls. Regardless of how cryptic the lyrics had read last night, Dana was determined to unlock its secrets.

Anything to get those goddamn voices out of her head.

With a flip of the wrist, Dana inserted the CD into her stereo and went to the couch to listen to the first song on the CD, the same song written on the sheet of paper.

There had to be an answer in this song, somewhere.

And suddenly, as if by a miracle, the voices stopped, as if patiently listening, waiting, for what was about to happen.

The song began as any normal popular song would begin, with a four-measure introduction, and the commonly-used band of electric guitars, bass guitars, and percussion. The melody the lead guitar played, however, was far from ordinary. A unique motive of four-note phrases, in an arch of adjacent intervals, lent a foreboding sense of caution to the song.

The bass line was even more haunting, forming the foundation of rarely-heard combinations of major and minor chords. The song already sounded disturbing enough in the first four measures without adding the singer.

And then she heard the woman’s voice, this singer uniquely named Tori Amos, her first few words ethereal yet sensual, silken yet sandy, all at once. Quickly her eyes flew to the lyrics in her hand, to read along.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches.’

The phrase repeated itself.

Had Nora Benton been a smoker at one time? Had she been addicted to nicotine patches? No. Dana remembered seeing no history of it in the papers Mulder had given her earlier.

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark.’

The gears in Dana’s head began to whir as she accessed her memories of the lighting in the apartment. It had seemed to be adequate. Whatever significance that line possessed probably wasn’t literal.

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is.’

On a whim, Dana casually checked the clock on the wall.

Five fifty-eight.

Smiling to herself, she thought, Those voices weren’t in her head anyway. They weren’t real. They weren’t there.

‘Here. Here. Here.’

Suddenly Dana frowned. Was the song arguing with her?

She began to fear for her sanity.

After a brief two-measure interlude, the singer named Tori launched into a second verse of similar material.

‘She’s convinced she could hold back a glacier

‘But she couldn’t keep Baby alive

‘Doubting if there’s a woman in there somewhere.’

‘Here. here. here.’

Scully frowned again, lost in thought. Had Nora Benton miscarried a baby in the past? She checked the medical records Mulder had procured for her and shook her head. No evidence of her having a miscarriage, but there was an incident involving her mother giving birth to a stillborn child. Could that have had an influence on her life?

By now the song was well into what appeared to be the chorus. Dana listened intently as she followed along on the lyric sheet.

‘You say you don’t want it. This circus we’re in

‘But you don’t…don’t really mean it

‘You don’t…don’t really mean it.’

The band repeated the interlude from the beginning of the song as Dana pondered the words of the chorus. What could this part of the song possibly refer to in Nora Benton’s life? What had she refused, yet wanted all at the same time?

She’d have to listen to the next stanza of verses to find that out.

‘If the Divine master plan is perfection

‘Maybe next I’ll give Judas a try.’

Again, she frowned, perplexed by the elusive meaning of the lyrics. What significance could that have had for the woman? Had she subscribed to any form of religious tenet, any organization? If she’d been involved in something of that nature, it was clear from the lyrics that she had turned away from whatever influence it had held in in her life. It was impossible to know with any degree of certainty; Nora Benton had lived too private a life.

‘Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin

‘Here. Here. Here.’

What…? Ice cream assassin? What did that have to do with Nora Benton? What, in fact, was an ice cream assassin?

Suddenly Dana smiled, enlightened. Yes, she knew. Nora Benton must have eaten massive quantities of ice cream in one sitting. In fact, she remembered seeing several half-gallon cartons of ice cream in Nora’s freezer on the day of the investigation. She had dismissed it as normal; Dana herself always had plenty of ice cream on hand for emergencies.

Quickly her enlightenment turned to astonishment when Dana recognized the eerie similarity between Nora Benton’s eating habits and her own. She felt her heart skip a beat as she pondered the parallel.

Surely the song wasn’t….no. That was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Unfathomable. Nora Benton had the song taped to her bedroom door. It had nothing to do with anyone else.

Dana mused wryly.

The chorus repeated itself. Dana listened, reading the words carefully, still unable to make a connection between the lyrics and the life of Nora Benton. This was extremely difficult, without having known the woman personally.

The answers were there, somewhere. If she had to listen to the song a hundred times, a thousand times, she would find them.

Suddenly the singer named Tori introduced entirely new material into the song. The music was different, less foreboding, lighter, almost in a sense of satire or sarcasm. Dana read the lyrics as she listened to the lilting duet of vocalist and piano.

‘How many fates turn around in the overtime?’

Poetic words, but what did they mean?

‘Ballerinas who have fins that you’ll never find?’

Ditto for the next phrase.

‘You thought that you were the bomb, yeah well so did I’

That seemed more comprehensible to Dana than the lyrics before it. Obviously Nora Benton had placed herself on a much higher level of importance than most people. Her success at alternative regression therapy had probably gone to her head. Yet she’d denied herself, her ego, her selfish desires, to paint her apartment gray, to live an ordinary life, with no pretenses of materialism. It just didn’t make sense.

As the chorus returned, in a slightly altered form, Dana frowned. As crazy as it had sounded at the time, perhaps Mulder was right. Maybe this woman had forsaken her identity to completely absorb herself into the lives of her patients. It would explain a lot of things, including the mysterious meaning of the lyrics she’d just read.

If Mulder was right…she shook her head. She’d never let him know she even considered the possibility.

She never had let him know many possibilities she’d considered in the past. Many possibilities….

<Dammit, Dana, do not go down that road,> she ordered herself sternly. She was not prepared for a journey of such massive proportions.

The song ended with nothing but a lone electric guitar and the singing of Tori Amos, repeating the first lines of the song.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is.

‘Here. Here. Here.’

And then the song abruptly ended, on an unexpected, unresolved chord, which faded quickly into nothing.

Dana stopped the playback of the second track on the CD, her senses reeling from the haunting, disturbing song she’d just heard. She didn’t want to hear anything else.

Were songs like this one common in this singer’s compositional output? Who was she, anyway?

And why had Dana never heard of her in her life?

She examined the picture of Tori Amos on the cover of the jewel case, her eyebrows lowered in a slight frown. The woman obviously dyed her hair red, and from the looks of it, had no concept of how to groom the long, unruly strands which radiated from her face.

She was pretty though, in an unusual way. From what little Dana could make out of her body, the woman was petite. The length of her arms confirmed it. And thin, too, judging from the absence of anything but flesh and bone on her lower arms.

A cursory glance at the contents of the inner lining revealed that the woman named Tori wrote her own songs and music. As dark as the first song had been, Dana had to give the woman credit. She was an exceptionally gifted poet, songwriter, and singer, but obviously very disturbed. Seeking a release from some pent-up frustration or anger in her past.

Her frown deepened. Everyone was disturbed in some way. Everyone sought release from their problems, their hangups, their obstacles. Everyone found release in different ways, by placing themselves in front of a metal television box, writing songs and music with personal meaning, even dissecting bodies on an examining table, as was her case.

Somehow, releasing her frustrations through a scalpel wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she’d wanted it to be.

Maybe that could account for those damn voices in her head.

Dana sighed and repeated the first track on the CD, retrieving the lyric sheet once more. Understanding Nora Benton was the key to her success in this endeavor. This sappy self-reflection and introspection was not going to solve the case any sooner.

The familiar introduction penetrated Dana’s ears as she listened more intently. This time she would unlock the secrets of the song.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches.’

Dana paused the song after the first sentence. What could Nora Benton have been addicted to, besides eating large amounts of ice cream?

If Mulder was correct in his hypothesis, that sentence was easy to decipher if taken figuratively. Nora Benton was addicted to her work. Addicted to everything involving her work. Addicted enough to forget herself, forget her desires, her past, and absorb the lives of those faithful patients. She might have tried to quit before, hence the reference to the nicotine patches, but ended up addicted to a different version of her work, a version equally as addictive.

Dana gasped as her life suddenly came into focus. Dear God, she didn’t want to believe it, but she was addicted as well. Addicted to her science, her medicine, and now an equally addictive version of it…her work on the X-Files.

No. This wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t prepared to deal with this, not now. This song was not about her life. Quickly she released the pause button to distract herself from her inner thoughts.

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark.’

Dana paused the song again, pondering the meaning of those words. Another figurative meaning, obviously, dark being an ancient symbol of chaos, disorder, evil. Light being all that was good, including wisdom, power, order, and truth.

Truth. Oh no.

It was happening again.

Was Dana afraid of the light in the dark? Was she more content to crawl around in the darkness of disorder, of the inability to know the true reasons of life? Was she really afraid to find out the truth, the truth that her partner sought with every ounce of his energy?

Yes, she was. She admitted it. She didn’t want to know what those shadowy men knew. There was a high price to pay for enlightenment of that nature, to know of all the unspeakable horrors, the crimes, the deaths, the future of their existence. The brief rays of light she had seen were enough to send her running in the other direction.

So why the hell was she still in the game?

She’d never figure that one out.

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is’

Again, Dana paused the song, checking the clock. Three minutes after six. Obviously that had no real meaning, just a random time. But the rest of the sentence…

What was Nora Benton’s spark? What had motivated her to pioneer a regression therapy technique? Was the song a reflection of her having lost whatever spark she’d had long ago? What was Nora Benton’s spark?

Was she haunted by her own demons? Was that what had prompted her to cleanse others of the evil thoughts and damning forces within their psyches? Had Nora Benton been haunted also, as Dana had recently found herself to be?

Oh God. She shouldn’t have thought it.

Dana Scully’s spark. What the hell was Dana Scully’s spark? Why did she continue to keep going, even though she felt no motivation to go through the endless circles, every day?

Good question.

She’d wanted to be a doctor for as long as she could remember, to help the suffering, to save the dying. It had been for purely unselfish reasons. Things had changed, somewhere between medical school and the Academy. She’d suddenly developed a desire to distinguish herself in the Bureau and had played every political game she knew to gain the upper hand, even with Jack Willis.

She’d even developed strong feelings for him, which had even been better. It somehow had justified the reasons for her manipulative devices.

She thought she’d played the game right, down to the last square on the board, following every rule for success, until the day she was called into the office of Section Chief Blevins.

Her world, as she had known it, crumbled before her very eyes, in the lowest floor of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. She’d continued with her game for a while, hoping it would be a temporary assignment that would gain her the respect of her superiors.

But then matters had to complicate themselves. She’d begun to feel a strange sense of attachment to her work in that dusty basement office, and worse…to a partner she never would have thought she could honor, respect, and trust with her complete existence. Things were even more complicated now, particularly with these recently uncovered emotions running around in her heart.

And here she was, nowhere near where she’d planned to be by now in the Bureau hierarchy, and still moving in circles.

What was Dana Scully’s spark?

She couldn’t even begin to answer that question. She had no idea. She wasn’t even sure if she had a spark.

Dammit. This wasn’t supposed to be a time for personal reflection, yet it was fast becoming just that.

She pressed the pause button on her remote, bringing the song to life again.

‘She’s convinced she could hold back a glacier’.

Dana paused the song again. If Nora Benton had at one time thought she was above everyone else, then this sentence would nearly prove it. At one time, perhaps, Nora Benton possessed incredible strength, most likely around the time she created her technique.

‘But she couldn’t keep Baby alive’.

Obviously there was no miscarriage or birth attributed to Nora Benton, Dana remembered as she scanned the notes beside her. Did Nora Benton perceive that sentence as a reflection of her frustration with her project, with those who threatened to run it into extinction? Dana had no idea how many patients Nora had at the time of her death, but judging from the lack of food in the refrigerator, apparently she had been hurting economically for some time.

But that, of course, was mere speculation, as was every other idea she’d mulled around in her head.

Dana didn’t want to think about the more personal parallel which had surfaced in her head the instant she’d heard the lyrics. The woman described in those two sentences was herself, even more so than Nora Benton.

That damn front she put up for people, claiming to have it all together. What a load of crap. She had convinced herself at one time she was invincible, invulnerable, that nothing could touch her. Several times, actually.

But that was before her assignment to the X-Files, before she’d met Mulder, before her abduction, before the terrible ordeal of that mysterious cancer. Just when she’d gained control of herself, gained a feeling of some confidence and superiority, Fate seemed to hand her a great emotional tragedy.

Including Emily.

The familiar rush of saline into her eyes made Dana hold her breath. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. She did everything she could for that little girl, everything she had within her. Everything within the realm of science had been given to Emily, and still, it wasn’t enough.

She’d given her best to help that frail little girl survive, and little Emily had taken her best with her to the grave.

“Dammit,” she sobbed, as the tears began to flow. “Stay calm, Dana.” She allowed the song to play again, turning the volume higher.

‘Doubting if there’s a woman in there somewhere

‘Here. Here. Here.’

Dana stopped the song unexpectedly, unable to continue. Forgotten was Nora Benton; Dana couldn’t even begin to concentrate on her original purpose. Her mind was whirling in dangerous emotional spirals.

Was there a woman inside Dana Scully? She’d progressed from tomboy to bookworm to doctor in a matter of a few years, but she couldn’t remember a time she’d ever truly felt like a woman. A real woman, whatever the hell that was.

Had there ever been a time that she had felt feminine? True, she been desirable to a few men, but only for her intelligence, her achievements, her accomplishments. Had anyone ever looked at her with longing for her physical attributes as well?

Jeez, this was ridiculous. She couldn’t believe she was sitting here, wondering if anyone had ever found her attractive. It was not Dana Scully’s job in life to be found attractive. Instead, that job was only reserved for the less intelligent women who had no other options of getting what they wanted out of life.

And most of them succeeded, with some measure of happiness. Frankly, those women had usually succeeded in usurping Dana’s few love interests from her with their only advantage.

But those men had never found her truly attractive. They worshiped her mind; they were fascinated by the challenge she presented, with her scientific detachment, her calm demeanor. But none of them had ever spoken words of love, of passion, while in bed with her. She’d never heard herself called ‘sexy’ or ‘beautiful’. Although she tried her best not to accept it, she wanted to hear those words. She wanted to hear many things. She wanted to feel many things that she’d been scared to feel. All she’d needed was an expert teacher.

None had qualified long enough to last the race.

So there was a woman, somewhere within her, deep within the abyss she’d created for her hidden emotions. Bringing it out into the light would prove to be a daunting task, to say the least.

Could anyone meet the challenge?

Dana feared no one would ever try.

She sighed, leaning back into the softness of her sofa. There was someone who could. Someone who had, in rare instances, made her feel like a woman, someone who had brought those feelings to the surface of Dana Scully. She’d felt it in his arms, his comforting, protective embrace, the soft touch of his hand in hers. In the tingling of a brief, accidental touch of flesh on flesh, in the blush that resulted, she’d felt it. She’d felt it when he would express excitement over the slightest thing, charging the room with incredible energy. The mutual commitment they’d shared for a quest nearly matched the pleasure of two bodies in carnal union. Yes, she did feel like a woman. He did make her feel like a woman, even in his words of tenderness and encouragement, in humor and innuendo, when he spoke to her.

But it didn’t even matter anymore. Mulder would not be speaking to her for quite some time now, after what happened today.

She frowned. she told herself. <He shouldn’t have led me to say what I said.> She was not in the wrong; he was. She wanted nothing to do with him and his self-centered, egocentric existence.

She needed another distraction, anything to tear her away from these painful thoughts. She glanced at the remote and remembered the song. She had a job to do, a mission to fulfill, a mystery to solve, and she needed to continue. Returning to the song, Dana began to play the song again and instantly regretted ever having done so. ‘You say you don’t want it ‘Again and again but you don’t…don’t really mean it ‘You say you don’t want it. This circus we’re in ‘But you don’t…don’t really mean it ‘You don’t…don’t really mean it’. Oh God. The song. As clear as if Tori Amos herself had been in the room, Dana felt the song clearly bringing to light everything she’d fought so desperately to push to the back of her mind. Including Mulder.

She didn’t mean what she’d said. Lately she’d found it was a regular occurrence in her life. She did want to be loved. She did want to feel like a woman. Most of all, above all other things, she wanted Mulder. She needed Mulder. She could bear the endless circles of her life, if he could run them beside her. Without him, the straight and narrow path would be very long and lonely indeed. She wanted the long hours of work, of sacrificing her self, her soul, if only to know that in the morning she would be greeted by his handsome face, his crooked smirk, his dry wit. She could even tolerate being neglected for some hairbrained theory or case halfway across the country, if it meant he would return to her unharmed. <No, I don’t really mean it. I don’t,> she said to herself, agreeing with the lyrics of the song.

She only hoped that Mulder would still want her to share his shadowed path, after what she’d said today.

As intelligent as she made herself to be, she was a fool for pushing him away. A complete fool.

The second stanza began, bringing Dana out of her painful thoughts.

‘If the Divine master plan is perfection

‘Maybe next I’ll give Judas a try.’

She paused the song again, frowning. This was unbelievable. Every line of the damn song was about her. Every line. How could this woman named Tori know so much about her life?

Perfection. A divine master plan. Her faith had raised her to believe that God had given her a special, unique purpose for her life, and that she was obligated to fulfill it, obligated to the grave. She’d waited until the end of high school for the Answer, but received nothing. So she’d chosen her own master plan.

And here she was. Good or bad, right or wrong, here she was.

God’s Master Plan must have been to make her suffer, Dana thought miserably.

Was that perfection?

Sometimes Judas’ path seemed awfully attractive, given the trials and hardships she’d had to endure. She’d been reconciled to the Father, but what good had it done? What great purpose was she serving in her miserable existence of a life?

‘Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin

‘Here. Here. Here.’

Ice cream sounded good right now. Anything to fill the emptiness inside.

The chorus repeated itself, reminding Dana of her dishonest ways, the lies she’d fed the world, her partner, herself, until all had grown to believe them. Dear God, she needed forgiveness and repentance right now, if God could ever find it in His heart to forgive her.

The song continued to play into the bridge, while Dana listened carefully to the next group of lyrics.

‘How many fates turn around in the overtime’

Could she ever retrace her steps to find the person she could have been, without the lies, without the pretense? Could she find the strength to turn it all around without destroying herself?

‘Ballerinas who have fins that you’ll never find’

So many pretenders. So many falsehoods. Who could she really trust in the Bureau? Could she even trust those who had proven themselves worthy? Was it all an elaborate hoax, a vicious game? Was she an unwitting pawn in all of it?

They’d never find the truth. She knew it, even if Mulder didn’t. That shadowy group of men were far too cunning to let them, yet Mulder continued on with his quest, ignoring the insurmountable odds.

‘You thought that you were the bomb…yeah well so did I’.

Yes, she had. No one could compete with her in medical school. Her drive and determination had catapulted her to the pinnacle of her class, and it was only natural that she should display some form of superiority. It had been expected of her.

Until her assignment to the X-Files, everything had been looking up for Dana, while she’d been looking down on the rest of the world.

Suddenly she’d found herself looking up at the world from a dim corner in the basement, partnered with a man pejoratively nicknamed Spooky.

So much for ambition.

But she’d gladly traded ambition and arrogance for all she had in that dim basement corner. Accepted it completely. She’d found something no job, no commendation, could give her. Many things she wasn’t prepared to give up, regardless of how frustrating her life had become.

She just hoped she could hold on to them.

The bridge repeated itself again, with a cacophony of other voices echoing the lyrics in an eerie round. The sudden polyphony was harsh and even more disturbing, growing louder and louder, repeating over and over, until Dana’s head began to hurt from the message of the singing voices.

‘Say you don’t want it

‘Say you don’t want it’

“No!” Dana yelled, rising abruptly from the couch, as the song launched into its screaming climax. “I don’t… I don’t….”

‘Say…you don’t want it…again…and again

‘But you don’t….don’t really mean it’

“I don’t want it! Any of it! All of it!”

‘But you don’t…don’t really mean it’

“Shut up!” Dana kicked the nearest speaker, tearing the fabric cover. “SHUT UP!”

‘You don’t…don’t really mean it’, the song said a final time, as if to have the last word with its adversary.

Then, as if by command, the song abruptly calmed itself, with only voice and guitar.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is

‘Here. Here. Here…..’

And then peaceful silence entered the living room.

The song was over.

Goddamnit, if there weren’t voices in her head, there were voices in the speakers. She couldn’t escape. They were everywhere, all around.

Closing her eyes, Dana winced painfully and covered her ears. She’d fight them. She’d fight them all. They were not going to have the upper hand in this battle of wills. Her life was her life.

<Yes, but it’s m….>

Damn.

Shivering uncontrollably, Dana walked over to the stereo and eyed the CD with a hateful glare. She didn’t need this right now. All she’d wanted was some insight into the life and possible death of Nora Benton, and somehow, a singer named Tori had become judge and jury over the shortcomings of Dana Scully.

She shouldn’t be on trial. She’d done nothing wrong.

Why was she being tortured for a few simple mistakes in her life?

Taking out the disc, Dana held the CD to the light and frowned in thought. It was just a common compact disc. She was being completely irrational. There was no courtroom, no judge, no jury. There were no lawyers, no witnesses, no reporters. Only a trembling redhead in the center of her living room.

She laughed loudly, in the midst of her distress. None of this was happening. None of it. She’d only projected her own fears and frustrations onto a song which held little meaning to anyone’s life but the artist’s, and quite possibly, the life of Nora Benton.

<Always the skeptic, Dana,> a little voice said from within. <Someday you’ll believe yourself.>

No. No more voices. She would not listen to them. They weren’t real anyway.

What time was it?

She checked the clock on the wall once more.

6:09.

It was still early evening. She needed to do something. Anything. Escape from that apartment and those damn voices in her head. Maybe they’d linger with their kindred spirits in the speakers.

But where would she go? She had no one to call, to invite. Wherever she went, she would have to go alone. Alone.

Alone as ever.

Dana shook her head. She had to leave the apartment. She was far too dangerous to herself with no one around.

Was that how Nora Benton had died?

Dana shivered again, embracing herself.

If she left, she’d never find out. She needed to solve this case, to redeem this failure of a weekend. To boost her ego, to show everyone that Dana Scully was not lost in the abyss of paranormal paperwork. She was still alive.

She couldn’t leave.

Sighing, Dana returned the CD to the stereo, placing it in its tray, and began to play the song again. This time she would know the truth, with no distractions.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches’

This she already knew, or guessed.

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark’

That too.

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is’

She wouldn’t think about that. Her own thoughts were already beginning to cloud her rational judgment.

‘Here. Here. Here.’

‘She’s convinced she could hold back a glacier

‘But she couldn’t keep Baby alive’

‘Doubting if there’s a woman in there somewhere

‘Here. Here. Here.’

Dana sighed. Hopefully she wasn’t torturing herself a third time for nothing.

The song continued, into the chorus. Dana closed her eyes, trying to think about Nora Benton, instead of her life of denial.

It wasn’t working.

The cycle was beginning again, another circle. <Another goddamn circle,> Dana grumbled silently as the song progressed into the second verse and the bridge.

The voices again. Judge Tori and her jury of convicting voices. Singing directly to her, condemning her crimes, throwing her to the mob, to do with her as they would.

Dear God, not the mob.

Suddenly, more voices. Inside her, screaming for justice. <Crucify,> they began to chant. <Crucify!>

No. No…not again….

“What do you want???” she yelled aloud. “What do you want, dammit? I’ll confess! I’ll confess anything, if you’ll just leave and never come back!” She began to weep.

<Crucify,> the voices continued to chant in unison.

“Fine!” she yelled angrily, hot tears streaming down her face. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll continue to do it!”

<Crucify!> a lone voice shrieked.

“Oh God,” she moaned, turning her head to the heavens. “God, help me. Help me! Cast out these demons!”

<Crucify!> they chanted, louder and louder, until the roaring in her ears became too much to bear. She ran to a nearby mirror to look at herself, to somehow talk to herself, to will these voices away.

“Take control, Dana,” she ordered herself, looking in the mirror. Pointing to her reflection, she repeated the words more forcefully. “Take control NOW!”

<Crucify! Crucify!> the choir of voices screamed.

“I will not let this happen,” she stated to the mirror, her voice rising gradually with each syllable. “This isn’t happening!”

<Crucify! Crucify!>

“Dammit!!” Dana yelled, her face contorted into a mask of complete frustration. “This isn’t happening, any of it!”

<Crucify! Crucify!>

“No!” she yelled, clutching her head. “This–isn’t– happening!!”

Another voice rose from the chorus, a faint, light baritone voice sounding much like that of her partner. “You deny me, Dana?” she heard Mulder say. “You deny me not once, but three times?”

It was Mulder’s voice. Where was he? Dana looked around the room in search of him, but he was nowhere to be found. “Mulder?” she called out, her voice unusually high.

“You deny me, Dana?” the voice repeated above the mass of chanting choruses.

“Damn you, Mulder!” she yelled, plugging her ears. “Get out of my head!”

The voice lingered, asking yet another question. “You forsake me, Dana?”

“Oh, God.” Dana bent in half as she fought to contain the flowing tears from her eyes. “What is wrong with me?”

The voice continued its chilling discourse. “You forsake me, though you know the eternal consequences?”

Yes. Dammit, yes, she knew them. She was living them right now.

“I know,” she agreed with the voice. “I know…”

“And yet you deny me still,” Mulder’s voice echoed in her head.

Dana felt another flood of tears gush forth and hid her face in her hands. “Yes….”

The voice spoke again, with finality. “You have made your decision, then.”

“No!” Dana yelled. “I haven’t! I just…I’m just… I can’t….”

The voices of the mob became loud enough to drown out the voice of her partner. <Crucify!> they ordered, rendering Dana powerless to move.

“Mulder???” she desperately called out to him. “Mulder, where are you?”

No answer.

The mob was fast approaching.

“Help me!” she cried. “Please help me! Save me!”

Again, no answer.

The soldiers seized her and held her tightly in their forceful grip.

“Mulder!!!” she shrieked, as she felt a sudden pain in her hands.

They were nailing her to the cross.

She turned to address the corners of the room, snarling with malicious intent. “Fuck you!” she yelled to the room. “Fuck all of you!”

<Crucify!> they answered.

Another sudden, stabbing pain in her feet.

Oh God, it was happening.

“Help!” she shrieked, as the pain worsened. “Somebody help me!”

Over and over she repeated her pleas, as she was lifted high into the air, above the vengeful mob, above the judges, the priests, the soldiers.

She had to escape, somehow, even if it meant tearing her flesh from the damning nails.

Dana ran, limping, to the cordless phone, and dialed the only three numbers she could remember.

“911; what is your emergency?”

“Help me,” she cried into the phone. “My name is Dana Scully and I–”

“What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“I–need a paramedic, a doctor, the police–somebody!”

“Just stay calm,” the operator said. “We’re sending someone over right now.”

“It’s not fast enough,” she wept into the phone. “I need them now…!”

“What happened, ma’am?”

Dana gasped for breath in the clouded haze of her consciousness. “Crucified…” was all she could muster.

“You’ll have to speak up, ma’am; I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Crucified,” she said more insistently, her strength failing her.

“Are you bleeding?”

Her eyes were blurry from another layer of tears, but Dana didn’t need to see her hands to know that her life’s essence was being drained from her. “Yes,” she gasped into the receiver, beginning to lose her hold on the phone.

“Can you perform first aid on yourself?”

Dana nodded. “I’m a doctor,” she said. “Just…too weak to do it now…”

“Stay on the line, ma’am, and someone will be there in a few minutes. Just keep talking to me.”

“Can’t…” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“Ma’am? Are you there?”

“Mulder….” she moaned, her balance shaky.

“Ma’am!” the operator exclaimed more forcefully.

“Mulder….” she repeated, as she felt her legs give way.

The floor was compassionate enough to support her as Dana lost her balance and fell into its welcoming embrace. Slipping into the waiting darkness, Dana was only faintly aware of the sound of breaking wood before she found relief at last.

Sweet relief.

* * *

Crucify

Title: Crucify
Author: Bidie McCucholl
Category: S
Rating: R
Spoilers: Never Again, Bad Blood, Fight the Future
Keywords: Scullyangst, UST, MSR

Summary: Scully slowly regains her strength, after enduring a horrific ordeal on her conscience. As she bravely attempts to distract herself from her many shortcomings, she finds that there will be no escape from the haunting voices within her head and her heart. As she continues to deny her problems, the voices grow louder and louder, urging her to right the wrongs in her life, before she misses her last chance for true happiness, before the angel standing beside her leaves her with no defense against the demons inside her.

* * *

Noises. Noises in the darkness. Voices. Voices conversing. Voices conversing around her, about her.

Dana listened intently, though she lacked the strength to open her eyes. These voices weren’t in her head. They were softer, gentler, from the outside.

She’d been saved from the cross.

Where the hell was she?

“She’s all right,” Dana heard one voice in the choir of the masses. “The paramedics checked her out. No sign of the external bleeding she’d described in her call to 911.”

“Why wasn’t I informed sooner?” she heard a familiar voice yell in response. A very familiar voice.

Mulder.

Thank God.

The other voice spoke again. “Agent Mulder, we contacted you as soon as we could. Her voice was very soft and distorted from her condition. It took the operator several seconds to piece together what she’d been saying.”

“She’d called for me?”

“Yes sir.”

“What did she say?” he demanded to know, with a slight urgency in his voice.

“She said she was…crucified.” The other voice sounded unconvinced.

“Crucified?” Mulder repeated. “What the…?”

“We’re trying to figure that out as well,” the other voice said. “When she comes to, we intend on asking her a few questions, just to get to the bottom of what happened.”

Dana heard silence for a few minutes, then Mulder spoke again. “Don’t worry about it — I’m sure you have enough to keep you busy for now.” He paused. “I’ll handle this myself.”

“Are you sure, Agent Mulder?”

“I’m sure,” she heard him say, his voice gentle. “My partner’s been under a lot of stress lately. Anything could have triggered this incident.” He paused again. “If I find anything helpful….”

“You’ll be sure to contact us,” the officer finished his sentence.

“By all means.”

The other voices in the room hushed suddenly, and Dana heard the shuffling of retreating feet and rustling papers. They were leaving.

Dana tried to open her eyes, but still found no available strength to complete the simple gesture. She became vaguely aware, however, of a presence beside her, a figure looming over her, gently touching her cheek.

“Scully.” The voice was soft, tender, a caress of its own. Mulder’s voice.

“Scully, are you awake?” he asked her.

Somehow she found her own voice, within the depths of her body, and was able to force a small amount of air through her larynx. “Mmmmm….”

She could swear Mulder was grinning. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then she found the corners of her mouth turning upward in the slightest hint of a smile.

Her strength was returning.

“You nearly turned 911 upside down, you know,” he told her, continuing to caress her cheek. “But when you do something, damned if you don’t do it right.”

Dana felt herself smiling even more at his remark, and, encouraged, began to move the muscles near her eyelids.

The image of a concerned and caring Fox Mulder greeted her tear-stained eyes. He was grinning.

“Houston, we have the eyes,” he murmured, touching the delicate flesh there.

He moved closer, examining her eyes, and frowned slightly. “A little bloodshot and puffy, but still they’re the clearest shade of baby blue I’ve ever seen.”

She tried to smile, and found no strength.

Just like Mulder to be charming when she had no strength to respond.

Slowly surfacing to consciousness, Dana became painfully aware of her condition. God, she must look awful. Terrible. Especially after having cried an ocean in her apartment. How many times had Mulder seen her like this, even in her life’s most emotionally trying events?

She couldn’t even think of one time she had allowed him to see her, completely broken, every one of her defenses crumbled on the ground. She was sure it had happened… somewhere before…but she couldn’t remember. Anyway, it wasn’t right. It simply wasn’t right for him to see her this way.

“Mulder…” she whispered, barely able to mouth the words. “What happened…?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he replied, smoothing a tangled strand of her auburn hair.

Dana tried to nod, but found the muscles in her neck uncooperative.

“You called 911 and spoke with an operator,” Mulder reminded her. “You said something about…being crucified, according to the police. Apparently you passed out seconds later, just as the police arrived.”

Suddenly Dana remembered the last few moments of consciousness before she’d passed out. She remembered the operator’s voice, the urgency in her instructions, the sound of her lock being broken.

And it was there that her memory blanked.

“Luckily there were two officers on patrol in the area,” Mulder told her. “They kept watch over you until the paramedics could get here.”

Taking a seat beside her on the sofa, Mulder continued. “But what I find odd about the whole situation is your condition,” he said to her. “Have you noticed you’re not bleeding?”

Bleeding?

She shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were bleeding in your 911 call. You said you were crucified.”

She frowned. “I was.”

“Really.” Mulder ran his thumb over the palms of her hands. “There’s nothing here, Scully. No nail marks, no rope burns, nothing to indicate an actual crucifixion. There’s not even enough broken wood from that door to put together any substantial cross, except maybe a pocket crucifix.” He moved closer. “Why did you say you were bleeding?”

Dana closed her eyes. She had been bleeding. She’d felt the life-giving liquid being drained from her body. She’d felt them pierce her hands and feet. Yet there were no signs of blood loss at all?

She looked down at her hands and saw nothing.

Nothing.

“Scully,” Mulder said tenderly, “I’m not one to discredit any preposterous theory, any extraordinary notion, but this…this even tests my limits, unless you can give me some kind of explanation for what happened.”

Explanation. How could she explain what had happened? Dana Scully revealing to Mulder all the voices in her head? How they’d screamed for her crucifixion, her death, her punishment for all the sins she’d committed against the world and herself? He’d never believe her. Worse, he’d laugh in her face.

No. She couldn’t tell him anything. As much as she wanted him to understand, the price was too great.

“Mulder…” she whispered again, “go home. I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.” Mulder frowned, hovering over her once more.

“I’m fine, really. I just passed out, that’s all. Nothing but a loss of consciousness due to severe fatigue and exhaustion.” It took every ounce of strength Dana had to say the words, but she hoped it was plausible enough to send him home with his questions.

“Scully,” Mulder said, “do you remember when I said you were a terrible liar?”

She looked directly into his worried hazel eyes and retorted, “You think I have the strength right now to lie?”

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better and remained silent for several seconds. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll accept your excuse for now, until you have the strength to tell me everything that happened. But until then, you, Ms. Scully–” he rose from the sofa, “–are stuck with me for the remainder of the evening.”

She winced.

She did not need his company right now.

“Mulder,” she told him, “go home. I’m fine, I tell you.”

Mulder grinned ingenuously, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Bastard. She knew he’d heard her. Why the hell wasn’t he listening to her?

And why was he walking into the kitchen?

“Chinese sounds good, don’t you think?” he yelled to her from the other room.

“Mulder…” she whined, attempting to sit up. “If you’re not out of that door in ten seconds–”

“What?” he shouted from the kitchen. “Speak up, Scully; I can’t hear you.”

she thought, frowning as she tried to raise herself up.

Giving up the notion of even sitting on her couch, Dana sighed and concentrated her energies on yelling into the kitchen. “I hope you’re not cooking tonight,” she remarked, with an edge to her voice.

“Cook? Me?” Mulder yelled from across the apartment. “Hell no. You think we’d risk both our lives?”

“Funny, Mulder.”

<Funny. You’re always so goddamn funny, Mulder. I’m having a crisis and suddenly you’re Miss Suzy Sunshine. Just leave. Please just leave and let me figure out myself what the hell happened to me.>

“But what I can do,” he said, “is offer you some of the dinner I never ate.” Mulder reentered the living room with two plates filled with various assortments of Chinese food.

Food?

How the hell could he eat at a time like this?

How could she eat?

“Mulder, I’m really not hungry right now,” she moaned, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, Scully, at least try it.” He set down the tray to help Dana sit upright on the length of the sofa. “Besides, half of it’s yours anyway.”

“What…?”

Mulder grinned. “I was buying us both dinner when I got the call that you’d passed out.” He positioned the tray on her lap.

“Buying us dinner? What for?” Her mind was full of questions. More questions.

Shrugging his shoulders, Mulder knelt beside her and placed a fork in her hands. “I dunno; maybe it was my own feeble attempt to….” His voice trailed off when his eyes rose to meet hers.

Dana continued the exchange of unknown emotions in their eyes, silently urging him to continue.

“Apologize,” he said in a near wheeze. “To apologize for all I said earlier. I got mad, a little insulted, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His gaze dropped again, to the floor.

Apologize?

Mulder, apologizing?

Jesus, this had to be a first.

“You were right,” he continued. “I should have told you where I was going. I owed you that, at least, if not more.” He paused, looking into her eyes, looking as if he wanted to continue but couldn’t find the right words to say.

He was sorry. This wasn’t a joke. Mulder was actually sorry he’d done something to hurt her. He wasn’t masking it behind some excuse or sweeping it under the rug with a distracting comment. He was actually sorry and he was expressing it.

She sighed.

Maybe she should express it too, if only to ease his conscience. To explain, to find some way of taking that horrible guilt-ridden ridge off his forehead.

Dana lifted a weak hand to rest upon his arm. “I… said some things I shouldn’t have, either,” she agreed with him. “I have no other explanation, only that I was just– frustrated with life in general. My life.”

Mulder looked up again at her, his eyes questioning, probing, searching her own.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Mulder wanted to know, his voice soft and gentle.

Dana shook her head. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said to him, “but things finally came to a head and I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Something had to give, and unfortunately, you had to bear the brunt of it.”

Mulder frowned slightly, moving a little closer to her. “Scully, you can tell me anything,” he said. “Anything. You know that and I know that. If you’re frustrated with work, with me, with anything we do related to our jobs, our lives, just say it. Just tell me. Don’t let it eat at you inside for even a second.”

Nodding, Dana reached for his hand. “I will, in the future.” She felt the familiar tingle as Mulder’s hand covered hers in a bond of spoken promise.

“Now are you gonna eat or will I have to send this to some starving kid in Asia?” Mulder remarked, grinning again.

Dana tried to lift the fork to her mouth, but ended up dropping it in the food. “Damn,” she cursed aloud.

Mulder instantly dove into the plate of Chinese noodles to hunt for her lost fork. “You see?” he said, with a somewhat maternal air. “You can’t even eat.”

She sighed with frustration.

Dipping the fork into the food, Mulder twirled it around and lifted it to Dana’s mouth. “Open, Scully,” he commanded, tapping her mouth with his other hand.

Dana frowned, slightly puzzled, but did as she was told. As the hot food slowly worked its way into her mouth, Dana moaned with bliss. It was really good.

“This is why you need me here, Scully,” Mulder said as she chewed her first bite. “You need someone to take care of you right now.”

When Dana had finished her mouthful of food, she cocked a lone eyebrow at her grinning partner. “I take it you’re applying for the position,” she said dryly.

“Yep,” he said, dipping the fork again into her food. “All the other applicants saw me and ran the other way.”

“That bad, huh?” She smiled.

“No; that good.” Mulder sent another forkful of food into Dana’s waiting mouth.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, chewing with a look of rapture on her face. When was the last time she’d eaten like this? And what a luxury, being fed by the one person she trusted above all others.

He could stay all night, if he kept it up.

As Mulder continued to feed her, Dana began to feel her already weak defenses slipping again. Meeting his gaze every time he gave her a bite of food didn’t help either.

It was going to be a long evening.

Mulder paused from his dutiful task for a second. “Are you thirsty?”

Dana thought for a minute. Judging by the amount of dryness in her throat, Dana concluded it had been several hours since she had consumed any hydrating fluids. “Yes,” she replied.

“Hold on, I’ll get you something to drink.” Mulder rose from the side of the couch and walked into the kitchen. “What can I get you, coffee, tea, me?”

Their eyes locked from across the room and Dana swore she felt her heart stop for a fraction of a second.

And yet it seemed like years, staring at him, her stare reflected in that velvet gaze, the tension thick, palpable, warm….

“Scully?” he prompted again.

The stare was lost.

“I’ll…pass on all for now,” she murmured, her brain swimming back to reality. “But if you wouldn’t mind pouring some juice–”

“One juice, coming up,” Mulder said, grinning boyishly.

The moment was gone.

Christ, she felt warm. Warmer than she’d been in a while. Warmer than Bermuda, or at least what she’d imagined it to be. How the hell was he able to do that to her, with just a look?

And then he was beside her again, kneeling by the couch, handing her a glass with that damned-to-hell grin on his lips.

<Please, just leave,> she pleaded, hoping somehow he could read her mind.

Mulder’s hands stayed just beneath her glass, ready to catch it should she lose her hold on it, but she shooed him away, feigning at least some minimal sign of independence.

“That’s a good sign,” he murmured. “You’re getting your strength back.”

He sat on the floor, that damn grin still on his lips.

That damn grin….

“Does this mean I can’t feed you anymore?” he asked, grinning all the while.

Dana nearly dropped her glass.

Christ, Mulder, leave. Please.

“Never hurts to have an extra pair of hands,” he said warmly, leaning over to help her other hand find the fork.

Jesus Christ, his hand was smooth….

And then the glass slipped.

Dana cursed as several ounces of orange juice splattered all over her food and her clothes. “Dammit!” she muttered, attempting to absorb the liquid with her bare hands.

Mulder acted quickly, taking the food away and returning with a kitchen towel. “It’s all right, Scully,” he said, wiping the juice from her stomach, her legs, her thighs….

Oh, God.

Did Mulder have any clue what he was doing to her with those roaming hands?

“It’s all right,” he repeated, seeing the look of distress on her face. “I should’ve just let you do it yourself.”

Dana suspected Mulder had no clue as to the reasons for her distress, even with the telltale blush just beneath her skin.

Christ, his hands were warm…and smooth…and oh, Jesus, that felt so good….her whole body was tingling, her skin prickling with pleasure. His touch was so tender, caring, concerned, gentle but thorough, wiping her lap from tummy to thigh and in between.

Oh yes….

She closed her eyes, allowing herself this one private luxury, unable to breathe in or out, holding her breath and desperately fighting every impulse banging on the doors of her brain to just fuck him and be done with it….

When he’d removed most of the liquid from her lap, Mulder’s hand gently rested on her knee. “Next time I have to feed you, Scully, I’ll make sure to bring you a kiddie cup.” He grinned, but his eyes screamed liquid velvet.

Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him, his gaze warm, penetrating.

Jesus Christ, his eyes were dark, like a stormy sea. She knew that look all too well, from others who had looked upon her that way, but never Mulder…and never this much….

Something between her juice-damp thighs began to ache, to cry out from its emptiness, to want more than just a penetrating stare.

Please, Mulder, please leave….

Suddenly he stood, taking her by surprise at the swiftness of his actions. “Well, since dinner’s out, and I guess since drinks are out as well, what other services could you require of me?”

Dana didn’t dare answer that question. Her thighs were still tingling from his ministrations.

“Music,” Mulder said, in a sudden moment of inspiration. “Music would be good.” He moved to the stereo and looked through Dana’s collection of CDs.

Music.

At a time like this, all he could think of was music?

What the hell had he just said to her with his eyes?

And now what was he doing?

Distraction. It had to be a distraction. Something to take both their minds off what had just happened. After that look, Dana couldn’t deny what she’d seen. He’d wanted the same thing she had.

Or had he?

Maybe it was the fatigue talking, the absence of her usual barriers…whatever it was, Mulder was right. Music would definitely be good.

“You won’t find any Jimi Hendrix or The Doors over there,” she remarked sassily, trying to force the heat between her thighs to some other part of her body.

Like her brain.

Mulder put a hand to his chin, thinking as he perused the contents of the collection. “I’m not finding anything, actually,” he said, searching the titles. “Jeez, Scully, don’t you have anything besides classical music?”

He stopped, pausing to look at one CD. “Enya.” he read the name of the artist, grinning. “I stand corrected.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Are you mocking my taste in music, Mulder?”

“I’m not mocking anything,” he said, “except your lack of taste in any other genre.”

As he removed the Enya CD from the rack, he noticed another jewel case lying on the floor near the stereo and went to investigate. “Well, well,” he remarked appreciatively. “Once again, I stand corrected.”

Oh no.

Mulder had found the CD she’d listened to earlier.

How would she even begin to explain, without having another nervous breakdown?

“I didn’t know you liked Tori Amos, Scully,” he said, approaching her with the jewel case in hand. “Seems to be a misplaced preference, in the midst of Beethoven and Mozart.”

Dana sighed. He wanted an explanation. What could she tell him?

“It’s nothing, really,” she told him, trying her best to sound as nonchalant as possible. “It’s just a CD I picked up at the crime scene as evidence.”

Mulder frowned. “You took this from Nora Benton’s apartment?”

“Yes,” she replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions. The path was already far too dangerous.

“Why would a CD be considered as evidence?” Mulder asked her. “And if so, why isn’t it sitting on a shelf at Headquarters?”

Dana tore her eyes from his and looked down at her juice-stained lap. “It…wasn’t considered as evidence,” she told him. “Normally it wouldn’t be. I just…happened to see something of importance to Nora Benton, and I… took it out of the apartment.”

Mulder stared disbelievingly at her. “Without permission, I assume.”

Dana refused to meet his gaze. “Yes, without permission.”

Mulder grinned. “What a surprise. Agent Scully has finally, deliberately, and singlehandedly broken Bureau policy for her own selfish gain.” He knelt beside her. “Without the damning influence of her partner.”

She attempted to smile, but found her lips in more of a tight smirk.

“This calls for a celebration,” he remarked, tapping the jewel case with his fingers.

Rolling her eyes, Dana finally looked at her partner, whose gleeful grin was almost enough to send her rolling on the floor in laughter. “I’ll take a raincheck, thanks,” she replied, relaxing her lips into a more natural smile.

Mulder examined the cover of the jewel case, frowning in thought. “Why did you consider this as evidence?” he asked her. “What was so special about one CD?”

“Well,” Dana told him, “the case was sitting on her empty bed when I entered the bedroom. The other agents hadn’t noticed it. I didn’t think much of it myself, to be honest. Then I noticed something.”

“What?” Mulder’s eyes glowed with a hunger for answers.

“I noticed a piece of paper, taped to her bedroom door,” Dana continued, “with the lyrics to one of the songs on that CD. It was the only thing Nora Benton had placed on her walls, windows, or doors. I figured it was significant in some way.”

Mulder nodded. “You’re probably right.” He rose from the floor again. “So have you uncovered the mystery behind the song she’d taped to her door? Was that what you were doing this evening?”

Dana nodded, trying not to think about what had happened earlier. “Yes,” she said, though her reply sounded strained, garbled.

As he found the lyric sheet, Mulder read the words and frowned even more deeply, his forehead etched with ridged lines of concern. “Scully….”

“What?”

<God, please don’t let him figure it out.>

“This song is right on the money.”

“About what?”

Mulder looked up from the paper to focus his eyes on her. “About Nora Benton.”

Dana sighed, more from relief than from enlightenment. “Oh,” she said, closing her eyes.

He went on to explain. “While you were finishing the autopsy, after–”

He paused, his voice suddenly strained.

“After our….disagreement, I found those papers in Forensics, sitting on a desk in plain view. I took them home, searched through them for several hours, and uncovered some very interesting information.”

“What?” Dana wanted to know.

“Nora Benton had a clientele that far surpassed mere speculation,” Mulder told her. “It was rumored in those articles I dug up that she had a few important clients, but nothing could have prepared me for the names I found in that stack of papers.”

“Tell me,” she said, feeling enough strength to sit up on her own.

Mulder sat down beside her. “Get this,” he said. “Every one of those women we found in that secret room was a client of Nora Benton.”

She frowned.

“Not only that,” he continued, “but their husbands, all powerful politicians, had received sporadic treatment from Nora Benton as well.”

“You’re kidding,” Dana whispered, frowning in both puzzlement and enlightenment all at once.

“What’s even more interesting,” he told her, “is the outlined method of treatment Nora used to dig up repressed memories in her patients. She wrote it all out, to the tiniest detail, in a notebook contained in those papers.”

“Mulder, what did she do?”

Mulder paused before continuing. “Nora Benton used a dimly-lit room, the color gray, and certain types of music to lull patients into their world of memories. She wrote that the patients often complained of hearing voices in their heads, terrible voices. Visions and hallucinations of being tortured, killed. Bringing their repressed memories into the conscious mind seemed to produce very violent results.”

Upon hearing Mulder’s words, Dana’s heart ceased to beat for an unfathomable amount of time. She’d heard voices in her head. She’d felt the nails in her hands and feet. She’d felt the blood flow from her body. Could it be…?

No. Never. It was just a coincidence.

“Why did she continue treatment,” Dana asked, “if the results were so horrible?”

“Ah, but you see, the initial results were horrible,” Mulder explained. “The long-term benefits more than compensated for the torture they’d experienced.”

“How so?”

Mulder moved a few inches closer to Dana. “In her records, Nora described a total change in her patients. Somehow, after repetitive treatments, they’d been freed of whatever had been haunting them for years.”

“That’s the most likely thing I’ve heard so far,” Dana agreed with him. “It’s quite possible that the repressed memories and the feelings of torture described in these treatments became intertwined, connected with each other. Naturally memories such as these would deter anyone from even thinking about a painful memory in the future.”

Mulder grinned in response to her statement. “Always the scientist, Scully,” he remarked, shaking his head.

Dana frowned. “Do you have a better theory?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a theory at present,” he told her. “I’ve decided to wing it for a while.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” she remarked dryly, folding her arms.

His grin widened.

“Well,” Dana said, “at least you haven’t already concocted a crazy theory. I’ll give you that.”

Suddenly Dana found Mulder’s palm on her forehead.

What the hell was he doing?

“Mulder, what are you–?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replied, smirking. “Just as I thought; sick as always.”

“I’m not sick!” Dana exclaimed indignantly, pushing his hand away.

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. “You’re trying to convince the wrong person, Scully.” His grin returned, as mocking as ever.

With that remark, suddenly Dana found her eyes widen a fraction of an inch. What did he mean….? Did he know? Could he see? Even with all of her pretense, her clever concealment of vital facts, were the evidence of her feelings and the hell she’d just been through clearly visible on her face?

What she wouldn’t give for a mirror right now.

Dear God, she hoped he hadn’t seen right through her. Hopefully there was no hidden or double meaning to what he had just said.

<Dammit, Dana,> she ordered herself, <stop it. You’re just being paranoid. Too damn paranoid.>

She’d been able to hide it all for five years. There was no reason why, even as weak as she was, she would allow herself to be that vulnerable. She was far too good at her job.

“Scully?” Mulder waved a hand in front of her widened eyes. “You OK?”

Suddenly, at Mulder’s prompting, Dana frowned and quickly attempted to orient herself. “Sorry,” she said, with a slight toss of her head. “I was just in thought for a second.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Mulder observed frankly, pressing his palm to her forehead again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Mulder,” she groaned, “I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired.”

Tired would do.

Tired was better than frustrated. Aroused. Afraid.

“What’s going on in there, Scully?” he asked tenderly, lightly knocking on the top of her head.

Dana shook her head in refusal.

Mulder’s face suddenly softened with concern. “Come on, Scully, let me in,” he cajoled, using his hand to cup the base of her head, his fingers lightly brushing the soft strands of her auburn tresses.

Again, she shook her head.

“Why not?” he whispered, moving closer to her.

She gasped as every nerve came alive, tingling, as his face approached hers. “Mulder…I just…don’t feel like talking about it right now,” she murmured, gazing into the depths of his hazel orbs. “With you or with anyone else.”

She watched Mulder stand up and back away toward the stereo.

Yes. Back away. Please back away.

This was a bridge that was best left uncrossed.

Suddenly the stereo became alive again, with the sounds of the song which had nearly been Dana’s undoing.

Shit. He was really going to play that CD.

Dear God, no. No more.

She had to get him to stop the song. Now, before it was too late, before everything resurfaced again.

But how could she do it, without appearing obvious?

There was no way. Mulder would immediately become suspicious. She was helpless to prevent it from happening. Either way, something was going to surface from the depths of her being, and Dana could do nothing but sit back and watch it happen.

Dammit.

Dana frantically began to pray for a power outage or some event of mass destruction. Anything to prevent that song from running its full course.

“Hey, Scully,” he asked, examining the jewel case, “is that song from the disc you took?”

Dana nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“Catchy tune,” he remarked, tapping his foot to the triple meter rhythm.

He had no idea. He had no freaking clue as to what that song had done to her, what it could do, what it was doing to her, as she sat and listened to the familiar voices of judge and jury all over again….

There they were again, as if one death wasn’t enough. As if one time on that cross wasn’t sufficient retribution for her crimes. Oh God….

And there he was, in the middle of her living room, tapping his feet, nodding his head on the downbeat, and enjoying the music, as if he was somehow immune to the cries of the angry mob.

As if he couldn’t hear them.

What the hell was wrong with her, if Spooky Mulder, of all people, was deaf to those voices?

Closing her eyes, Dana raised her hands to her ears and began to silently will the voices away. The cry was growing again, in a dramatic crescendo of rushing, swirling sound.

She heard them cry again for her death, the same death as before.

“No,” she whispered, as softly as possible, to avoid alerting her partner to her condition. Through clenched teeth she growled to the voices, “Get…out…of…my… head….”

<Crucify!> they roared in unison.

Dana clutched the small gold cross at the base of her neck and held onto it for dear life, beginning the Pater Noster in a hushed, desperate whisper.

<Physician, heal thyself!>

Undeterred, Dana continued the prayer, her eyes opening every so often to glance uneasily at the man across the room, hoping that the next time they rested upon him, he would still be oblivious to her suffering.

“Hey Scully…” she heard him say.

Dammit, what now?

Her eyes darted furtively to Mulder, whose back was to her. <Please, please don’t turn around,> she begged him silently.

She could just walk over there and turn it off. Right now. End all this with a press of a button. There had to be some way….

“Scully?” he said again, turning his head to look behind him.

She shook her head. She dared not answer him. He’d know the instant she uttered her first syllable.

The chorus. That goddamn chorus.

‘Say you don’t want it

‘Again and again but you don’t…don’t really mean it’

No. No! They were wrong. They were all wrong. She was right. She’d always been right. She’d always done the right thing, chosen the logical way, the sensible, rational path….

‘This circus we’re in

‘But you don’t…don’t really mean it’

“Scully? You okay over there?” Mulder said, his voice more insistent.

Dana watched him turn around, and immediately froze, her body shivering, her hands trembling.

He was heading straight for her.

Damn it to Hell.

Closer and closer he neared her, his tall form slowly descending to the floor to meet her at eye level. He was frowning, his eyes full of something she’d never seen before. Something warm, almost velvety. Soft. Sensual.

Oh dear God.

She felt her deepest secrets being drawn from her soul, with a simple look.

Damn him.

“Scully, what is it?” he murmured softly, cupping her chin with his hand.

Dana felt the tears beginning to cloud her vision and prayed for a minor miracle as the song reached its climax.

‘Say you don’t want it

‘Say…you don’t want it…again…and again

‘But you don’t…don’t really mean it’

That song! Dammit, that fucking song was going to send her into the looney bin, and that look Mulder was giving her wasn’t helping either.

She wouldn’t back down. She would not back down, even if meant an extended vacation to the looney bin. She would never let him know…let him even suspect….

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice was commanding. “Answer me!”

Dana shut her eyes, squinting as she fought to rid her memory of those voices, those lyrics, that look…goddammit, that look….

“Scully!”

That look….oh, God, what was he trying to do to her?

<Crucify!> the voices chanted over and over, rising to a fevered pitch.

The soldiers were coming again….

“SCULLY!!!” Mulder yelled, using both hands to urgently grasp her head. “Dammit, answer me!”

Dana shook her head, only faintly aware of Mulder’s pinching grip. “Noo…..” she moaned, trying to pry his fingers from her cheeks.

The nails…no, not the nails….

Mulder yelled her name again, his fingers rooted to her flesh. “Dammit, Scully, say SOMETHING!”

Suddenly Dana let out an agonizing cry as she felt the nails pierce her hands again. The pain was excruciating. She began to scream loudly, unable to control her emotions, and, losing her balance, collapsed straight into Mulder.

“Scully–” he gasped breathlessly, drawing her into his arms. “Scully, please–”

Tear after hot tear flowed down her face as Dana sobbed uncontrollably in the embrace of her partner. “Help…” she managed to say, between racking sobs.

Mulder began to rock her tenderly, gently, his arms wrapped tightly around her. “Scully, please tell me what’s wrong,” he begged, his voice strained. “I want to help you.”

“Nooo….!” she cried again, shaking her head. “I… don’t…need…don’t want….”

‘You don’t…don’t really mean it’

“Dammit, Scully!” Mulder groaned, cradling the back of her head with his strong hands. “Just tell me! Tell me and I can help you!”

“No!” she yelled, more forcefully, squirming violently in his embrace, in an attempt to break free.

“What the hell is the matter with you, Scully??!!” Mulder growled in her ear. “Just say it!” He rested his head on top of hers and pleaded, “Whatever it is, I can make it go away. I can make it go away, if you’ll just tell me!”

“Aaaaa!!!” Dana cried again, as the nails pierced her feet. “God….”

“Scully–?” Mulder looked quizzically at her, as she began to frantically reach for her feet. “What the hell—?”

Dana broke free of Mulder’s grip and began to run toward the coffee table, limping.

“Scully!” Mulder called after her, rising to his feet as he saw her grab a ceramic figurine from the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

“No…more…voices…!” she grunted, her eyes now a furious electric blue. Holding the figurine high above her head, she threw it wildly at the stereo.

“SCULLY!!” Mulder yelled, running over to her. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“Stand back!!!” Dana growled at him, grabbing another figurine and hurling it at the stereo.

“Jesus Christ, Scully!” Mulder yelled even more loudly than before. “Stop this right now before you destroy the whole goddamn apartment!”

“What do you care?” she cried, her voice nearly a mad scream. “What the fuck do you care? It’s my apartment, my stereo, my LIFE, and I’ll do as I damn well please!”

Mulder frowned quizzically. “What…?”

“My goddamn LIFE, Mulder! The life you fucked up with your stupid pet project!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mulder yelled, taking a step closer.

“Stand back, Mulder! I mean it!” She held a glass figurine above her head, aiming it at the stereo.

Mulder’s eyes traveled from the furious woman in front of him to the stereo and made a sudden connection. “Is it the song?” he asked. “Is it the SONG, Scully?”

The look on Dana’s face was murderous. “It’s not the song.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder sneered. “I’m not the one throwing things all over the damn apartment.”

“Go to hell, Mulder.” Dana matched him, look for look, as she hissed through her teeth.

“So that’s why you called 911.” Mulder stood in his spot, with a look of sudden inspiration. “The song did this.”

Dana shook her head and said, “It’s not the song, Mulder! Can’t you get that through your fucking skull?”

Mulder frowned again. “You’re lying.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Dammit, Scully, I’m trying to HELP you!” he yelled. “At least TELL me what’s wrong! That’s all I want to know!”

“Why, so you can pick apart my brain with your little psychoanalyzation of me??!!” she yelled in return. “To tell me I’m crazy, that I’m fucking nuts?” She shook her head and held the figurine higher above her. “I don’t think you’re ready to find out what’s inside my head!” She threw the figurine, which missed the stereo completely.

Mulder ran over to the stereo and pulled the plug. “Does this make you happy??!!” he growled, showing her the plug. “The music’s off. The song’s over. Now tell me what the fuck–” he hissed the expletive, “–is going on.”

He began to reach for her, to hold her still, but she successfully evaded his grasp. “Talk to me, Scully,” he said, grabbing her waist and pulling her right to his chest. “Talk to me, goddammit!”

Being so close to Mulder, so close that she could smell his scent, feel his power, his presence, was nearly enough to force Dana into submission. Mulder would try. He had always tried to get inside her head.

Well, this was one time he wouldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much she wanted to tell him. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“Scully!” he yelled, shaking her violently. “Tell me! Tell me what that song did to you, Scully! Tell me what Nora Benton put in that fucking song to screw around with your mind! Tell me what that song made you remember, what it confronted you with!”

“NO!!!” she screamed, running over to another table to grab a far more deadly weapon than a figurine. “I’ll die before I tell you ANYTHING, you selfish bastard!”

“Shit!” Mulder exclaimed, as Dana cocked the safety on her weapon and held it to her temple.

“Did you hear me, Mulder?” she screamed, her face contorted with mad glee. “This is the only way you’ll get anything out of me!”

“Jesus, Scul…” Mulder gasped, reaching for her, “be…be careful with that….”

“Is that another order, Fox Mulder??” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You can’t order me around like some child! I won’t listen to you anymore!”

“Scully…” he murmured, his eyes wide.

“Well?!” she hissed. You have anything to say to that, Spooky?”

“Fine,” he replied. “Whatever. Whatever you say. Just put the gun down. Please…please put the gun down.” He took another step towards her and instantly regretted the action, as Dana began to apply a slight amount of pressure to the trigger.

“Stay away from me, Mulder,” she yelled. “I mean it!”

Mulder nodded and retreated a step, his eyes luminous with some unknown emotion.

A showdown had begun. A battle of wills, a fight for control, for power, as Dana held the gun to her head, her hands trembling. She watched her partner remain completely still, silent, as he conveyed a multitude of messages to her with his eyes, not daring to do more.

It was some time before Mulder found the courage to utter another word. “Scully…” he murmured, his voice nearly a caress.

She gulped. God, what that voice could do to her, even now….

“Dana…” he began again, using her given name, “please put the gun down. I know you don’t want to kill yourself.”

She frowned, pressing the gun more firmly to her skull. “You’re not trying that age-old shrink trick on me. Using my name to make this more personal? Putting words into my head about not wanting to kill myself? I expected more of you, Oxford man.”

Mulder suddenly closed his eyes, wincing as he lowered his head. “You’re right,” he said. “You deserve better than that.” He raised his head again to meet her gaze. “Maybe I should switch tactics.” The look in his eyes was suddenly very warm.

Dana watched, unable to do anything, as he slowly approached her, his voice soft and sensual.

“You don’t need any shrink trick or technique to willingly put that gun down,” he said, as he took one careful step after another. “You don’t need it because you want to live. There’s so much you haven’t accomplished, so much you’ve left undone, unthought…” he paused as he stood directly in front of her, “…unsaid.”

Dana just stood there, trembling as she continued to hold the gun to her head. Dear God, could he see…had he seen…?

“You want to say those things,” he said gently, slowly reaching for the gun. “You want to say those things so you can live your life the way you want to live it, and not by someone else’s orders. You want to take control.” He touched the gun. “If you pull that trigger, you’ll never have control.”

Control. Control. Dammit, he was right. Mulder was right. She hated it when he was right.

Mulder continued to talk to her, his fingers slowly enclosing around the weapon. “You can take control, Scully. All you have to do is let it go. Just let it go.”

A lone tear escaped from Dana’s azure eyes as she gazed up at Mulder’s caring, concerned face.

Let what go, exactly? There was so much…so much….

“Scully. Let it go.”

Sighing, she dropped her head in half-hearted acquiescence. As if by magic, Dana felt the gun slip from her fingers into the waiting hand of her partner.

“Thank you,” Mulder murmured softly, ending the sentence with a ragged sigh of what sounded like relief.

Dana continued to bow her head, her eyes closed. She couldn’t bear to look at him. A dim ray of sanity had penetrated her consciousness, making her fully aware of what had just happened.

She’d nearly killed herself. What the hell was wrong with her? What the hell had just happened to make her want to do such a thing?

She felt overwhelmingly ashamed — for her and for him.

Mulder would be crazy not to haul her away to some mental institution, after the stunt she’d just pulled.

Oh Jesus. What had she done? How far had she gone? How far gone had she been? This wasn’t like her at all. This just wasn’t her.

That damn song. That damn fucking song had done it, releasing its demons within her. Those voices. That cross. Voices which were suddenly silent, pain which suddenly stopped, tears which had suddenly dried.

They were gone, all of them. For now, at least. Forever, she hoped.

“Scully.” Mulder’s voice was soft, inviting.

She looked up at him.

God, he was so handsome. So caring, so concerned about her well-being. He’d saved her, for the hundredth, for the thousandth time. She owed him her life.

And to think he’d once said she’d owed him nothing.

“Mulder….” Her voice trailed off as she remembered that poignant afternoon in the hallway outside his apartment, and what had happened afterward.

What nearly had happened.

What had prevented it from happening.

Was this one of her most serious crimes, this sin of omission? Something she should have done that was left undone? Was this what that flame-haired singer had accused her of denying? Of trying to forget, to eliminate from her memory?

She couldn’t go back. Too much time had passed. The moment was lost. Everything had changed for both of them. The notion, the mere possibility, of anything with the man in front of her was only a memory, and a memory it would stay, no matter how she felt, no matter how he felt. It didn’t matter anyway.

A sudden warmth coursed through her veins as she recalled the brief second of surrender, the fraction of a moment she had relinquished all caution, all reason. The minute she’d felt his breath on her lips, the instant she’d closed her eyes to welcome the fullness of his mouth.

The moment, suspended in another time, another place, almost as if a dream. The moment, interrupted by the poison of an insect’s sting.

Never discussed, never resolved, never relived or completed.

Never to be.

“Scully?” Mulder said softly, his eyes roaming the contours of her tear-stained face. “Are you all right?”

Dana emerged from her reverie, cursing silently as the sublime moment slipped into the cracks of her consciousness. “I’m…I’m fine,” she managed to say, her voice ragged and uneven.

Suddenly she found herself in the comforting embrace of her partner, his warmth ebbing into her shivering body. Mulder had somehow pulled her into his arms without her ever being aware of the gesture.

She didn’t mind at all.

Dear God, it felt good. It felt right. Incredibly right, as if she’d merely existed in limbo for years and years until this moment, the moment of true understanding, of truest living.

She could deny it no longer.

To anyone, to herself.

Sinking into his embrace, Dana sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the sculpted muscles just beneath his shirt. Deeply flawed as he appeared to be to the world, to her, he was perfection.

“Scully….” Mulder murmured, his breath tickling the tender flesh of her ear. “Don’t…don’t ever do that again.”

“Mmmm….” Dana inhaled the manly scent of her partner and sighed again. “I…don’t intend on it….”

“Don’t ever even intend on it,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I really thought you were going to….” Wincing, he left the sentence hanging in midair.

Dana looked up into his velvety eyes of hazel and nearly lost her breath at the warmth she found in his gaze. “I did, too,” she agreed.

She felt Mulder expel a ragged sigh, listening to the tremors deep within his body. “I’m…just glad you stopped me in time,” she continued, her lips moving against the soft cotton of his shirt.

“You couldn’t have stopped yourself,” Mulder replied gently, tightening his hold on her.

Dana nodded in complete agreement.

They stood there for some time, neither of them moving an inch, content to rest in the calm and comfort of each other’s arms. No words, no thoughts, only blissful silence.

It wasn’t long, however, before Dana’s mind began to roam, to reflect upon the actions of the previous hour. Why had the song produced such violent reactions within her? Why had she nearly destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to gain, over a stupid song?

It had to have been the song. Nothing else had brought so many emotions to the surface of her being. No past stimulus could have ever achieved such behavior.

“You’re thinking again.” Mulder tucked a wayward strand of auburn hair behind the delicate shell of her ear.

“Hmmm?”

“I said, you’re thinking again.” His hands moved to the rest of her hair, stroking it gently.

“What do you mean?” she asked, sighing as he continued to run his fingers through her hair.

“Exactly what I said.” She could almost see him grin. “You’re never this quiet unless you’re deep in thought about something.”

Dana refused to answer, choosing instead to lose herself in the sensations of his innocent caresses.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, allowing one hand to move to the base of her neck, lingering there with the slightest touch.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Maybe he would just drop it and keep touching her. That would be a welcome change. Her neck was already alive, afire, tingling from the feather-light motions of Mulder’s straying hand.

Mulder chuckled. “With all that’s been going on in that head for the last hour, I sincerely doubt you’re telling me the truth.” He raised her head so that their eyes met. “Or telling me enough.”

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with his. There it was, that incredible electricity, charging them and the space around them. Emanating from his every pore, radiating from his fingertips as he continued to caress the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, lingering over the small scar there.

Dana’s eyes widened as she felt the sudden pounding of her heart, the surging rush of blood through her veins. He really wanted to know, and this time he wouldn’t settle for another of her well-crafted but usually pathetic excuses.

How much could she say? How much should she say? Where to start?

The matter at hand was a safe beginning, safer than anything else that had been on her mind in the last few moments. Dana’s brain went into overdrive as she attempted to think of a coherent answer.

“I…I was just thinking about that song,” she said, tearing her eyes away from his penetrating stare. “Thinking about how that song nearly killed me.”

Mulder nodded. “No kidding.”

“I can’t explain it,” she said. “I was just sitting down, listening to what I thought would be some decent attempt at understanding this case, and then suddenly….”

“Suddenly what?” Mulder wanted to know.

Dana closed her eyes, frowning slightly at the terrible memory. “I…began to hear voices,” she told him. “Voices in my head.”

“What kind of voices?”

“All kinds,” she said. “Old, young, little, big, high, low.” She was careful not to reveal the other voice she’d heard in her head. The other voice she was hearing now.

“What were they saying?”

Dana shook her head, closing her eyes again. “‘Crucify’,” she groaned, wincing as the memories filled her consciousness.

Mulder frowned. “‘Crucify’?” he said. “Why ‘crucify’?”

Opening her eyes, Dana found some comfort in the gaze of her partner. “They…wanted to punish me, for crimes I’d committed…things I’d done….”

“What?” Mulder knelt in front of her. “What had you done to deserve that punishment?”

Dana winced again. “No….” she moaned, closing her eyes as she remembered every little detail of her thwarted execution. Not again. No, not again.

Goddamn circles.

Mulder shook her gently. “It’s okay, Scully,” he said. “It wasn’t real. It was all in your head.”

Abruptly her eyes opened, surprised. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

Mulder smiled, drawing her closer. “I said, it wasn’t real. It was all in your head.” He continued stroking her hair. “You were the unwitting victim of Nora Benton’s last big hurrah before taking to the grave. Nothing more.”

Dana shook her head. “But I heard voices, Mulder,” she told him firmly. “I heard them as clear as I’m hearing you now.”

Mulder chuckled. “You only heard what that song wanted you to hear,” he explained to her. “Apparently you allowed that song to turn a few subconscious memories into your own personal demons.”

“No,” Dana argued emphatically. “You’re wrong. What that song did was real, Mulder. It’s dangerous.”

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. “No, the only danger here is whatever you continue to believe about your condition,” he told her.

Dana frowned. “What?” She felt her blood boiling as Mulder’s face neared hers.

“You need help, Dana,” he told her, his voice laced with concern. “You need to get this all out of your head, or it’ll continue to feed on your sanity.” He touched her shoulder. “I don’t want to see you wither away because of some neurosis that can easily be treated.”

Her heart stopped. No. Surely he hadn’t…not after that embrace, those caresses. After all those words of tenderness, he was labeling her insane?

She pushed away suddenly, so unexpectedly, that he landed on the floor. “So now I’m neurotic??” she growled at him. “What right do you have to pass judgment on me?”

Mulder rose from the floor, frantically smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes. “What was that for?” he demanded.

Dana sneered. “You high-and-mighty, arrogant bastard,” she hissed. “You have NO RIGHT to play shrink on me, just because I’ve had an incredibly trying day. NO RIGHT!!” She pushed him again.

Mulder responded with a snarl on his face. “Oh yeah?” he growled. “Who’s the expert in THIS matter, me or you?” When she did not answer, he continued, “You need help, Scully. YOU NEED HELP.”

“No I don’t!” she yelled.

“Yes you do!” he shouted in reply. “Scully, you are breaking down from something you can’t even define and I think you should get some help and figure out what the hell is causing this before you end up screwing up your entire life!”

“My life is already screwed up enough, no thanks to you!” she yelled, her heart torn into pieces. As she felt the familiar tears rush to her eyes, she sobbed, “How dare you…?”

“Scully.” Mulder’s face softened, as he watched the tears flow down her face a second time. “Jesus, Scully, I…”

“Don’t even bother explaining yourself,” she hissed, turning away from him. “Whatever neuroses I happen to have, I inherited from you!”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” he yelled. “I’m not the one hearing voices in my head!”

“I’m not the one chasing after aliens,” she replied, “or a sister that’s probably dead by now! Deal with it, Mulder! Just deal with it and get on with your fucking life!”

Mulder winced and bent down, his head in his hands. After a few moments, he composed himself and growled, “You’re a fine one to lecture me on that subject.”

Dana’s eyes flashed with something feral. “My sister is dead, Mulder! I’ve done my grieving!” She spun around and began walking into her bedroom. “Maybe you should do yours.”

An evil snarl framed the corners of Mulder’s mouth. “Twist the knife all the way around while you’re at it, Scully,” he jeered. “Make a few more cheap shots at what I value most in life.”

“Oh, please.” Dana rolled her eyes. “The only person you value most in life is yourself, Mulder. Don’t feed me that load of crap!”

“Then why the hell have I busted my ass for over five years looking for her?” Mulder growled, his eyes glinting with an angry fire.

Dana shrugged.

“And while we’re at it,” Mulder continued, pointing a finger accusingly, “why the hell are you still hanging around, if you’ve never believed in any of my work?”

Dana felt her heart cease to beat for several seconds. “Mulder….”

“What’s in it for you, Scully?” he wanted to know.

Dana shook her head vehemently. “Nothing,” she replied.

Mulder snarled. “Bullshit.”

“Fine,” she said, entering her bedroom. “Believe what you like. You wouldn’t care about a word I said anyway.”

“Is that what you think?” Mulder asked her, turning her around. “You think I don’t care?”

Dana nodded. “There seems to be little room for anyone else in your self-centered universe,” she told him, turning around again.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Mulder retorted, ignoring the insult. “I want to know what you think, how you feel, but you won’t tell me. You never tell me a goddamn thing about your life.”

“Why should I?” Dana asked him, frowning as she met his searching gaze. Damn him and those looks. He didn’t even have to ask to draw everything out of her, with looks like that.

“Because I do care,” he told her. “Because I’m not the selfish bastard you’ve proclaimed me to be. I want you to trust me.”

She frowned more deeply. “But I–”

“No,” Mulder said, instantly reading her thoughts. “You can’t trust me with the things that matter most.”

“And what would those be?”

Mulder closed his eyes for a second, then responded. “Your feelings. Your hopes, your dreams. Your thoughts. I literally need a pickaxe and a crowbar to pry anything out of you.” He sighed. “Do you think that’s real trust?”

Dana refused to meet his eyes, focusing on the floor. Dammit, he was right again.

“Does real trust include hiding information of one’s whereabouts from his partner?” Dana wanted to know.

Mulder winced suddenly. Her remark had hit home.

“You hide a hell of a lot more than your location from me, you know,” he retorted. “If tonight is any indication of how much you’ve hidden from me, we’ll need a fucking excavation crew to dig anything out of you.”

“You called me crazy,” Dana yelled back, her voice pained. “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were crazy,” Mulder defended himself with a sudden softness in his voice. “I only said you needed help.”

“But you implied it,” Dana told him. “You called me neurotic.”

“I–I’m sorry,” he said. “It was the wrong word…I…”

“No, it was the right word,” she said. “It was the right word because it was what you thought of me at that exact moment. What you still think of me.” She frowned again.

Mulder shook his head in refusal. “Scully, I don’t think you’re neurotic. I just think you need to talk to someone, to let these repressed memories and feelings come to the light. It’s the only way to deal with the demons.”

“And you took it upon yourself to relieve me of these demons,” she said, turning away from him. “Answer me this, Mulder: What if I don’t want your help?”

“Then find someone else. Anyone. But you need to deal with this, Dana, not let it eat away at you. I guess I just thought–” his voice trailed off.

Dana turned around to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his eyes downcast. “I just thought–actually, I hoped–that you would begin to trust me.”

He looked as if he were about to cry. Oh God. What had she done?

Instinctively Dana reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the sharp stubble there. “Mulder, I do trust you,” she said, “but there are limits to my trust. To anyone’s trust. There are some things I’d rather keep to myself.”

“You’ll go to an early grave with those secrets, Dana Scully,” Mulder warned her softly, still not meeting her gaze.

Dana suddenly felt her reserve crumble before her feet as she observed the myriad spectrum of emotions on her partner’s face. How could she hold anything from him, when he felt this way?

“All I want is the truth,” he muttered to the floor, “and as much as you’ve looked for it with me, you can’t even give me that.”

No. No, that was not how it was.

She couldn’t let him feel this way.

“Mulder…” she said, sighing. “What do you want to know?”

Mulder looked up at her, his eyes suddenly glowing with something hopeful. “You called for me when you passed out,” he said. “I want to know why you called for me.”

It was some time before Dana was able to formulate a logical, intelligent response. A truthful, yet safe response.

“Who knows before anyone if I’m in trouble? You do, if there’s anything I can do or say about it.”

There. Truthful, safe, logical. Perfect.

His lips curled in the faintest hint of a smile. “You trust me.”

“You know I do.”

“But you aren’t telling me the truth, are you?”

Damn him. Damn Mulder and his spooky intuition. He could see straight through her. What could she say? She was damned, either way she chose to respond.

“Tell me why you called for me, Scully.” The look in Mulder’s eyes was plaintive, pleading.

Oh God. Oh, dear God, she couldn’t. She could skirt around the issue for one question, but that one question would bring even more questions to the surface. Questions she would be forced to answer.

Answers she wasn’t ready to reveal.

“Mulder…” she sighed, “I…can’t….”

Mulder frowned again. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Tell me why you called for me.” There was a sudden urgency in his voice.

“No,” she protested. “I don’t want to think about any of it.”

“You have to think about it, sooner or later,” he told her, searching her stormy eyes. “You can’t keep pushing so much to the back of your mind. You have to face it now, before it all consumes you. And based on what I’ve seen, I think it might be too late.”

He grasped her hands. “Tell me why you called for me.”

The sudden charge of electricity caused Dana to jump suddenly as Mulder’s hands covered hers, his fingers gently stroking the delicate flesh of her palm.

“Ask me something else,” Dana said, attempting to change the subject.

“No.” Mulder closed the distance between them. “Tell me, Scully. Tell me.”

“I can’t,” she refused, closing her eyes. She was sure Mulder could see a world of emotions in her eyes alone. Why the hell did he continue to badger her?

Dana kept her eyes tightly shut. She would not give in, as much as she wanted to.

“Dammit, Scully, at least answer my question,” he demanded.

She couldn’t, not without giving everything away, everything she’d worked so hard to conceal, to suppress, for all these years.

And the voices were starting again.

Dear God, no.

Chanting softly at first, their cries grew louder and louder as they approached her. Suddenly Dana was blind to all around her except the angry mob calling for her life.

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t–don’t–”

“Don’t what?” Mulder asked.

Dana covered her ears, hoping to block some of the sound. The gesture only served to amplify the reverberation inside her head.

“Please don’t….” she begged to the voices.

“Scully, what the hell is going on?” Mulder wanted to know.

She couldn’t hear him. All she could hear were the sounds of the mob, crying for her death. Oh God, it was worse than ever. There were more people, more voices crying for blood.

She screamed as she heard the soldiers approach, the nails in their hands.

“What do you want??!!” she asked them. “What do you want from me?!”

Mulder began to shake her petite frame back and forth. “There’s nothing here, Dana,” he reassured her, “just you and me.”

“No!” she yelled again. “I can’t give you that!”

“Give me what?” Mulder asked.

They were screaming, crying for truth. Truth. Death to all her lies, if it meant giving her a death to release the truth from within.

“I’ll say it!” she told them. “I’ll say everything! Just…please…just go away!”

“Scully!”

“Go away!”

Mulder frowned. “Scully, you’re sick and you need help. Please, listen to me and let me help you.”

“No,” she moaned. “No….”

Mulder drew her into his arms. “Snap out of it, Scully!”

“Oh God…” Dana sobbed, as the soldiers raised the nails high above her head.

“Scully!!” Mulder shook her violently.

She felt the first pain in her right hand, crushed by the force of the nail driving through flesh and bone, and screamed.

“Jesus, Dana…” Mulder held her even closer, continuing to shake her. “Don’t do this to yourself!”

A bloodcurdling scream resounded throughout the apartment, an introduction to Dana’s words of confession, the words she’d wanted to say for so long, for too long. The words she never thought she’d ever admit to any person, most of all to him, flooding through the cracks of the dam around her heart.

“GODDAMMIT, MULDER, I NEED YOU!!!” she cried between heart-wrenching sobs of pain and frustration. “I NEED YOU!”

“I’m right here, Scully, right here,” he murmured in her ear, holding her tightly to him.

She repeated the phrase over and over for what seemed like hours, with Mulder continuing to hold her.

“ARE YOU SATISFIED??!!” she screamed to the mob, to the soldiers.

Mulder frowned. “What the hell…?”

And then the voices were gone.

The mob had vanished.

“Finished,” Dana slurred incoherently, almost peacefully. No more voices.

Mulder just sat on the floor, stunned beyond belief, as the petite redhead cried tears of relief in the safety of his arms.

“It’s all right,” Mulder murmured comfortingly in her ear. “It’s all over.”

“Finished,” Dana replied, still sobbing.

“Yes, it’s finished,” Mulder agreed, stroking her hair. “You’re fine. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dana wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to curtail the burning saline in her eyes. “Need you… Mulder…” she repeated again, with an almost childlike quality to her voice.

“I know.” Mulder fit her more closely to him.

“Need you…really need you…” she sobbed in his ear.

Mulder nodded, closing his eyes in blissful understanding.

She couldn’t stop herself from saying it, over and over. She didn’t know why. Maybe she’d forced it to the back of her mind so many times that her mind was finally taking its revenge.

Least of all, to the one man she thought would never know…never guess.

And she couldn’t stop saying it.

The phrase was her only bridge into the realm of reality.

And when reality finally found Dana Scully, she awoke to find herself in the arms of her partner, her friend, her trusted confidant.

Who now knew far more than she’d ever wanted him to know.

Slowly she rose from the floor, breaking the embrace to hide the naked emotion in her eyes.

“Scully?” Mulder asked, rising with her.

“Mulder–” she barely managed to say, “I….” She walked several steps away from him, her back to his questioning gaze.

“What?” Mulder approached her from behind, his hand resting on her small shoulder. “What is it?”

Dana shook her head, unable to make a simple comment on the events of the previous minutes. She wasn’t even sure what had happened herself.

“What just happened to you?”

His lips whispered just short of her ear, his breath caressing her lobe.

She frowned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” His voice was still gentle.

Sighing, she took a deep breath, pausing, hoping it would allow her logic to take control again.

No luck.

“You need me, Scully.”

“Yes.” The reply was short, dispassionate.

“Why is it so hard for you to tell me you need me?”

She bit her lip. “It just is.”

“You think you don’t need anyone, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Scully, this may seem a surprise to you, but I know you need me. It’s no secret.”

Dana said nothing.

“After all this time, you should be able to at least admit it to me. Look what we’ve been through, Scully. Look at every last day we’ve been through together, and you’ll see why it’s not something to be ashamed of, but something to be proud of, to broadcast to the world.”

She kept her face hidden from him.

“I need Dana Scully and I’m proud to need her. I’ll say it to anyone, anywhere.”

Both of his hands were now resting on her shoulders, firm in their grip.

“What about you, Scully? Are you as proud as I am?”

<I’m proud, Mulder. Too proud.>

But she would not make it known.

“In fact, I’d like to show her just how much I need her, right now, if she’ll let me.”

His voice was warmer, huskier, vibrating through her entire ear.

“Will you let me, Scully?”

Dana closed her eyes tightly as his hand moved upward to the nape of her neck.

She would not show him….

Gasping slightly, she closed her eyes as she felt the tenderness and warmth of his touch again. She gasped even more loudly when his other hand snaked around her waist to embrace her from behind, to hold her against him.

That wasn’t a friendly caress. What Mulder was doing was far more intimate than she’d ever been used to, what she’d ever experienced in his arms. He was possessing her as if…as if she were….

Oh God.

When his chin rested against her neck, his breath warm on her delicate flesh, Dana surely thought she was about to collapse again.

He’d better have a damn good idea about the signals he was sending her.

“Scully,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing her neck as he formed the words of yet another question. “How do you feel?”

Her breath was suddenly very labored. Dear God, what was he doing to her? What the hell kind of a question was that? What did he mean by it? There were so many ways to answer….

“How do you feel, Scully?” he murmured again, his hand moving further around her waist, to her abdomen, drawing her even more closely to him. “Do you need this? Do you want this?”

She closed her eyes. He wasn’t behind her. He wasn’t touching her. He wasn’t holding her like an ardent lover lost in the realm of his own passion. It was another hallucination. It had to be.

<You deny me, Dana?> she heard the voice in her ear.

Dammit.

“Talk to me,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath a caress of its own. “Tell me how you feel. Tell me you need me again.”

What the hell was he doing to her?

“Mulder,” she said, her voice garbled, hoarse, strained, as she kept her eyes tightly shut. He would not get another confession out of her mouth, much less what her eyes could not help but reveal with his embrace.

“What?” His breath continued to warm her flesh.

She shook her head. She couldn’t say anything with his hands all over her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, couldn’t plan the proper response.

She very well couldn’t tell him the truth.

She wouldn’t tell him anything, only ask.

“What…are…you…doing?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I asked you first,” he murmured directly in her ear, his airy reply a sudden roar as it traveled through the sensitive canal.

Dana slowly released her breath in a long sigh. By now his intentions were clear. He wasn’t playing his usual shrink games with her. He’d advanced to more dangerous methods of prying information from her soul.

God damn him.

When she moved to push him away, Mulder responded instantly, his arms closing more tightly around her. “I’ll repeat the question,” he said in her ear. “How do you feel? Do you need this too?”

She winced, feeling herself fight a losing battle with Mulder so damn close to her, his arms around her, his hands on her, his mouth nearly on her neck. The words were traveling from deep within her, from her lungs, rising through her windpipe, over the resonating vocal folds that would help to form the words.

As her mouth opened to confess, she clamped it shut when the words began to form on her lips. She would have control.

“What was that?” Mulder’s lips grazed her neck ever so slightly as he slowly spoke each syllable.

Oh God. It was too much. He would have her answer, one way or another, and it wouldn’t take long, if he continued with his newest and apparently most effective strategy.

What the hell was he trying to get out of her anyway? And for what purpose? Did he already know? Had he guessed? Was this why he was torturing her with his embrace, his touch, his mouth?

And how the hell did he feel?

There had to be some way to distract him, some means of escaping this incredible torture. Some way to protect her most cherished secret. Sighing, she temporarily relaxed against him, her head tilted back toward him, as a false sign of surrender.

She heard a faint groan emanate from deep within Mulder as she leaned into him. His arms released their iron hold on her and wrapped in tandem around her waist, so that they tenderly encircled her tiny body.

She seized the opportunity with lightning speed, darting through the circle his arms had made around her waist to break free. She took several steps back, finally meeting the eyes of her captor, seeing the whirlwind of emotions in his hazel orbs.

Confusion. Recognition of what had happened. More confusion. The beginnings of agitation, of anger, of frustration. More confusion. “Scully….” he murmured, frowning as he looked at her.

She shook her head. “It’s not that easy, Mulder,” she said to him, her voice suddenly foreign to her ears. “You of all people should know I don’t give in without a fight.”

Mulder’s frown deepened. “Why do you have to fight me?” he asked her softly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, unable to look at him.

Mulder took one step closer. “What is there to fight?” he wanted to know.

Dana gasped. Oh, God. He knew. He had to know, or at least suspect.

She had to convince him otherwise, or else it would all be over.

“You can’t keep playing head games with me and expect me to voluntarily relinquish information to you,” she said, forcing a slight amount of anger into her voice. “I know what you just did. You did it to throw me off balance.”

“You’re damn right,” Mulder growled in return.

“Are you that desperate to figure me out, Mulder?” she asked, raising her voice another octave. “What the hell is so important to you that you have to do something like that to get my attention?”

“You told me you needed me.” His voice was becoming dangerously low.

“I don’t,” she lied, jutting out her chin.

“Liar.” Mulder took another step toward her.

Dana backed away, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

Mulder spoke again, taking another step. “After all this time, after all you’ve said to the contrary, you still say you don’t need me?” He took another step. “You need me, Scully. You need me more than you’ll ever know.”

“Shut up, Mulder.” Her eyebrows were lowered in restrained fury.

“You told me so yourself, over and over, just now,” he continued, his voice suddenly raising in pitch. “In fact, you screamed it, over and over again, right there, in my arms.” He took another step. “Don’t tell me another lie and expect me to believe you this time.”

Dana sneered. “You believe only what you want to believe,” she said bitingly.

“Oh yeah? Funny how that works both ways tonight.” Mulder took another step.

Dana tried to back away, but found herself standing at the foot of her bed. If she retreated another step, she’d find herself in a very unwanted position.

She was trapped.

Between a bed and her partner, in the metal teeth of her own lies.

This time there was no escape.

Mulder continued to take small steps, approaching her with an intensity in his eyes she’d never seen before. “For years you’ve done nothing but talk yourself out of needing anybody, all in the name of your precious work,” he told her. “Hiding yourself behind those files, those cases.” He paused for a second, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Your true nature is sick of taking second fiddle and it is demanding to be heard, even if it means driving you completely insane to achieve its objective.”

“I’m not insane!” she yelled, her eyes wildly darting back and forth from Mulder to the bed.

Mulder shook his head in refusal. “Stop trying to convince me, Scully. I’m the expert now.” He took another step. “You need help. Hell, you might even need an exorcist.”

“Just what the hell are you implying?” she yelled at him. “You do think I’m crazy, don’t you? You think I’m completely neurotic!”

Mulder shook his head. “Just admit you need me and all this will stop. I’ll make it stop.” His eyes were suddenly ablaze with an unfamiliar fire.

“And just how do you plan on doing that?” she shouted, even though he was directly in front of her.

“You really want to know?” Mulder said, his voice tinged with something more heated than anger.

She put her hands on her hips, challenging him. “You’re the expert; enlighten me.”

Without any warning, she found herself pulled against the broad expanse of Mulder’s chest, her face mere inches from his.

Oh dear God.

She held her breath as she watched Mulder’s mouth slowly, carefully descend toward her parted lips.

He seemed to take forever, moving only a fraction of an inch each second, as if he were deliberately trying to imprint his intentions forever in her memory.

She couldn’t take much more of it, waiting for what she hoped…or dreaded…to be the inevitable.

Suspended just above her mouth, Mulder whispered against the softness of her full lips. “Is this enough, or should I demonstrate further?”

<Oh….>

Dana closed her eyes, unsure of her reply.

If she said anything, she’d be kissing him the next second.

It was inevitable.

Mulder continued to hover just above her mouth, his dark eyes roaming hungrily over her face, searching the fathomless sapphire seas of her eyes. “Well?” he murmured.

Jesus, she’d waited for this moment for a lifetime, for months since the last attempt, and she could do nothing but stand there like an idiot, speechless as his eyes caressed her face.

She found her breath again, in rapid, ragged pants, but found no other strength to continue, to decide.

To protest, to surrender.

She was crazy to stand there, yet she would be crazy to act on any decision she made. And damn it all, it was all her decision, her choice.

Damn, if he didn’t have a gift for putting her in incredibly compromising situations.

Mulder held himself completely still, unmoving, as he awaited her command, teasing her every so often with the slightest touch of his lower lip to the pillowy softness of her own mouth.

Each feather-light, intimate tease of her mouth was enough to send Dana into uncontrollable shudders. Damn, he was good. He had to be good at other things as well.

Finally, after what seemed like several lifetimes of exquisite torture, Dana knew something had to be done.

“Mulder….” she spoke, her mouth accidentally brushing against his.

“Yes?” He returned the gesture.

She closed her eyes, unable to look at him as she made her decision.

“Go home.”

Mulder frowned suddenly, his eyes searching hers. “What did you just say?”

“I said, go home.” She closed her eyes again, forbidding him to find any answers in them. “Get out of here.”

He shook his head slowly, in complete astonishment. “What the…?”

“You heard me,” she said, her voice firm. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Mulder’s frown erupted into a look of full-fledged anger. “You….” he said, barely able to contain himself.

Dana tried not to look at him. She knew he was angry. Angry that she had once again suppressed her true nature. Angry that she had chosen to push him away, when they both knew she wanted otherwise.

“Look at me, Scully,” he commanded, tilting her face up to meet his, even closer to his mouth. “I hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”

“I know,” she replied softly, gazing into his stormy eyes of emerald. “I know what I’m doing is right.”

“The hell it is,” Mulder growled, tightening his hold on her for emphasis. “You want this. You want it more than you’ll ever admit, Dana Scully. You want me.”

She winced, shutting her eyes abruptly. “No,” she argued, trying not to think about just how right Mulder was.

She hated it when he was right.

“You want me,” he repeated, more insistently.

“No,” she countered, her voice slightly higher.

“I’ll keep saying it until you admit it,” he threatened, holding her tightly to him.

“You’ll be here a long time,” she remarked stubbornly, refusing to give in.

“I plan to be.” Mulder fit her more intimately to him.

The heat from his body was unbearable, her senses and logic slowly becoming a puddle of warm liquid right in front of him.

Why couldn’t she just admit it? Just fucking admit it to herself? She wanted him. No, it was far more than that. She ached for him. Her body ached for him right now, had been aching for him ever since he’d wiped that juice from her thighs.

She shuddered, involuntarily.

Dana shook her head. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This was a power struggle, not a moment of passion. For all she knew, he could be doing this just to gain the upper hand and once she was able to admit her desire for him, he would be gone, the smug confident bastard.

She’d told him to leave.

Why the hell wasn’t he leaving?

“Get out now, Mulder,” she threatened, her voice hinting of something slightly feral. “I mean what I say.”

“Tell me you want me, Scully,” he insisted, his lips barely apart from hers. “Tell me and I’ll leave.”

“No.”

“Then you’d better get comfortable,” Mulder growled, his eyes suddenly moving to the object behind them. “That bed looks damn good right now.”

Dana gasped. No…surely he wasn’t implying….

“Tell me, Scully,” he said, his hands beginning to roam along the curves of her body. “Tell me you want me.”

She gulped as his hands barely caressed the sensitive flesh just above her buttocks. “I….”

“Say it,” Mulder prompted gently, his breath in her ear. “Put us both out of our misery.”

His hands had become gentle, tender, expertly seeking her most sensitive areas. Dana moaned aloud, feeling the pleasure of his touch even through a layer of thick winter fabric.

“That’s it…” he cajoled, nipping the flesh of her earlobe. “Say it.”

Dana moaned again, half in protest, half in pleasure. “Mulder….”

“Say it,” he repeated, taking the delicate lobe into his mouth.

Dana’s eyes widened as the heat of his mouth completely enveloped her ear. “God….” she sighed uncontrollably.

This felt so right. It was so right. It was everything she’d imagined, so far. He was gentle, tender, caring. His lips were so soft on her ear. His mouth was so warm, his hands possessing her with restrained passion, as he tried to procure the desired response from her.

That bed did look damn good.

No. Dammit, no! That was it. No more games.

Dana abruptly pushed Mulder away from her, with a burst of strength she never knew she had. “Get out, Mulder!” she yelled to him.

“What the hell…?” Mulder cursed, frowning as he tried to orient himself.

“Get out now!” she yelled, pointing to the door.

“No,” Mulder refused, shaking his head. “I won’t leave until you tell me you want me.”

She shivered.

“We both know it, Scully. I can feel it. I can see it in you. Just admit it.”

“Get the hell out of here, Mulder!” she demanded, walking around him into the living room to retrieve his coat.

He continued to shake his head, back and forth, in complete amazement. “I can’t believe you are so stubborn. So goddamn stubborn!” He turned to face her, and watched as she threw his coat into a heap of material a few feet in front of him.

She approached him again, standing on his coat. “Get out,” she repeated.

Mulder grabbed her shoulders forcefully. “Tell me you want me, Scully! You want this. You want me. You want me here–” he touched her lips, “–and here.”

Dana shivered when his hands brushed against the sides of her breasts.

“Shall I continue or do you get the picture?”

She snarled at him, pushing him toward the door. “I get the picture, but I’m not buying. Not now. Get out, Mulder.”

“I’m not leaving, Scully.” He pulled her close to him again, their lips almost touching. “You want me to kiss you, to touch you, don’t you? You want me to make love to you and give you so many fucking orgasms you won’t even know your own name when I’m done!”

“Get OUT,” she screamed in his face.

“You know how I know you do?” he continued, his breath achingly hot on her lips. “I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your voice. Even just now. Yet you continue to deny how you feel, to me, to us, to yourself! Stop being so damn stubborn and tell me you want me!”

For a brief instant, Dana fell silent, dumbfounded. He knew. He knew.

“You think this is easy for me to admit?” Mulder yelled back. “I’m putting my ass on the line doing this! Hell, I’m putting our fucking JOBS on the line!”

“Go to hell, Mulder!”

She did NOT want to deal with this. Not now. Not ever. Not when they were both angry. Maybe tomorrow when things cooled over….

Christ, why wasn’t he leaving?

“Dammit!!!” he cursed, shaking her once. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?! With yourself?!”

“Out, Mulder! Now!”

Mulder ignored her, switching tactics. “Would it help if I told you how much I want you?” he confessed, squeezing her more tightly. “How much I want to be in that bed with you, right now, damn our jobs and damn all the consequences?”

Dana’s heart skipped a beat. Had he just said what she could’ve sworn she heard?

“Would it help if I told you how many times I’ve wanted to take you in my arms and do things to you I’ve only had the courage to do in my dreams?” he continued.

She gasped. She had heard him right. Dear God….

“And would it help,” Mulder asked her, “if I told you how long I’ve wanted to do these things to you? With you?”

Her throat was dry as she pondered his words. How long had he wanted it? How long had he wanted her?

“Years, Scully,” he replied, his eyes downcast.

Dana somehow lost her breath upon hearing the answer to her question. That would mean…all this time….

He shook his head in frustration, interrupting her thoughts. “We could have it. There’s nothing holding us back but your pride. Your goddamn pride will keep us both from finding out, probably forever, if your iron heart actually lasts that long.”

Snarling, he pushed himself away from her. “I guess I was wrong about you,” he said. “You are fucking neurotic to push me away and lie to my face when you know that you feel the same way.”

Dana’s face grew livid with fury. “You bastard,” she yelled. “You fucking bastard!” She turned around and began to walk into the living room. “Dammit, Scully!” he yelled, chasing after her. “Don’t you walk away from me, not when you know that I’m right!”

He grabbed her shoulder.

“Oh, is that another order?” Dana jeered.

Mulder snarled. “Yeah, it is.”

“Go to hell,” she hissed, wrenching her arm free.

As she began to walk toward the door, Mulder followed her, hot on her heels. “I told you not to walk away from me!” he yelled.

“Get OUT, Mulder!” she cried, whirling around. Her cheeks were hot from the stream of tears continuing to flow down her face.

When he did not move, she pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of here!”

Mulder shook his head. “No.”

“I’ll call the cops, Mulder, I swear!”

“Like they’ll believe you after the stunt you just pulled.”

“Stunt? That was NO STUNT, Mulder. That was real.” Her voice was dangerously low.

“Try convincing someone else.” He continued to stare at her, his gaze stormy and frothy and as passionate as before — only with something different. Something cold.

“You know what I think you did, Scully? I think you did that just to get some attention, to milk some apology out of me without having the courage to ask for it yourself. I would’ve never thought you’d have to resort to such juvenile tricks to play on my sympathies.”

She frowned. What the hell…?

“Fuck you, Mulder.” She pushed him toward the door, but he fought her with every step. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“I’m not leaving, Scully, not until you can finally be honest with me and yourself!”

“I’ll call Skinner, then.” She reached for the phone. “You’ll find yourself out of a job and out of a life if you don’t get the hell out of my apartment right now!”

“Get comfortable, Scully; I’m not leaving.” Mulder was firm.

Dana shook her head. He really wasn’t going to leave. He was going to stay all night, probably all year, all his life, until she said those damn words.

And she wasn’t going to say them. She couldn’t.

Yet if he stayed a minute longer, staring at her like that, it wouldn’t be long before everything she’d refused to reveal would fall from her lips into the space around them. Changing everything, flinging them into uncertain territory, into a dark and uncertain future.

Goddamn that probing stare of his. This had gone far enough. She had to find some rest, some relief.

Away from the emerald eyes of the man in front of her.

Quickly, determinedly, she made her decision and opened a small closet beside her to retrieve her woolen coat. “Maybe you should be the one to get comfortable,” she said to him, donning the heavy article.

Mulder’s eyes widened incredulously, as if he were unwilling to believe what she was doing.

“If you’re not leaving,” she told him flatly, “I am. I’m not staying around to hear myself called neurotic and desperate for attention for the next few hours.”

Mulder frowned. “Scully–”

Dana silenced him with a wave of her hand, her eyes wide with fury. “Don’t give me your usual bullshit, Mulder. I won’t listen to it anymore. I’m sick of it and I’m sick of you!” She spun around on her heel and stomped toward the door.

“Dammit!” Mulder cursed, nearly flying from the bedroom to the door. “Scully, don’t do this. It’s not safe–you’re not safe–”

He reached for her, protectively, but she shoved his hand away.

“I’m safer out there than I am in here with you,” she hissed, opening the door.

“Scully–”

“Don’t even bother following me,” she growled, “or trying to find me.” She picked up her weapon from the nearby table. “I’ll shoot both you and myself if you come within a mile of me.”

Mulder stopped the door from closing. “Please, Scully–” he pleaded with her. “Don’t do this.”

Dana shook her head. “I am, Mulder. I am and I will. Goodbye.” She began walking down the hall, then stopped and turned around to address him one last time. “How dare you call me a coward?”

She spun around again, opening the outer door, without so much as a look back at the man calling after her. Yelling for her to turn around, to come back. Saying her name with incredible suffering in his voice.

Dana gritted her teeth and stepped outside, commanding an incredible amount of willpower to walk into the cold, dark night. His cries began to fade as the door closed, the wind whirling around her face.

Then silence. Complete silence.

Thank God.

Dana winced as she fought the icy gale, heading toward her car. He couldn’t call to her from here. He couldn’t cajole her into a confession. The last thing she needed right now was one more voice telling her what to do with her life.

Turning the key, Dana heard the familiar roar of the reviving engine, and took one last look at her apartment window. A shadowed figure stood there, against the window, his palms pressed to the glass, looking back at her.

She couldn’t bear to look any more. The guilt she felt was nearly enough to send her running into the apartment, into his waiting arms, arms that could take away all the pain they’d both felt, they’d both experienced. Lips that could erase the horrible memories of harsh words. Soft, full lips that had the power to absolve her own mouth of the sinful utterances she’d spoken to him.

Her pride would not allow it.

Shifting her car into gear, she pulled away from the curb into the dark night, thankful she couldn’t hear him calling for her, begging for her return.

At least there was one less voice in her head.

* * *

Hotel

Title: Hotel

Author: Bidie McCucholl

Category: S

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Please post to ATXC. Do not post to Gossamer. I will post myself. Others, please ask me. Please post in .txt format as well.

Spoilers: Never Again, Lazarus (brief)

Keywords: Scully angst

Summary: After driving for several hours in an attempt to escape the voices in her head and the memories of a heated confrontation with Mulder, Scully finds her distractions in several locations near her apartment. Her final destination, a hotel, and the events which take place within, offer her the ultimate temptation to accept a new existence and a hope of exorcising her personal demons. The third installment of a quintet of stories inspired by the music and lyrics of Tori Amos.

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Disclaimer: Again, as always, and forever, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully do not belong to me. They belong to FOX, Chris Carter, and Ten Thirteen Productions. Likewise, the words of Tori Amos belong exclusively to her. I am earning no revenue whatsoever from this hobby, and (gasp) I haven’t even earned permission to use these characters or these lyrics! At least it’s for the good of non-profit fanfiction—not to mention the subliminal promotion of Tori’s CDs, From the Choirgirl Hotel, and Little Earthquakes! 🙂 This story, however, isn’t for little kids, so those under 17, or anyone uncomfortable with graphic and mature content, please read with caution! 🙂 The only reward I ask from this labor of love is that all who read this story will send feedback to [email protected]. Thanks again and enjoy reading! 🙂

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AUTHOR’S NOTES (somewhat long because there’s much to cover)

Tori Amos speaks of her song, Hotel, as a window to her past:

“I think as you’re getting married, all the loves, even 10-minute loves, are popping up. Hotel was really like feeling like an agent – a spy – in that he was the greatest guy at one time and they were giving me time behind enemy lines. Even though she knows they can’t be lovers because it’s a whole other life, she just can’t let him go.”

This quote and the song “Hotel” was the basis, the inspiration for the third story in The Amos Absolution. Other inspirations for the story include the songs “Raspberry Swirl” (which has a drink named after it in my story), “Jackie’s Strength” (a slightly twisted interpretation of Tori’s tribute to Jackie Onassis), “Crucify” (which forms the impetus for the beginning of this story), and “Leather” (which eerily foreshadows a dark relationship revealed in the middle of the story).

“Hotel” was originally sketched as the ending to the second story, “Crucify”. As my ideas progressed, and as I started digging deep into Scully’s character, I realized that the story would be too long for my original purposes, and that another story would have to be created from the second half of “Crucify”. Little did I realize what a massive undertaking this new addition would become. (The flames that impatient readers have sent me are living proof.) 🙂

“Hotel” soon became an impossibly difficult labor of love, because characterizing Dana Scully ten years from the present requires a lot of insight, intuition, and research into already-accepted canon about her past. Based on what I knew about her relationship with her father, her reasons for joining the FBI, her relationship with a certain instructor at the Academy, and the status of her present assignment, I took the liberty of filling in a few crucial holes in Dana Scully’s history.

In this story, I intended to reveal just why Scully ran away from Mulder, when faced with everything she could have ever wanted for six years, why her stubborn will prevented her from having happiness with Mulder or with any man, why she has always been so afraid of opening up and trusting people for whom she’d developed feelings. As you’ll read in the story, you can’t blame her. She’s had a rocky relationship or two to take the fall for her behavior.

Most importantly though, this story forces Dana to confront the shadowed memories of her past, to bring them to the surface, and through the music of Tori Amos, Dana slowly comes to the realization that something needs to be done about the duality of behavior within her to have inner peace and happiness within.

Before I let you read the story, however, I feel I should post a warning to those who are accustomed to my usual MSR stories. This story is MSR in thought and mind alone. If you’re initially offended, please, please, please keep reading! You’ll eventually see why I had to do what I did….remember, you didn’t turn off the TV when you saw Scully kiss Ed Jerse….

…And that’s all I have to say about that…anymore and I’ll ruin the surprise…!

Now I can sit back for a few days and rest…! 🙂 (whew) As always, feedback is heartily welcomed, but flames are eaten by my opera director’s cocker spaniels…! 🙂

Visit my website for the other stories in the series, as well as my other works…and check out my thank you for my Spooky nominations! 🙂

Love in X, Bidie McCucholl. –––––- My archive: http://www.angelfire.com/oh/BidieMcCucholl/index.html

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Part One

“…it’s ten o’clock on a chilly February night; hope you have someone to keep you nice and warm through those wee hours of the morning. If you don’t, go out and find someone. The night’s still young and it’s too cold to be alone.”

Dana rolled her eyes at the sultry voice on the radio. What the hell did that woman know about being alone? With a voice like that, she probably had men lining up outside the studio.

“…and for those of you with that special someone, here’s a little tune to bring you even closer….a little Righteous Brothers on your winter night.”

Dana winced as the familiar strains of ‘Unchained Melody’ filled the confines of the car. Great. This was just what she needed, sappy love songs on what was fast becoming the worst night of her life.

She’d been driving around for hours, in endless circles around the DC area, hoping to find some peace about the situation she’d left at her apartment. Wishing that at least the void left in her heart could be forgotten with some other mindless, repetitive activity, such as driving.

Driving always helped her to think. It always had. It was a shame she’d done so little of it lately. In recent years she’d relinquished that activity to someone else.

Dammit.

Dana cursed, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. She’d spent three hours on the road to try to forget about Mulder, and nothing, not even driving, could erase the painful memories of their conversation, the exchange of sudden passion, her denial of her desire for him, and the hasty retreat she’d made from him. It had been too much for her, too much all at once.

She’d been right in leaving.

Again, Dana rolled her eyes. <Yeah, keep telling yourself that,> she advised herself bitterly. <Maybe you’ll fully believe it when you’re too old to remember.>

She had been right in leaving, though. She couldn’t have stayed there and waited to see what confession would have inevitably popped right out of her mouth. The stakes were far too high for her to have remained in the same apartment with him.

But she couldn’t forget Mulder’s plaintive pleas as she’d left. Nor could she ever erase from her memory the devastation on his face as he’d stared out the window, watching her pull away from the curb into the waiting darkness.

She couldn’t have stayed, but she shouldn’t have left.

Dammit to Hell.

As Dana rounded the corner onto a street she’d traveled only an hour before, she cursed inwardly.

Endless circles. Goddamn endless circles. They were everywhere, even on the streets.

<This has got to stop,> Dana told herself. <No more circles.>

The radio continued to emit the sounds of the current song through the stereo speakers, to Dana’s utter dismay. Frustrated with her newly-remembered thoughts, she quickly turned off the radio to escape the sickeningly sweet singing of the Righteous Brothers.

The last thing she needed right now was to listen to a damn song. Any song.

Dana sighed when silence greeted her ears. Blessed silence, save for the hum of the engine and the rush of wind hitting the moving car.

No radio, no disgusting love songs. Finally, some peace and quiet in her chaotic, tumultuous life.

Well, at least quiet.

With no distracting sounds from a radio, the resulting silence had left Dana alone with only herself and her thoughts as company.

It was hard not to think about what had happened hours earlier. Actually, it was nearer to impossible to forget about the events which had brought her to yet another endless circle around the perimeter of her city.

Damn Mulder and his spooky perception.

And, dammit, she wanted him in spite of it all.

Her palm hit the steering wheel again.

“Focus, Dana,” she told herself aloud, trying to concentrate on the cars ahead of her, the buildings beside her, the street lights, anything but the man she’d left in her apartment. “Goddammit, focus!”

The thoughts in her head were as destructive as the dormant voices there.

There had to be something to take her mind off the pain, something to fill the formless void in her heart. Something to dull the memories, the thoughts, the feelings, the regrets.

The unbearable guilt which permeated her entire being.

Driving was no longer an option. It simply wasn’t working anymore. It hadn’t worked at all, to be honest.

Suddenly a neon sign in the distance caught Dana’s eye. Squinting, she attempted to read the brightly-lit letters from several hundred feet away.

Rhino’s.

With one decisive motion, Dana steered the car into the only available space on the curb beside the building and walked through the door, welcoming the familiar smell of burning tobacco and the cacophony of conversation. This would do. Yes, this would do, she mused as she took a seat at the mahogany bar.

There was one thing that would make her forget.

She signaled to the man behind the bar, who nodded in acknowledgment and walked over to her with a friendly grin on his face.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender yelled jovially over the noise of the crowd.

Dana frowned, unsure of what to order. It had been so long she she’d consumed anything alcoholic, and for these specific purposes. “Something strong,” she replied. “Something really strong.”

His grin widened. “So early in the evening? It’s not even midnight yet.”

Dana shook her head. “I don’t care,” she told him. “Just give me something strong.”

The bartender continued to grin as he spoke. “Sweetheart, I’ve got everything under the sun back here. Have you got an idea what you’d like?”

Dana nodded as she confessed her purpose for entering the establishment. “I don’t have a particular concoction in mind; just give me something…something to make me forget.”

He frowned. “What’s a pretty woman like you wanting to forget?”

She felt a slight blush rise to the surface of her skin. Sheepishly, she answered, “It’s nothing, really. Nothing you’d be interested in anyway. I just don’t want to think about it for a while.”

Chuckling, the bartender set a glass of water in front of her. “If it’s a problem, I’m interested. Problems are my business.”

Dana accepted the glass a water with the slightest hint of a smile. “I’ve forgotten how helpful bartenders can be,” she remarked, raising it to her lips.

A lopsided grin settled across his features. “That long, huh?”

Dana nodded, resting the glass on the table.

The bartender procured several bottles of liquid and returned to face her with a smile. “Looks like you deserve a Cole Creation.”

Dana wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “A what?”

“A Cole Creation. Made by yours truly.” He laughed. “I’ve got two choices that’ll help you forget your problems in no time.”

“And what are those, …Cole?” she wanted to know.

The bartender named Cole continued to smile as he answered her. “If you want something sweet, something that’ll gradually get you there, you’ll want the Raspberry Swirl. Sweet, fruity, you’ll go into a gentle good night without even knowing it.”

“Try the Raspberry Swirl,” a young woman interrupted, clumsily touching Dana’s shoulder. “It’s incredible.”

Dana cautiously eyed the woman, who was obviously drunk. From the looks of it, she was barely old enough to even be in the establishment.

“Yeah,” a boy beside her announced in agreement. “It’s only named after the best damn song in the world.”

Dana turned to the bartender with a quizzical look.

“Don’t mind them,” Cole said. “They’re just into the special on the tube.”

Dana looked at the television just above the bar, which featured a red-haired woman at a grand piano.

Something about that woman looked familiar…strangely familiar….

“Anyway,” Cole continued, “the Raspberry Swirl is good if you plan on making a slow journey to the Great Beyond.”

Dana nodded. “And my other option?”

He leaned over the bar, closer to her. “If you want more dramatic results, you should try the Fade to Black. I won’t say what’s in it, but let’s just say it lives up to its name.” He grinned. “You’ll probably need several days to sober up.”

“Fade to Black?” Dana cocked an eyebrow.

Cole nodded. “One of my Hollywood colleagues suggested the title when he tried the drink for the first time. He’s using it out there now; his customers are still recovering.”

Dana was barely able to suppress the slight giggle which surfaced from her throat.

“So what’s your choice, Red?” Cole asked her liltingly.

Dana smiled slightly in reaction to his endearment. “It’s a hard choice,” she said. “I’m not sure which one I should try.”

“You could always try both,” he suggested.

“Good idea,” she replied, nodding. “Give me the Raspberry Swirl.”

Cole returned her comment with an exaggerated bow, leaving to prepare the drink.

Dana stared blankly at the half-full glass of water. He needed to hurry with that damn drink. She didn’t want to think about Mulder. She didn’t want to think about anything. That drink she’d ordered had better have some effect within the next few minutes, or else.

Or else…what?

What was Dana Scully capable of?

Dana winced as she remembered just what she’d been capable of before. That gun to her head had been real. That hadn’t been an illusion.

Softly she fingered the weapon in her holster, praying she would have the strength to keep it there for the remainder of the evening.

Suddenly she heard a scream, coming from above. A loud, primal wail coming from the television. Coming from that awful-looking redhead at the piano.

Dear God, who was that woman?

The crowd around the bar suddenly erupted into a wail of their own, cheering and applauding as the woman on the television screen began to sustain a high note for several seconds.

This was worse than a damn football game. Who were these idiots anyway?

The woman continued to sustain the note, holding her long arms high in the air. “You go, Tori!” the girl seated beside Dana yelled.

Dana frowned, shaking her head slowly as she peered at the television. Tori…?

“Excuse me,” Dana said, tapping the girl on the shoulder. “Could you tell me who that singer is?”

The girl peered at Dana through half-closed, bloodshot eyes. “Where have you been, under a rock? That’s Tori Amos.”

Dana was sure she was about to fall off her stool. That crazy-looking woman with scarlet hair and barbarous belting was Tori Amos?

Oh, for Chrissakes.

She couldn’t escape the woman, even in a bar.

“She’s the most awesome singer ever,” the girl continued. “She’s so…profound.”

Dana doubted the girl even knew the meaning of the word profound.

“Yeah,” her companion agreed. “She tells it like it is; no bullshit. She just comes out and says what’s on her mind in her songs.”

<So I’ve noticed,> Dana thought wryly.

“She doesn’t care what anyone else thinks,” the girl told Dana. “She follows her own rules.”

Dana could not resist the comment forming on her lips. “Most artists do,” she informed the young couple.

The girl frowned for a second, then smiled as if she meant to educate and inform yet another ignorant member of the populace. “But Tori’s different. She’s got new ways of expressing old ideas. That’s what’s made her so popular.”

Dana nodded in an attempt to humor the couple. “I’m glad you think so highly of her,” she said. “Unfortunately I don’t think I can share your opinion.”

The girl smiled in spite of Dana’s comment. “Give her time. She grows on you.”

<God, I hope not,> Dana remarked silently as she turned back to the television screen.

The camera was focused on the redheaded singer as she began to sing with a strange accompaniment and an absence of any meter or rhythm whatsoever.

“Feel it…” she sang into the microphone. “Feel it… coming…the soldiers…marching one by one…execution… execution…nowhere left to go but down…no escape… no release…but maybe you could please….”

“Ohmigod,” the girl screamed, “it’s another improv!”

The audience and the crowd assembled at the bar both responded with a raucous cry. Dana winced in pain from the deafening volume of the cheers.

“Please…” she groaned into the microphone. “Please… pleeease be….”

The crowd roared.

“Pleeeease be….save me….”

Another deafening roar.

“I…cry…hye-hye-hye….”

Suddenly a drum beat began, very much like the pulse of a human heart. Soon after, the guitarist joined in with an accompaniment of open fifths, giving the music a somewhat medieval quality.

Apparently the crowd had ascertained the title of the song; another roar erupted within the bar. Whatever the song was, it was obviously a favorite.

Suddenly Tori began to sing, gingerly touching the ivory keys of her piano.

“Every finger in the room….is pointing at me

“I wanna spit in their faces

“Then I get afraid of what that could bring

“I got a bowling ball in my stomach

“I got a desert in my mouth

“Figures that my courage would choose to…sell out now”

Dana sighed. That song was about her. Just like that other song. Dammit, why was every song by this strange woman a complete narrative of Dana’s own hopeless, meaningless existence?

She didn’t think she could listen much longer. To hell with the drink.

“I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

“Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

“I’ve been raising up my hands

“Drive another nail in

“Just what God needs

“One more victim”

Dana frowned darkly. <I’ll second that,> she thought, remembering her own painful experience with the iron nails.

“Why do we…crucify ourselves

“Every day…I crucify myself

“Nothing I do is good enough for you

“Crucify myself

“Every day…I crucify myself

“And my heart is sick of being…I said my heart is sick of being…in…CHAIIINS….”

The crowd in the bar had begun to sing along to the lyrics, a mad chorus of fanatic voices much like the ones Dana had heard in her head.

Great. More voices. Louder voices.

Another jury to condemn her, their judge and their goddess at a piano, screaming a sermon to the congregation.

Dana suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

“Got a kick for a dog beggin’ for love

“I gotta have my suffering

“So that I can have my cross

“I know a cat named Easter

“He says will you ever learn

“You’re just an empty cage girl if you kill the bird”

Dana frowned again. Had she done just that by leaving the apartment so hastily?

“I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

“Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

“I’ve been raising up my hands

“Drive another nail in

“Got enough guilt to start my own religion”

Dana stared at the raspberry drink the bartender had put in front of her. <Maybe I should,> she thought bitterly, agreeing with the judge. <At least I could save myself.>

She was lost in her own thoughts as the crowd sang the chorus. Was Mulder still at the apartment, waiting for her, or had he given up and left? Would she ever see him again? If she did, could she ever face him? She wouldn’t blame him for never wanting to see her or speak to her again. She couldn’t even face herself or her memories right now.

Dammit, she needed that drink.

Quickly Dana consumed the glass in three large gulps, unaware of anything but the coldness of the frozen liquid as it traveled down her throat.

She needed something stronger.

“Bartender…Cole,” she yelled above the crowd, “another, please.”

He frowned. “I just gave you one.”

“Yes, but I’d like another, please.” <Dammit, don’t ask questions, just do it.>

Cole shook his head in puzzlement. “Honey, I don’t think you’ve got the right drink for what you want to accomplish.” He took the glass. “It’ll take you several of these to come close.”

Dana leaned over the bar. “Give me that other one, then…that Fade to Black. And keep them coming.”

A worried look settled over Cole’s features, but he said nothing in disagreement. “Whatever you say,” he replied, pouring various liquids and syrups into a small glass.

“Looking for a savior in these dirty streets

“Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

“I’ve been raising up my hands

“Drive another nail in

“Where are those angels

“When you need them?”

<Yeah, where are they?> Dana asked herself bitterly. If ever she needed an angel, it was now, to help save her from what she was about to do to herself.

There was no other earthly way to escape.

Suddenly Dana found a glass filled with black liquid in front of her. “Thank you, Cole,” she said to him, without looking up.

She couldn’t see Cole’s look of concern when she raised the glass to her lips and downed the contents in a matter of seconds.

Mmmm. Licorice. Dark chocolate and licorice, with a hint of coffee…or was that Kahlua? Whatever it was, it tasted interesting.

“What’s in this?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I see.” Dana smiled. “Bartender’s secret.”

“No, I mean, you don’t want to know.” He leaned over the bar to meet her eyes. “You wouldn’t want another.”

“And that would be a very bad thing,” Dana remarked, beginning to feel the warmth of the liquid in her veins.

“I dunno,” Cole argued, assessing her condition. “It might be a good thing.”

“Who are you, my father?” Dana muttered, handing him the empty glass. “Keep them coming.”

Cole accepted the glass with a wary look. “Easy, Red,” he told her gently. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It is,” she told him, looking him square in the eye.

Cole nodded, turning his back to Dana to prepare another drink.

When Dana turned her eyes to the television, she was relieved to note that the song was over. Thank God. One more minute and she would have had to deal with more dangerous voices than a mob of drunken college students.

The next song was very simple, beginning with a short introduction of chords on the piano, before Tori began to sing. The crowd cheered as they recognized the lyrics.

“Look I’m standing naked before you

“Don’t you want more than my sex

“I can scream as loud as your last one

“But I can’t claim…innocence”

The crowd began to sing along with her as she entered the chorus.

“Oh…God…could it be the weather

“Oh…God…why am I here?

“If…love…isn’t forever

“And it’s not the weather

“Hand me my leather”

Dana’s eyes widened as she heard the last phrase of the chorus. Surely she hadn’t heard what she’d thought she’d heard. Not on national television.

“I could just pretend that you love me

“The night would lose all sense of fear

“But why do I need you to love me

“When you can’t hold what I hold dear?”

The crowd began to sing again.

“Oh…God…could it be the weather

“Oh…God…why am I here?

“If…love isn’t forever

“And it’s not the weather

“Hand me my leather”

She had heard it. Dear God, did the woman have any sense of decency, or did she get off on shocking the hell out of unsuspecting listeners?

What was worse, the crowd seemed to enjoy the song as if it were prime entertainment, embracing each other by the shoulders and swaying along to the beat of the music.

Dana watched the redheaded woman play the piano interlude to the piece with incredible passion, her face contorted into a multitude of unique expressions.

She was good. She was talented; Dana would give her that much. But those lyrics needed to disappear…they were hitting home all too well and striking one too many sensitive areas in Dana’s head and heart.

Areas she wasn’t ready to access.

Areas she thought had remained completely classified, even to herself, for years upon years.

Areas other than ones reserved for Mulder.

Dana frowned, closing her eyes. Dammit.

As if thoughts of Mulder weren’t enough to drive her insane.

It was over, years ago. She was a different person now. Completely changed and converted. No one even knew or suspected there were dark alleys and shadowy paths to the heart of Dana Scully. Not even Mulder could have guessed, as incredibly intuitive as he was with her.

He’d never guessed, because she’d made herself forget.

But here she was, remembering again, every little hazy detail from over a decade ago, coming into focus, forming hundreds of memories she wished she’d never lived.

Damn that Tori woman. Damn her.

“Oh…God….could it be the weather

“Oh…God….it’s all very clear

“If…love…isn’t forever

“And it’s not the weather”

The crowd in the bar suddenly yelled the last phrase of the song as Tori held out the microphone to the audience.

“Hand me my leather!!!” they shrieked, holding on to one another in a state of inebriate insolence.

This was too much. All of it. She’d rather think about Mulder than what the song had resurfaced in her head. Her flight from Mulder was a much more pleasant thought.

Part Two

Dana downed her second Fade to Black in one continuous gulp, slamming the glass down on the table. “Cole,” she growled, her voice slightly slurred. “Another.”

Cole turned around from cleaning a glass and frowned with concern at the worried-looking redhead. “You sure you’re okay, Red?”

“I’m not okay,” she slurred, snarling at the bartender. “If I was okay, do you think I’d be in a bar alone on a Saturday night?” She laughed suddenly, wistfully. “Hell no. I’d be home alone on a Saturday night.”

Cole approached her, taking the glass from her hands. “A beautiful woman like you, alone on a Saturday night? That’s normal?” He began to mix another drink for her.

Dana nodded, staring at the intricate patterns of grains in the dark wood. “That’s normal,” she answered, tracing the lines in the wood. “It’s been ‘normal’ for too long.”

Cole gingerly placed the new drink on the napkin in front of her, leaning over the bar. “If you ask me, I don’t think there’s anything normal about being alone on a Saturday night. Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?”

Dana chuckled. ‘Something’ was right on the money. What the hell was Mulder anyway?

“You could easily find someone. Why are you alone in a bar when thousands of guys would give their right arms to be seen in public with a pretty woman?” He pointed to several, sitting in a corner. “A few have already noticed you since you walked in the door.”

Dana turned around to glance at five well-dressed men sitting at a table, smiling at her and apparently discussing something about her.

Men. What the hell did they know about Dana Scully? No decent man in his right mind would want Dana Scully, not when they found out she was good with a scalpel and ran around chasing after figments of someone else’s imagination.

Dana took the glass and sipped from it, shaking her head. “My work is my significant other.”

Cole frowned again.

“Has been for over ten years,” she confessed, taking small sips from the glass. “I don’t know anything else other than that.”

“What a waste,” he commented, staring sympathetically at her.

Her eyes darted up, two ice blue beams glaring straight at him. “I beg your pardon…?”

“You heard me,” Cole said, meeting her gaze. “You are throwing your life in the garbage if you aren’t trying to enjoy it.”

“I enjoy life,” she protested, slightly offended by Cole’s directness.

“Why are you here if you’re enjoying life?” he wanted to know.

She shook her head. “It’s none of your damn business.”

“Try me.” Cole put a hand on her lower arm, causing Dana to flinch slightly at the sudden and unwanted contact.

She shook her head again, frowning. “You don’t have ten years to listen to all that’s happened.”

“Then give me the highlights,” he said.

Dana moved her arm away from Cole’s hand. “Forget it. Just do your job, okay? I’m not paying you to be my therapist. Pour my drinks, keep this glass filled, and don’t ask me any more questions.”

Cole moved away from the bar, looking at her with a mixture of concern and caution. “Fine,” he said curtly, moving to the other end of the bar to attend to other customers.

Instantly Dana regretted the biting words she’d spoken to the bartender. What the hell was she doing anyway? This wasn’t like her to be so snappy.

Yes, it was. Yes, it was like her. It was just like her to push away any concerned, interested man with half a brain and half a heart. And this one wasn’t even interested in that way.

Or was he?

What did it matter anyway? It wasn’t as if she was going home with anyone tonight. Who the hell would want Dana Scully?

She turned around to glance at the five men again and realized she was wrong.

Why were they staring at her? What the hell was their problem? Did she have something on her sweater? Something in her hair? She probably looked frightful after having cried a river of tears in her apartment.

Maybe they thought she was a ghost.

They certainly weren’t looking at her like she was a ghost.

She knew that look all too well.

Dammit.

Quickly she turned her eyes to the television screen. She needed to escape these thoughts, these memories, these fears. It was good that damn singer wasn’t performing on the tube now, or Dana would have thrown her glass at the screen.

Some kind of interview was on. Some exceptionally dressed, handsome television reporter, conducting an interview.

When Dana saw the flash of flaming hair on the screen, she winced and held her head in her hands.

Her trial was not yet over.

“So Tori, tell us a little about your style. What is it that makes you Tori Amos and nobody else?”

Geez, what a stupid question. Dana could think of several things and she didn’t even know the woman.

“Listen,” the woman named Tori said, in a voice that was slightly clipped and without the easy sultry grace of most feminine singers. “A lot of things make me who I am. Most of those things make me who I am because I don’t force them under the rug like so many people do these days. I don’t care what people think, what women think, what men think. I never have cared, especially about being a woman in that man’s world mentality.”

Dana took another sip of her drink. Interesting.

The interviewer spoke again. “Do you find it hard to produce quality music in that man’s world mentality?”

Tori laughed softly. “Hell no. I never have let anything like that keep me from doing what I wanted to do. Especially men. I mean, I can drag a man’s balls across the country better than a man can. I run my own publishing company. I run my own label. I was the youngest student ever at the Peabody Conservatory. I was a musician first. I held my own with the bad boys that can play their asses off. I wasn’t just the girl singer. But I don’t want to have to play it better than a man. That’s what makes me puke. I just want to play it like it is.” *

Dana pondered the singer’s last comment. What, exactly, did Dana Scully play in her symphony of life? There were too many lies and hidden feelings guarding the heart of her composition.

“Why do you write such aggressive music?” the interviewer asked.

Tori smiled and tilted her head slightly. “I don’t consider it aggressive,” she said. “Just penetrating. Thought-provoking. I like to raise questions, to get people to face their own struggles like I face mine. Not everyone has the courage I do to come out and say what’s on their mind.”

“Do you think people want to face their own struggles?” he wanted to know.

Tori smiled again. “No,” she said. “It’s much easier to live in that world you want to live in, the world you’d like others to think you live in, but really you’re someone else. And that someone hopes that nobody ever finds out the truth, that it’s all a show.”

“And you don’t want people to put on a show?”

She shook her head. “No. We shouldn’t have to pretend. We should just be. And that’s what my music does; it forces people to come to terms with their other selves and the selves they pretend to be.”

Dana covered her ears and stared down at her nearly empty glass. Dear God, not even an interview was safe.

“I mean,” Tori continued, “that’s why I think there’s so much evil in the world. There’s always been evil; it’s just a natural element in our personalities. But we compound it by suppressing who we really are to be someone else, whatever the reason. That’s how aggression starts.”

“Aggression?”

“Yeah, aggression. Aggression starts where people suppress their feelings. At some point those emotions force their way out and that results in all sorts of trouble.” *

Dana tried to block out the blaring volume from the television to no avail. Damn that woman. Damn her.

“And how does your music do that?”

“It’s not just my music; it’s all music. All music has that effect on people. Some music has more of an effect than others.

“You know, all music contains a code, in every sound and in every sequence of notes there’s a DNA, genes, specific memories of our own lifetime. That’s why music talks to people on the subconscious level. Things resonate there that come from early cultures, from the original music of the North American Indians or from the folklore of the Celts. It’s all about how we relate to it. * It’s an expression of who we are and a reflection of what we were. And that’s why it’s still with us, through all these years.”

Dana could not help but hear the woman’s ‘scientific’ opinion on music. <DNA my ass,> she grumbled silently. The concept was intriguing, though.

“Who do you think we are?” the interviewer asked.

Tori laughed. “Oh, no, not another deep question.” She smiled and thought for a a second. “I don’t think we know who we are at all,” she said. “We live from day to day thinking we know who we are, thinking we have a plan, when actually we’re just a small being of energy out in that huge cosmos. It’s pretty terrifying and belittling when you think about it.”

The interviewer chuckled slightly.

Dana groaned.

“There’s the inner world which is a reflection of the outer world, and when you think of all the billions of worlds that are going on out there – we are connected with that. We’re not encouraged to think of our connection as why we are on this planet. Is our life just functional; is that all that is? Getting up, going to work, having kids, to just populate the planet? I mean there have to be reasons we do things…” *

Dana winced again. What were her reasons for getting up in the morning and living every miserable excuse for a day?

She’d had a plan, long ago. She’d nearly executed it too, although she hated to think about the way she’d nearly accomplished her goal. It was *so* long ago….

Dammit! This wasn’t happening.

“So you don’t really know who we are,” he concluded.

Tori smiled. “Does anybody?”

Dana agreed silently, finishing her drink.

“Now what about these ‘other people’ you talk about in your other interviews,” the reporter wanted to know. “The other people inside you, the ones that are in your music?”

Tori paused for a minute before answering the question. “Somewhere in my life, I started finding people inside me. The ingenue. The prostitute that’s really angry because I judge her so harshly. The bad girl. She’s pretty neat. The self-righteous virgin who knows everything about sex and has never made love. The fearful mother-the one I had no respect for. The resilient mother-I love her.” *

Dana slowly inched her eyes toward the screen to gaze at the singer’s narrative. She wasn’t…surely she didn’t think….

“They’re in everyone, you know. Everyone has those ‘other people’. Those different voices, all influencing who they are and what they do. They shape each day in a person’s life.”

She was right.

Dammit.

Dana had more than her fair share of ‘other people’ in her life. All and more of what Tori had described. The ingenue, the virgin, especially as of late. The mother…oh God, not the mother….

She took a deep breath as another round of tears began to well in her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry, not here, not in a bar.

She forced her mind back to the list of ‘other people’ in her life, checking off several more. The little child, which she’d suppressed until she’d clung to Mulder’s neck earlier that evening. The rebel, who’d sneaked onto the steps of the front porch at fourteen and smoked a cigarette, the same rebel who’d blatantly turned against everything her father had wanted for her in a stubborn battle of wills and had decided to follow through with a fleeting fancy…a desire to escape from her father’s grasp by running to Quantico and enrolling in the Academy.

The rebel had done this. The rebel was responsible for the last miserable twelve years of her life. Nothing had ever been the same since.

What other forms had the rebel taken? Her drive to distinguish herself had merely been a desire to prove her father wrong, to show him that she could succeed in any path she chose, and only a path she chose. Captain William Scully had been foolish to insist on any career for his daughter when he knew she would do the blatantly opposite.

The opportunity had come along, and she’d taken the first way out.

Now look where she was, in a dimly lit bar, nearly three sheets to the wind from three Fade to Blacks and a Raspberry Swirl, without a friend in the world.

Some career choice.

She thought back to the first few months in the Academy, as a fledgling young agent, how discouraged she’d been that the breaks hadn’t come like she’d expected, and how difficult it had been to distinguish oneself anywhere in the Bureau.

Until she’d caught the eye of Jack Willis.

Dana winced, shutting her eyes as tightly as possible to try to avoid the images forming in her mind. Another ‘other person’ came to mind, one that Dana had masked under dowdy colors and conservative apparel.

A person more comfortable in red, or better yet, in nothing at all.

A person who had sold herself and her integrity to advance a few notches on the totem pole with her own instructor.

All in the name of proving her father wrong.

Dana cursed silently as her fist came in contact with the hard wood of the bar. Dammit, dammit, dammit to Hell and back! This wasn’t supposed to happen, ever! She had closed those doors; she’d boarded them shut with her own hands, with nails of resolute determination.

How, in the name of God and all that was holy, could a flame-haired singer and her talk of ‘other people’ cause those doors to fly open without the slightest resistance?

It defied all laws of logic and reason.

To Hell with logic and reason. Apparently Dana couldn’t even rely on her most steadfast constant to explain this anomaly.

To Hell with this singer too. She’d had enough of this.

As she threw a mound of dollar bills on the table, Dana heard one more question being asked of Tori.

“What do you do to resolve the many sides that make you who you are? What would you recommend to every human being to help them heal themselves?”

Tori smiled and instantly replied to the question. “I think you have to know who you are, get to know the monster that lives in your soul, dive deep into your soul and explore it.” *

She paused for a second, her eyes gleaming with intensity. “I don’t want to renounce my dark side. The truth has always held an enormous interest for me. Everything is therapeutic, no matter what you do.” *

Dana snarled bitterly as she rose from her stool. <Not everything is therapeutic,> she grumbled to herself as she took a precarious step towards the door. <What the hell does this woman think she is, a doctor?>

If anyone knew what could be deemed therapeutic, it certainly wasn’t some flame-haired singer who didn’t even know how to brush her own hair. That woman should be listening to someone more capable of deciding what was therapeutic and what wasn’t. Someone trained in medical science.

Dana doubted the woman listened to anyone except herself.

And why did that concept sound so eerily familiar?

Part Three

She made her way out to the car, into the chill of the winter night, cursing the name of the singer who had brought so much to the light of her consciousness. So much more than Dana could readily handle at that moment.

As she slid into the driver’s seat, Dana wasn’t even sure she could handle her own vehicle, with as many drinks as she’d had.

Maybe she should just call a cab and go home.

No. She *couldn’t* go home, not yet. What if Mulder was still there, waiting for her return? She couldn’t let him see her like this. She couldn’t face him right now, not with even more thoughts in her head, and ‘other people’ to accompany them. Forget it.

But she couldn’t stay there either. Where the hell could she go without hearing any more of that Tori woman? There had to be an escape, somewhere.

The engine roared to life again as Dana turned the key in the ignition switch. She had no clue where to go, what to do, or if she could even get the car away from the curb. She had to try to find some safe haven, away from these voices, these thoughts, these people. Somewhere to lock them away and board the doors shut with titanium girders.

She’d drive all night if she had to.

Dana slowly eased onto the road, unable to react with lightning precision due to the effects of the drinks she’d consumed. It didn’t matter, though. She’d need to drive slowly to find a place of escape, with her senses as dull as they were at present.

Through the slight haze from her windshield, Dana was able to make out a familiar street and turned left on the one-way avenue, noting several places of escape for poor urban souls like herself, though none of them suited her taste.

A hot bath sounded good. A nice, hot bath with the soothing, massaging jets of a jacuzzi. That sounded terrific, actually, almost the answer to all her prayers.

When her eyes came to rest upon the towering outline of an approaching hotel, Dana eased off the gas and slowly turned into the driveway, allowing herself the luxury of a valet to park her cumbersome vehicle. There was no way she could do it herself, not in her drunken state.

The valet gave her a funny look as she emerged from the car, but followed her orders anyway. It didn’t matter to Dana what people thought of her condition. She’d soon be in a nice room, soaking in a hot bubble bath.

She could almost feel the warmth of the water as she clumsily made her way toward the front desk. It was then that she saw the long line of tired- looking tourists and several disgruntled businessmen at the one available terminal.

Dana winced. It would be just her luck, to have to wait an hour in line for a damn room behind a convention of awfully dressed tourists. She didn’t think she could stand up that long without losing her balance.

Maybe there was a place she could sober up and make herself more presentable in the meantime. This was a luxury hotel. There had to be a place where one could sit and relax for a few minutes.

She looked around, walking as gracefully as she could, into the grand atrium, her eyes attempting to focus on the different signs around the building. She couldn’t read a thing; everything was so goddamn blurry.

Two Fade to Blacks would have been enough for the evening.

Where the hell could she sit and at least drink a nice cup of coffee?

Dana continued to walk the perimeter of the atrium, peering down each hallway that led from it to search for any sign of a restaurant or bar or anything that would serve her a decent cup of joe. Hell, even the garden variety newsstand java would do for her right now.

The next hallway offered a few promising things for Dana as she began to walk down the corridor. There were several restaurants, all of which were closed (damn the luck), a small convenience shop filled with magazines and soft drinks (but no coffee), and from far down the hallway, Dana could make out the loud, blaring music of a dance club.

They might serve coffee, but a dance club was the last place Dana Scully needed to be entering, as drunk as she was.

Just down the hall from the newsstand, on the other side of the hallway, was an elegant-looking lounge with the soothing sounds of piano music emanating from within. This was as good as she was going to find this time of evening.

Dana entered the lounge, feeling slightly underdressed as she observed men and women in evening wear and others in professional suits and expensive sportswear. She looked at her sweater and pants and silently cursed herself for not bringing along a change of clothes.

Oh well. They would just have to ignore her casual state of attire; she was going to have that cup of coffee if it meant enduring the disapproving eyes of every patron in the establishment.

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to that anyway. Her life had revolved around someone else’s disapproval.

The hostess greeted her with a smile on her face and a slightly tired look in her eyes. “Good evening,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Will you be sitting by the piano or at the bar?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dana replied. “Someplace out of the way, in a corner, perhaps.” The fewer people she had to deal with, the better.

“Very well, then,” the hostess said. “Follow me.” The young lady led Dana to a lone table in the corner of the lounge, which Dana accepted with a gracious smile.

“Would you like something to drink right now?” the hostess asked. “We’re not too busy and I’d be more than happy to put in a drink order for you.”

Dana returned the hostess’s engaging smile. “I would love a cup of coffee,” she told her warmly.

“Nothing else to drink, ma’am?”

Dana shook her head. “I’ve had enough to drink already,” she replied. “I’d just like a cup of coffee, please.”

“Very well, ma’am.” The hostess left and returned with a cup of steaming black liquid.

Dana poured a generous helping of cream into her coffee and welcomed the sudden bitter taste of the liquid with a smile on her face. It was good to come home to her favorite, after that fiasco in the bar. She should’ve had coffee the whole time.

She should’ve just come here first. Maybe she wouldn’t have been reminded of so many unpleasant memories from her past.

Damn that singer Tori Amos and her music, her philosophy. How the hell did she know so much about people, about Dana? She must have a file on everyone to be able to pick apart people’s brains and disquiet them to such a degree.

Especially a poor, unsuspecting soul such as herself.

How many other poor, unsuspecting souls had been through the terrible ordeals she’d had to endure, all in the course of one night? If her music was so perceptive, so unnerving, then why did she have such a loyal following of fans? The whole matter was a universal enigma, a perpetual contradiction unto itself and everything around it.

Was it something only Nora Benton had been able to tap into with expert precision? Something she’d been able to capture, to concentrate, and then to unleash upon all those desperate patients seeking asylum from their problems?

Oh, hell. Forget about Nora Benton. For now, at least. Nora Benton was about the lowest of priorities for Dana’s troubled mind.

It didn’t matter anyway. Tomorrow someone would find the bodies she and Mulder had taken from the morgue. They always found the trails of evidence left by her and her oh-so-intrepid partner. They’d find the stacks of papers Mulder had stolen from Forensics and their asses were as good as fired come Monday morning when Tyler announced their willful insubordination to the entire upper echelons of the Bureau.

And, strangely enough, Dana didn’t care.

She didn’t care.

Squinting, she repeated the thought in her consciousness. She didn’t care. She didn’t give one flying flip about what would happen. Nothing mattered anymore.

A cold chill ran through her body. This wasn’t Dana Scully.

This wasn’t any of the ‘other people’ of Dana Scully either.

Maybe it was the Fade to Black talking.

Oh what the hell. Not even staying sober mattered anymore. She might as well go into the blissful oblivion of the depressant drug she’d refused for so long. The pain was already gone, but the damn numbness remained.

Numbness had no longer become a sufficient escape.

As the hostess returned with a fresh pot of coffee, Dana covered the ceramic cup with her hand, preventing the woman from pouring the liquid. “Have you ever heard of a Fade to Black?” she asked the woman, without meeting her gaze.

The young woman frowned slightly. “I don’t think so,” she replied, setting the large pot on the table. “Would you like me to order one for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Dana sighed, shaking her head. “I doubt your bartender would know how to make it.”

“Would you like something else, then?”

Dana thought for a minute. “What’s the strongest stuff you have?” she asked her.

The waitress frowned again. “I’m…not sure,” she said, “but I can ask–”

“Don’t bother,” Dana interrupted her with a clipped command. “Just have him surprise me.”

The hostess nodded slowly, her face full of concern. “Very well, ma’am,” she replied politely, leaving the table with a perplexed look over her shoulder.

Dana sighed, stirring her coffee repeatedly, over and over, over and over, watching the swirls and spirals of the brown liquid as she continued to rotate the small plastic straw she was holding.

Circles. More goddamn circles. Spiraling out of control, even in the coffee. Round and round, round and round….

What a positively dismal weekend this had become. A sad reflection of her own dismal and disdainful existence. Why the hell had she taken this assignment? Why the hell had she agreed to meet Mulder at the airport and allow him to push his way into this case?

And why the hell was she sitting alone in some dim piano lounge, with no comfort, no consolation, save that of a cup of coffee and a mystery concoction on its way?

More questions. More of the same questions. More endless circles.

Goddamn endless circles.

She needed a room. She needed that drink. Goddamn it, she needed that drink.

Dana cradled her face in her hands, exhaling slowly into the soft, warm palms concealing her weary state. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to think about anything at all. Herself, her weekend, her life, such as it was, or anything halfway resembling or revolving around the shell of a being occupying the solitary table in the corner of the lounge.

She should’ve put an end to this shell of a being long ago, before she’d suppressed the demons within.

It still wasn’t too late.

Dana winced into her clenched fists, gritting her teeth. <No! Dammit, no!>

There was no place in Dana Scully for that kind of persuasion, no matter the number of demons within her tortured soul.

And there were so many….

No. This wasn’t happening. She would not allow those voices to speak to her. She had to concentrate on something, on anything, until that drink arrived.

When she heard the familiar melody of a Chopin nocturne emanating from the piano in the center of the lounge, Dana opened her eyes and allowed her ears to fill with the luxurious sensations of subdued, peaceful harmonies.

Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major. Her favorite piece by the master of the Romantic piano. Dana smiled as she remembered a more carefree time, a time of reckless youth and impetuous laughter, as the piano continued to play the tranquil strains of the nocturne.

There had been a time when someone had played that beautiful piece for her and her alone. Someone with incredible technique, someone with incredible hands… the hands of a would-be surgeon, so soft, so sensitive, so refined and yet so strong when he held her in his arms. How she’d moaned and sighed when those expert hands had touched her most secret places, loving her, fulfilling her.

She closed her eyes again, the hazy memories of a tender encounter coming into focus. He’d had such wonderful hands….

“Ma’am?”

Dana opened her eyes suddenly, her body jerking with surprise to this unwanted interruption. What the hell….?

Oh, the hostess. With a drink in her hand.

Finally.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” she asked Dana, her eyes full of concern as she lowered the drink onto the napkin in front of Dana.

“I’m…fine, thank you,” Dana mumbled, her eyes slightly glazed with tender remembrance.

The hostess smiled. “The bartender wouldn’t say what he’d put in that glass, but he said it was just the right amount for what you needed.”

The corners of Dana’s mouth turned upward in response. “Give him my regards,” she replied to the hostess, as she downed the drink in a matter of seconds.

Mmmm…the warm heat of the liquid seemed to brand her mouth, her throat, her esophagus as it inched its way down into her stomach, not unlike the hands which had branded her flesh so many years ago.

Dana closed her eyes again, recalling another night which was far from tender. A night of incredible passion, her body in flames from the touch of those same hands.

God, he’d had such wonderful hands….

Her thoughts were interrupted yet again by the amplified voice of the soloist at the piano.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That song was a special request tonight, from Tristan to his Isolde.”

Dana frowned, her eyes opening wide. Could it be…?

Amid the crackle of applause, the soloist continued to speak into the microphone. “Tristan also requests an audience with his lady, so that they can be…reacquainted.”

Trying not to appear conspicuous, Dana quickly searched the crowd for any sign, any clue of the person in question. After all these years….could he be here?

There had only been one Tristan in her life.

Slowly, cautiously, Dana crept to the piano, hoping she wasn’t calling attention to herself just by making the brief journey to the center of the lounge. She felt as if every eye in the room was upon her as she approached the pianist.

“Excuse me…,” she said, in a near whisper. “Could you tell me who…requested that song you just played?”

The pianist grinned. “Are you Isolde?”

A sudden blush quickly found its way into Dana’s cheeks. “I…was, at one time,” she explained to the pianist. “It was a…nickname given to me a long time ago.”

“I see,” the pianist replied, continuing to grin. “And would this person be about six feet two, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes?”

Dana gasped slightly at the perfect description of the man in question. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Yes….”

The pianist nodded with a knowing smile. “I never got his name, but he’s not too hard to find.”

A frown settled across Dana’s features as she heard the man’s reply. “Then where is he?”

The pianist pointed to a spot somewhere behind Dana, continuing to grin. “The quest is over, Isolde.”

Dana turned around abruptly in the search for the man she knew all too well and found herself looking into the sky- blue eyes of a devastatingly handsome man, clad in an expensively tailored dress shirt and trousers which hugged every plane of his masculine body.

Her Tristan.

“My lady Isolde,” the man said, with velvety softness to his baritone voice. “At last we meet again.”

Dana’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes roamed hungrily across the refined contours of the man in front of her. “My lord Tristan,” she replied, unaware of how husky her voice had become.

The handsome man executed a half-bow, extending his hand to enclose it around the satin flesh of Dana’s fingers. “If you’ll pardon the slight cliché, I must tell you how even more beautiful you’ve become with age.”

Dana lost whatever hope she had of breathing again as his lips descended upon her fingers, the warmth of his mouth radiating into her body. Closing her eyes, she could not fight the involuntary shudder that surfaced from within.

She tried to attempt some sense of control over the tumult raging within her flesh. “Dale Dawson,” she said softly, murmuring his name more for her own pleasure than for his.

The handsome man smiled as his hand enclosed around hers once more. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me,” he murmured in reply, caressing the palm of her hand with his fingers.

God, those hands….

“I certainly haven’t forgotten you,” he said, his heavenly eyes searching her own azure orbs.

Dana’s flesh began to tingle as his electric hands began to caress her wrists, no longer content with their previous attentions.

Dear God, had he any clue of the effect he was having over her?

A slow grin crept across Dale Dawson’s perfectly defined lips as he continued to appreciatively peruse the entire length of her body. “What’s the matter, Dana? Is the good doctor bereft of words for once in her life?”

Her mouth opened to speak, but Dana lost the words somewhere in her throat. “I….”

The man named Dale chuckled softly, in that sensual timbre that could only be meant for her. “You’d think that after ten years, you’d have something to say to an old friend,” he said jovially, continuing to grin as his eyes roamed her body.

Dana closed her eyes and prayed for the strength of her deity as she formed her clumsy reply. “I think that after ten years, a long-standing acquaintance can either be old or a friend.” She attempted a shaky smile. “Never both.”

Another chuckle erupted from his sensual mouth. “You sound exactly like your mother.”

Dana tried her best not to meet his compelling gaze. God, he was still as handsome as ever….

“It’s comforting to know you’ve learned a few things from your parents since the Academy,” he told her, continuing to caress her wrists.

Dana kept her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his beautiful blue eyes. “I’ve…learned a lot of things since the Academy,” she replied softly, focusing on the intricate patterns of tiles on the floor.

His hands went to her chin, lifting it ever so slightly, so that Dana could not help but look into his ethereal eyes. Dear God, those eyes would be her undoing, the complete unraveling of everything that had become Dana Scully. She was already beginning to feel all the years of silent sophistication slip through her fingers as she helplessly stared into those eyes of heaven.

“Then why don’t we have a drink or two and discuss a few of life’s little lessons?” he asked softly, his eyes boring straight into her soul.

Dana had no choice but to nod weakly at his request. She had never been one to refuse Dale Dawson anything.

Part Four

Dale led her to a nearby table, close to the piano, and motioned for Dana to sit in the chair he’d procured from underneath the marble tabletop. “My lady?” he said with a flourish.

Dana responded with a gracious smile, seating herself as Dale occupied the chair nearest her.

An uncomfortable silence passed between them for only the briefest of seconds; Dale was able to masterfully breach the gap between them with what appeared to be an innocent question.

“So what brings you to the solitude of a piano lounge at this hour of the evening?” he asked her softly, a slight smile gracing the corners of his seductive lips. “Knowing you, I’d have guessed you’d be spending a Saturday evening pursuing a few selfish pleasures.”

Dana attempted to smile, but found herself straining to complete the action. “You must have caught me on an off night,” she retorted with a hint of youthful impudence.

He grinned. “All play and no work?”

She nodded, hoping he would believe her straightfaced lie. “Something like that.”

“Then consider yourself saved from an incredibly boring evening,” he remarked merrily, his eyes traveling from her eyes to the hint of cleavage below the neckline of her sweater.

A brief smile finally made its way to her mouth as Dana responded to her companion’s charming reply. “Still the knight errant, aren’t we, Mr. Dawson?” she joked, matching his azure stare with the slightest tilt of her head.

His hand covered hers, those expert fingers massaging the inner surface of her palm. “A damsel in distress should never be left to the cruelty of the world,” he said softly, his voice a caress to her ear.

She closed her eyes, expelling a long sigh. This was going to be a long evening.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked her, his fingers becoming more insistent against the smooth flesh of her palm.

Dana opened her eyes again, meeting his questioning stare. “Well,” she replied, “if the knight is as proficient in the company of a lady as he is in the thick of battle, I would say he’d be well worthy of accompanying me in my own rescue from the world.”

Her coy smile was belied by the sudden pounding of her heart as Dale’s eyes became the color of sapphire. The color of desire. The same color she shared when in the throes of passion.

There were no secrets in his eyes.

Dear God, she had a tongue, as glib and as flattering as his. When was the last time she had openly and suggestively exchanged such dialogue with a man?

She didn’t want to think about it.

She only hoped that of all people, Dale Dawson would be blind to the reality of her ineptitude with the opposite sex.

A slow, languid smile crept across Dale’s chiseled mouth as he continued to stare with those unnerving sapphire eyes. “How have you been, Dana?” he asked softly, his voice full of caring concern.

Dana cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his gaze as she struggled with a reply. It had been ten interminable years since she had last looked upon Dale Dawson, touched those soft hands, kissed those finely sculpted lips. How could she even define how she’d been for ten years?

It wasn’t even an intelligent question. He was speaking to her as if they’d only talked yesterday, when it had been so long….

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t damn fair.

She cleared her throat, preparing to speak. Her voice seemed to be failing her. “Fine,” she spoke softly, glancing at him for the briefest of seconds before returning her eyes to the table.

Dale Dawson chuckled as his eyes roamed lazily over her features. “Fine? That’s all?” He took her hands again. “You were never a woman of few words, Dana Scully.”

Two ice blue eyes darted upward to challenge his statement. “It’s been ten years, Dale. Ten years.”

“Precisely,” Dale said, grinning. “Which is why I want to catch up.”

Dana shook her head, once more tearing her eyes away. “We can hardly replace ten years with a few minutes of idle conversation,” she informed him soberly.

“Idle conversation?” Dale repeated, increasing his hold on her hands. “Have we ever had idle conversation, Dana?”

Dana could not fight the warmth that flooded her veins as she recalled the many nights they shared everything but idle conversation…or even conversation….

“Dana?” Dale said softly, squeezing her palm.

Dana blinked rapidly, returning from her reverie.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said softly, shaking her head in a vain attempt to dispel the memories flooding her consciousness. “I just–have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Dale nodded once, his eyes penetrating Dana to the core. “Heavy caseload?” he wanted to know.

She nodded, though she knew he only sensed a mere portion of the distress within her. He didn’t deserve to be privy to the many other thoughts running around in her head.

He spoke again, his voice somewhat lighter than usual. “So that scalpel isn’t getting rusty?”

Dana allowed him the slightest hint of a smile. “No.”

“Cutting up all those bodies isn’t getting old yet?”

She shook her head, continuing to smile. “I love my work,” she told him, although she refused to look at him. “I always have.”

Dale grinned. “I see nothing’s changed in that respect.”

Dana shrugged.

“Although you do seem to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders in your old age.”

Ice blue eyes met with twinkling sapphire as Dana matched his gaze with obvious agitation. How dare he call attention to her age?

She hoped he was joking.

Dale Dawson had always been far too perceptive for her liking.

Clearing her throat, Dana finished the drink in front of her and changed the subject. “What about you?” she asked, meeting his gaze for only the briefest of seconds.

“What about me?” Dale sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Dana smiled slightly, her eyes downcast. “No doubt you’ve reached the top of the totem pole by now.”

Dale chuckled once more, his boyish grin softening the angular planes of his handsome face. “Close,” he told her, leaning forward again. “But not quite at the top.”

Dana gave him a look of mock disgust. “And after all this time,” she remarked dryly, observing his even wider grin in response. “I’m disappointed.”

Dale shook his head, continuing to chuckle as his eyes probed hers for several seconds. “Would you still be disappointed if you knew my place in the chain of command?”

Frowning, Dana tilted her head slightly, prompting him to continue.

“I’ve got three little words for you,” he said, “and they aren’t what you think they are.”

An auburn eyebrow arched incredulously. “You can’t be serious–”

“I am,” he told her confidently. “Over the whole damn field office in Portland, Oregon.”

She could not fight the open-mouthed stare she was giving him, her eyes widened in surprise. This was incredible news. “You–are SAC of the Portland office?” she asked him, unable to register his previous statement.

Dale nodded in confirmation. “Promoted three months ago. Seems I’d made some good friends in the higher-ups.”

“I’ll say,” she commented, her eyes still wide in disbelief.

“I’ve got a few meetings in town over the weekend as part of my responsibilities to the powers that be, and after that, I’ll be heading back to Portland.”

Dana smiled. “All those years of brown-nosing finally paid off,” she commented with a twinkle in her eye.

Dale grinned again. “I hadn’t expected it, so soon in my career, but I wasn’t about to refuse the appointment.”

“Naturally.” Dana continued to stare at the man opposite her, unable to comprehend the recent turn of events. So it had happened, just like he’d said it would…like they’d vowed so long ago….

“I got cards and well-wishes from all our classmates,” he told her. “They were all insanely jealous, of course, but they handled it well.”

Dana smiled. “I’m jealous.”

Chuckling, Dale spoke again, his eyes sparkling with an inner fire. “There was only one person who couldn’t handle it at all.”

“Who was that?”

Dale’s grin grew incredibly wide as he leaned over the table. “Tom Colton.”

Dana was barely aware of her large smile when spasms of laughter racked her body. “Why does that not surprise me?” she replied between girlish giggles.

“Tom always wanted the limelight,” Dale reminded his giggling companion.

“I remember,” she said, her voice faraway.

“I called Tom to make sure he knew of my promotion and all I got from him was a file of all the parking tickets and library fines I’d neglected to pay in my college days.”

“When you care enough to send the very best…” Dana remarked dryly, her eyes glazed in dreamy reverie.

“I don’t know how he got that file,” Dale said, “but I had it framed and placed in my office to remind me that I’m not any better than anyone else.”

Dana laughed again. “Only Tom.”

“I forgot to mention the video he sent,” Dale added. “An old copy of my days of drunken debauchery.”

“Drunken debauchery?” Dana’s eyebrow lifted curiously.

Dale nodded. “Somehow he’d managed to dig up a video of my twenty-first birthday with my frat brothers,” he told her. “He pointed out that my fashion sense was worse than my state of intoxication.”

Dana laughed again, more loudly than before.

“Thank God you were able to educate me,” he said merrily, “or I’d have never started wearing suits and ties.”

Dana smiled as her laughter began to subside, her eyes suddenly very warm. “Seems you owe your recent success to me after all,” she commented, looking into his eyes.

Dale reached for her hand, covering it tenderly. “I owe you a lot more than you’ll ever know, Dana.”

The sudden contact of Dale’s hand over hers caused Dana to gasp inwardly, unable to find her breath. He had such wonderful hands….

Dear God, it was happening all over again…everything… and try as she might, she could not prevent the memories of happier times from flooding her entire being.

This journey to the past was becoming a very dangerous present.

“Dale…” she whispered, unsure whether to send him away or encourage his attentions.

If he continued to hold her hand, staring at her with those fathomless blue eyes, Dana feared her decision would be made for her.

<Take control, Dana,> she ordered herself, steeling her nerves from the electric sensations of his fingers, his hand, the heat of his eyes….

“Dana, what’s wrong?”

She closed her eyes, fueling her courage from within to open them slowly, gazing again into his sapphire orbs. “Nothing,” she murmured, trying her best to present a convincing lie to the handsome man before her.

“Does this bother you?” His eyes dropped to the large hand covering hers.

Dana gulped and inhaled deeply before replying. “I’m… not sure,” she said softly, her pulse erratic.

Dale leaned over the table to meet her eyes once more. “Do I bother you, Dana?”

Oh, dear God.

Her answer would damn her either way.

“A little,” she finally told him, withdrawing her hand. “It’s…been a long time.”

“Yes it has.” Dale nodded in agreement.

Dana struggled for something to say to divert Dale Dawson from his attentions. God, there had to be something in her infinitely educated vocabulary to send matters into more neutral territory.

Nothing was coming to mind.

And her glass was empty.

Wait…that was it.

The perfect diversion was staring her right in the face.

Filled with sudden inspiration, Dana stood with trembling feet and addressed the handsome man on the other side of the table. “If you’ll excuse me, Dale, I believe I need another drink.”

Dale abruptly rose from his chair, taking the glass from her fingers. “Allow me,” he said, heading toward the bar.

Dana slowly descended into her chair, grateful for the brief respite from his presence. At least she could be left alone with her thoughts for a few minutes, to contemplate her next move in this elaborate game of strategy.

Dale Dawson knew exactly what he was doing.

Dana Scully had no clue.

Dale Dawson could make the most frigid woman a brazen Aphrodite.

Dana Scully could only fight him with her weapons of rationalism and emotional reserve.

Dale Dawson knew her weapons were weak.

Dana Scully knew her weapons were weak.

Dale Dawson knew the true Dana Scully.

Dana Scully was afraid of the true Dana Scully.

So many people, so many voices in her head….

A head full of the past, of exhumed memories, of youthful exuberance.

A head full of dreams deferred, of realities embraced.

A head too full to understand any of what was happening to the life of Dana Katherine Scully.

“Your drink, my lady.”

Dana looked up at Dale, who was setting a fresh drink on the table. “Thank you,” she said softly, forcing herself to be more calm and collected about the man before her, staring at her with those goddamn gorgeous eyes.

<That’s it, Dana. Just treat him like any other man. Treat him like any other man you worked with, sparred with, laughed with, slept with….>

Goddammit, no!

Not even her rational mind could accept that Dale Dawson meant nothing to her.

She might as well stop trying to convince herself otherwise.

But she was so good at convincing herself otherwise….

“Dana?”

The sound of Dale’s voice brought Dana from her rampant inner thoughts. Abruptly she glanced at him and forced a weak smile to the corners of her mouth, taking a sip of the liquid in front of her.

She would need every drop of that drink to get through this conversation.

“Thinking about that caseload again?” Dale wanted to know.

Dana chose to respond with a nod, hoping he wouldn’t see through her boldfaced lie. “It…has a tendency to haunt me wherever I go,” she murmured softly.

Dale laughed. “That intense, huh?”

“You could say that.” Dana took another sip of her drink.

Dale sipped his drink as well, examining every detail of Dana’s face with his sapphire eyes. “Alien chasing and ghostbusting can’t be that intense, unless you’ve actually uncovered some truth in your work.”

Dana gasped, unable to believe the words which had passed from his mouth. Of all people to be so condescending….

“I beg your pardon?” she said, incredibly offended by his comment.

Dale laughed. “Come on, Dana, you don’t actually take that stuff seriously, do you? It’s all a waste of the Bureau’s time and the time of a very valuable agent such as yourself.”

Dana felt every word hit home as she struggled to come up with some intelligent reply. Of course she took ‘that stuff’ seriously; only a fool would laugh in the face of the many dangers she had experienced in the past six years. Besides, she performed her duties well, and from time to time, even enjoyed them.

Even if her career was nearly in the sewer.

“Do you believe in all that paranormal, extraterrestrial, psychic hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo, Dana?”

What the hell….?

He was making a fool out of her, out of everything she’d invested in all these years.

He didn’t deserve an answer.

“Do you?” he asked again.

Dammit.

She had to give him an answer.

The typical ambivalent, diplomatic answer would do just fine, even though she had been saving it for a rainy day.

Taking a deep breath, Dana began her reply. “I don’t know if I completely subscribe to everything I’ve encountered in the X Files. Most of it just seems, and proves to be, over the top when put to the crucible of science.” She sighed. “But I’ve seen too many other things, too many unexplained events, to not totally discredit the concept of a partial truth.”

Dale nodded slowly, absorbing her every word. “What about that partner of yours, Spooky Mulder?”

Mulder…oh God, Mulder….

Dale did not have to bring him into this.

Dana winced from her companion’s comment. His tone of voice was suddenly very derisive, and she did not like that at all. It did not bode well.

“He believes in anything, doesn’t he?” Dale commented, with a mocking edge to his voice.

Dana fought to contain the raging fire within her blood. Anyone, absolutely anyone, could insult Mulder and produce a fiery reply from Dana Scully, but this newer insult deserved more than a fiery reply.

If she weren’t in a nice hotel, she’d have slapped Dale Dawson in an instant. How dare he…?

“Agent Mulder is a brilliant man,” Dana replied with firm conviction. “A brilliant man who sacrificed his career to champion his own personal cause.” She tried to keep her voice from wavering as she defended the integrity and honor of her partner, her friend, her beloved.

She only hoped that the eyes of her former beloved would not see the truth behind hers.

Dale Dawson sat in silence for several minutes, his azure eyes searching the seastormed eyes of the woman in front of him. Probing them for the answers they were reluctant to reveal to him.

Dana did not like it one bit.

He was too damn good at prying secrets from her soul.

Dale spoke suddenly, catching Dana off guard. “Agent Mulder is a brilliant man, from what I’ve heard and seen of him,” he said. “Naturally you would respect his cause, after having worked with him for several years.” He continued to stare directly into her eyes.

Dana felt her breath leave her body once more. He was on to her. He had to be. Why else would he be staring at her so intently?

“You remember the stories we heard about him, while we were in the Academy,” Dale said, still searching her eyes. “Several of our classmates looked up to him, admired him, asked him to be a mentor of sorts to them.” He paused for a moment, leaning forward. “Of course, that was when Spooky Mulder actually had a promising future.”

Oh…dammit. Why the hell was he staring at her like that? She knew that stare. She was all too familiar with his looks of suspicion.

Dale Dawson was a very jealous man.

“So are you as close to your coworkers as you used to be?” Dale asked her suddenly, his voice tinged with feral sexuality.

Dana was sure her heart had stopped. She could no longer feel her pulse. He was on to her. There was nothing she could do but try to form a logical, proper response to his innuendo-laden question.

Frowning, she answered him with a offended glare. “What are you implying, Dale?”

“You know what I’m implying.” His eyes were now a sinister midnight blue.

Dana sighed inwardly. By now it was obvious that he suspected something. He had found something lurking behind the fortress of her facade and was homing in on it like a animal on the scent of fresh prey.

Damn him.

If she refused to answer, he would suspect the worst. If she answered with the truth, he would suspect the worst anyway.

She had to answer; at least she stood a chance of being believed.

“No,” Dana replied firmly, shaking her head once for emphasis. “No, I’m not close to Agent Mulder.” She hissed the word in question.

It was the truth. Although Mulder had tried to get very ‘close’ to Dana earlier in the evening, she had left him standing in her apartment, watching her as she drove away.

But her desires were betraying her, even as she sat in front of Dale, under his suspicious scrutiny.

She wanted to be close to Agent Mulder.

She wanted to be very close to him indeed.

Damn her stubborn pride.

Dale spoke again. “I find that very interesting, Dana,” he said softly, his voice ominous. “I would hope, after all your previous entanglements, you would have learned your lesson.”

There was a brief timbre of sadness to his voice as he spoke. Dana winced slightly as she realized just how injured he had been.

“Dale,” she replied, “that…that was a long time ago. I…I was different then.” She found it hard to speak as

she observed the obvious suffering on Dale’s face.

Dana shuddered as she recalled just how different she’d been.

“I wouldn’t know, Dana,” Dale answered her. “I haven’t seen you in ten years.”

She grimaced. He’d been hurt. He still was hurt, incredibly hurt, by what she’d done.

Dana found it impossible to look into his eyes as she responded to his painful statement. “You–could have contacted me if you’d wanted to,” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze.

Dale shook his head, leaning forward once more to make an important point. “I wasn’t the one who walked away from a good thing.”

Her eyes closed as Dana felt the stinging truth of his words. He was right. He was absolutely right.

“I figured if you wanted to apologize for leaving me, you would have contacted me,” he continued, his voice cracking. “So obviously I was never that important to you anyway.”

No…no…

Dana winced again.

“I just wasn’t good enough for you, was I?”

Damn, he knew how to take the knife and twist it around in her gut. She wasn’t sure she could say anything in her defense.

She was guilty as charged.

But she couldn’t just sit there and take his hurtful accusations. She had reasons for what she did, perfectly logical reasons at the time for leaving him….

Dale took a large gulp of his drink, slamming the glass on the table. “I wasn’t good enough for you, Dana.”

The words began to echo over and over in her head.

Another damning voice to add to the masses.

Oh God. This had to stop. She had to defend herself somehow. She hadn’t been completely heartless….

Dana’s face softened as she formed her reply. “After ten years, Dale, people normally forget the pain of soured relationships and move on with their lives.”

He took another gulp. “You think I can forget you so easily?” A lone tear began to form in his eye.

Dana pitied the handsome man before her, guzzling his drink as if it were his last. She regretted the fact that she could no longer console him with comforting kisses and caresses when sadness permeated his personality.

She’d never wanted to hurt him.

Suddenly Dale sat up in his chair and gazed roughly at her. Apparently he was not going to reveal any more of his vulnerable side.

“You have to give me some credit in this equation, Dana,” he spoke, his voice suddenly rough and heavy. “I did everything…everything in my power to make you happy.”

“Did you now?” Dana countered, with a challenging look on her face. If he was going to play tough, so would she. “Do those deeds include a blonde classmate of ours?”

Dana watched the blood drain from Dale’s face.

“That was after you’d made up your mind to leave,” he protested, his eyes suddenly wide.

“I hadn’t left yet.” Dana gave him a heated glare.

“She meant nothing,” Dale told her softly, moving closer still. “I needed consolation after you threatened to break it off.”

“And I’m sure she was happy to oblige you.” Dana’s eyes narrowed into a furious squint.

“I wouldn’t have given her a second glance if you’d stayed,” Dale told her, taking her hands. “I just needed someone after you walked out.”

“And you think that my finding you in bed with another woman was going to help the situation any?”

Dale shook his head vehemently. “You’d made your decision long before you broke all ties with me.” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You know it and I know it.”

Dana closed her eyes. He’d known all that time of her inner thoughts. He knew she would leave him. He knew who she would leave him for.

Goddammit. This was too much.

“No one else compares to you, Dana. No one has in the past ten years of my life.” His sapphire eyes were brimming with tears of love.

Sighing deeply, Dana began to feel the familiar stab of saline to her sensitive eyes. “Dale….”

“How did Jack Willis steal you from under my nose?”

She looked up, startled by his question, and winced as she remembered the reasons why she’d left such a wonderful man like Dale. “You don’t want my answer,” she murmured softly, unable to look at him.

Dale squeezed her hands more insistently. “What did he have that I didn’t, Dana? What was so special about him?”

She winced again, closing her eyes to fight the terrible memories that surfaced in her head, the pretense she’d felt every time she’d been in Jack’s arms, the emptiness and the loneliness which came afterward. The meaningless words of love she’d whispered in his ear.

Dammit, those doors had been closed years ago.

And Dale Dawson felt it expedient to open every damn one of them and drive her completely insane before the end of the evening.

As if she weren’t insane enough already.

“Dana?” he prompted her.

Sighing, her head lowered toward the table as a stray tear began to fall from her eye. “There was no comparison,” she whispered in reply.

A frown settled across Dale’s features as he listened to her response. “No comparison? Then why the hell did you sleep with him?”

Dana shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That was years ago.”

“It matters to me, Dana.”

She shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter, Dale. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

“No.” Dale was staring at her with a hint of something feral in his midnight eyes.

He was demanding too many answers from her, without knowing how damaging her answers would be. If he’d known the truth about her relationship with Jack, she would have never recovered from his wrath.

Dale Dawson was a spiteful man.

There had to be some manner of diverting Dale from his ceaseless pursuit of sensitive information. Perhaps Dale would forget about the past if she gave him her undivided attention in the present.

She’d run out of clever ideas.

“Let’s try to enjoy ourselves,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “It’s been so long, and the night’s so young.”

Dale nodded in agreement, although his face clearly indicated that he was not too happy about her evasion of the matter at hand.

“Let’s make some new memories,” he replied warmly, rising from his chair.

New memories. New memories sounded good right now.

New memories could erase the terrible ones of the past.

Or at least force them back to the corners of her mind, where they belonged.

Part Five

Dana took his proffered hand and stood slowly, wincing when she realized how uncoordinated she’d become from the many drinks she’d consumed that night.

Dale noticed her struggle to balance herself. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her.

“I’m fine,” Dana said, squeezing his hand in affirmation.

Dale nodded. “Then let’s go.”

As they walked hand in hand across the lounge, Dana found it more difficult to walk than she had anticipated. The drinks had taken their effect much too late for her liking.

Dana concentrated her entire energies into each step on the plush carpet, hoping to God Dale wouldn’t notice her unsteady gait.

As they stepped into the hallway, however, Dana knew all hope of appearing coordinated was lost as she stumbled and fell into Dale’s waiting arms.

“Whoa,” Dale exclaimed, catching her at precisely the right moment. “Watch yourself.”

Dana gasped as her face came into contact with his shirt, feeling the solid, rippling muscles underneath. Grasping his jacket helplessly, she allowed Dale to set her gingerly on her feet again.

“Thank you,” she gasped, straightening herself.

Dale put a supportive arm around her shoulders, his face dangerously close to hers. “You’re welcome.”

Her gasps became heavier as she stared into his heavenly eyes of blue.

God, she’d forgotten how beautiful his eyes were….

“You’re in no condition to go too far,” he said, holding her close to prevent her from falling again. “What did you do, get wasted before you came here?”

Dana frowned. “I’m fine,” she protested, shrugging him away.

When she attempted to step away, her knees suddenly seemed to vanish into thin air, and, unable to catch herself, Dana fell forward once more into Dale’s strong embrace.

“You’re not fine,” Dale argued with her, tilting her face toward him. “Seems to me you’re everything but that.”

Dana closed her eyes for a brief second. He could see straight through her. He always had.

Dammit, was she that transparent, for two men in one night to tell her everything about her she never wanted to hear?

When she opened her eyes again, she found Dale’s face nearly touching hers, his arms enclosing around her like a vise. Her eyes locked with his, and Dana found herself paralyzed from the electricity flowing between their faces and bodies.

Dale hovered just above her face, his eyes hungrily taking in every inch of her alabaster skin, her full lips, her azure eyes that were fast becoming the color of precious sapphires.

Sapphires which reflected the desire, the insatiable longing, that Dana observed in his eyes.

After ten years of absence, she still remembered that look as clear as if it had been yesterday.

He wanted her.

Oh, Christ.

This was going to be a long evening.

“Dana…” he whispered, his voice a caress.

“Yes?”

Dale paused for nearly an eternity, his eyes continuing to gaze into the warm depths of her midnight eyes.

Oh God.

It was sheer torture.

Dana held her breath in anticipation as she waited for Dale’s reply. What was he going to say?

No. She already knew. His eyes confirmed it all.

<Dammit, just say it,> she growled inwardly, hating the interminable wait.

Finally, after what seemed like another ten years of waiting, Dale formed a hushed reply against her lips.

“I suggest we….sweat out that excess liquor in you.”

Dana grabbed his arm for support as her body began to fall toward the floor in complete shock. Dear God…he had actually suggested….

Dale supported her more strongly, his strong hands gripping her tiny waist, his eyes boring straight into her.

“Dale…” she whispered, unable to say anything more. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move at all… and the only thought running through her mind was that incredibly tempting proposition.

In all her conscious power, she knew it was impossible to run away from this man, from all that he was offering. She had ravenously consumed the fruits of his addictive desire, so many times, that she completely understood the magnetic power Dale Dawson had over her body.

Not even her stubborn will could save her now.

“Dana?” Dale murmured, tearing her away from her inner struggle.

She frowned. “What…?”

“Did you hear what I said?” he said, his tone somewhat lighter than before.

Oh, yes, she’d heard him. She’d heard him coming several miles away.

But she had to hear it again, in no uncertain terms.

This was not a time for mere suggestion.

Dammit, where was her sanity when she most needed it?

“I heard you,” she said, “but I need to know…how you intend to achieve this objective.” Her voice was suddenly very rough.

Dale suddenly gave her a boyish grin. “Like we used to.”

What the hell did he mean by that?

There were too many ways they’d worked up a good sweat to define one in particular.

The veins in Dana’s head were pounding furiously as she remembered way too much about their former union.

Her heart was going to flatline before the night was over.

“I’m not following you, Dale.” Her brows furrowed in another frown.

Dale chuckled. “The lady forgets too easily,” he joked, taking her hand and leading her toward the blaring music of the dance club. “A few hours in this place will sober you up in no time.”

She gave him a wary look.

“Doctor’s orders,” Dale remarked, pushing her through the door.

“But I’m the doctor here,” Dana said, her voice slurred.

Dale ignored her and wheeled a protesting Dana into the main dance room.

As he led her through the noisy club, Dana held her ears and winced as several dancing couples bumped violently against her. The noxious perfume of tobacco wasn’t too pleasant either.

And this was Dale’s idea of sobering up?

She’d grown too old for this.

Even if he hadn’t.

Dale halted in the center of the dance floor, under a circus of rotating lights, fluorescent bulbs, and mirrored disco globes. “This is a good place,” he yelled in her ear.

Dana glared at her companion.

“Good music, too,” he said, his body beginning to move to the primitive rhythms of the music.

Dana watched with incredulity as Dale shifted his feet back and forth. After all these years, he hadn’t changed a bit. Always a glutton for pleasure, reveling in his quest for a good time.

She’d often wondered how he’d managed to graduate from the Academy.

And now look where he was.

Unbelievable.

“Are you gonna dance or are you just going to stand around like an old woman?” Dale yelled to her.

“I’m drunk,” Dana yelled back. “I can barely stand, thank you very much.”

“I’ll hold you, then,” Dale said, reaching for her and pulling her more closely to him.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t do this,” she shouted in his ear. “It’s too damn loud in here and there are too many people. I need to relax.”

“You’ll sober up more quickly if you sweat it out,” Dale told her, moving her along with his steps.

“If I don’t break something first,” Dana muttered with a frown.

Dale sighed. “What the hell happened to you over the last ten years anyway?”

“I beg your pardon?” Dana’s eyes grew very large.

“You’ve grown old on me,” he remarked. “Old and decrepit.”

Dana pushed him away from her, so hard that Dale nearly fell to the floor amid a mob of stomping feet. “I am not old!” she shouted in his face. “Do you hear me, Dale Dawson? I am not old!”

“Then stop acting like you are,” he demanded, pulling her closer to him. “Try to enjoy yourself. You might remember what it’s like to have fun.”

Two furious eyes darted up to glare at her companion.

“Come on, Dana. We were so good together. Or have you forgotten that too?”

She closed her eyes. Yes, they’d been good together.

“We won that lambada contest in ‘88, remember?” he said, inching closer to her. “You were so limber then. Like a cat.” He laughed as he took her hands.

Despite Dana’s protests, a faint smile escaped to the outer corners of her mouth.

“That martial arts training was a blessing in disguise,” he told her, taking another step toward her. “And not only in dancing, if you get my meaning.”

Dana gasped suddenly, her alabaster cheeks flaring in response to his comment. God, if he kept this up, there was no hope for escape.

“You had fire, Dana Scully. You had a ten-thousand- degree inferno blazing inside that little body. Let me see it again.”

Dana lost her breath.

“Give it to me, Dana.”

His voice was warm, caressing, cajoling, and then Dana sighed as the full realization of his words overwhelmed her.

He wasn’t the only one who wanted the fire back.

Closing her eyes, she slowly began to move from side to side with him, enveloped by the freeing sensations of the rhythm and the music.

And then suddenly, magically, she found the tempo of the song, as if by instinct, and began moving her feet in time with the driving rhythm, earning an appreciative whistle from Dale.

“Yeah, baby,” he said, moving with her. “That’s more like it.”

Dana grinned impishly, her pearly teeth gleaming in the glittering lights of the dance floor.

“Take off those shoes,” Dale told her. “They’ll only get in your way.”

Dana did as she was told, removing them and impulsively throwing them halfway across the room with a proud grin on her face.

Dale’s eyes wide with childlike exuberance. “Now THAT is the Dana Scully I remember,” he yelled, pulling her into his arms.

The warmth of his embrace, the heady scent of his male essence, and the warmth of the alcohol in her blood were enough to make Dana forget about the years, her age, the terrible deeds she’d committed. Dancing with Dale had made her twenty-five again.

He was truly a knight in shining armor.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her ear, his lips touching the delicate shell with the faintest of kisses.

“Dale….” she sighed, her ear tingling from the brief contact of his lips. She’d missed him more than even she had tricked herself into believing.

When she felt another kiss just below her ear, on the sensitive flesh of her neck, Dana gasped again, her eyes luminously wide.

Dale Dawson was kissing her neck.

And she wasn’t stopping him.

She didn’t want him to stop.

Which was not good for either of them.

At least right now.

Dana coyly stepped away from Dale, revealing a flirtatious grin. “Care to dance, Tristan?”

Dale expelled a ragged breath. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Song after song, dance after dance, their bodies moved in unison under the flashing lights and mirrors of the dance floor, their movements growing increasingly more exaggerated and primitive.

It was an incredible sensation, to cast her cares to the wind and exist only for the moment, for the rhythm, for the music, for the man dancing next to her. The effect was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol coursing through her veins.

Another song, and another, and another, and still another found Dana and Dale on the dance floor. The advent of yet another song heralded the promise of something stirring deep within Dana as Dale stared at her with his eyes of midnight.

“Get closer,” he rasped, pulling her in so that every part of her body came into contact with his male heat.

Dana lost the ability to even think, only to obey.

The song began with a driving beat, accompanied by guitars, with an almost rocklike feel to the music. Purely primal in nature, the song continued its seductive magic upon the couple in the center of the dance floor as a floating vocal line began its tempting tale.

“I am not your señorita

“I am not from your tribe

“In the gard-in the gaaarden I did no crime

“I am not your señorita

“I am not from your tribe

“If you want inside her

“Well boy you better make her raspberry swirl

Dana’s eyes opened when she heard the blatantly suggestive lyrics of the song. The voice sounded so familiar, too….

Suddenly she felt herself being whirled around so that she was facing the other way. When the heat of Dale’s lower body pressed against her buttocks, Dana gasped again.

Dale was making no secret of his intentions for the evening.

The song suddenly erupted into chaos with the grind of guitars and, to Dana’s amazement, a very arousing grind against Dana’s backside.

My God, the man had moves.

She’d forgotten how good his moves had been.

She wanted those moves again.

Oh dear God.

“Things are getting de…desperate

“When all the boys…can’t be men

“Everybody knows…I have friends

“Everybody knows…I’m her man….”

Dana expelled her breath with a loud hiss as Dale’s teeth lightly claimed the side of her neck.

Oh sweet Jesus…it was too much. All of it. The alcohol, the music, the dancing, his gentle nibbling of her neck, the incredibly hot hardness thrusting near her buttocks.

And she was helpless to resist.

Utterly and completely powerless.

Where the hell were her senses?

Suddenly she heard Dale’s voice whispering in her ear. “Dana, what’s wrong?”

She frowned. Had he just spoken to her?

“Nothing,” she lied, although she knew he knew differently. She could sense it.

“You stopped dancing.”

“I did?” She looked down at her still body and realized he was right.

Dale nodded, turning her back around. “I thought you were going to pass out; you went limp in my arms for a minute.”

“Oh.” Dana shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.

Drawing her close to him, Dale grinned and said, “I see you still aren’t good at holding your liquor.”

Dana sighed, wrapping her arms around him. The room was spinning too fast for her to make a witty comeback.

Everything was spinning too fast.

Out of control.

Everything was so out of control….

“What was so bad for you to go out alone and get drunk?”

Her eyes widened suddenly.

Oh, God….

She couldn’t remember.

Completely perplexed, Dana looked into Dale’s midnight eyes as she tried to form some sort of reply. “I…don’t know….”

“You don’t know?” Dale chuckled, tightening his hold on her. “You never drank this much unless something tragic befell you.”

“I…don’t remember…” she said softly, her voice trailing off. She’d had reasons, all kinds of reasons, for going out that night. She remembered driving around for hours, the bar, that raucous redhead, the lounge, Dale, the dancing….

It must have been something terrible.

She wished she was sober enough to sort out the details, the events, the impetus for her bizarre behavior.

Helplessly she looked at Dale, her eyes wide and confused. “Help me,” she murmured. “Help me to…remember.”

Dale wrapped himself more tightly around her as the strains of a slow song sifted through the speakers. “I’ll help you remember everything,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“A Bouvier till her wedding day

“Shots rang out…the police came

“Mama laid me on the front lawn

“And prayed for Jackie’s strength

“Feeling old by 21

“Never thought my day would come

“My bridesmaids getting laid

“I pray for Jackie’s strength….”

A beautiful orchestra entered with the sweet melody of the song.

“Make me laugh

“Say you know…what you want

“You said we were the real thing

“So I show…you some more…and I learn

“What black magic can do

“Make me laugh…say you know

“You can turn…me into the real thing

“So I show…you some more…and I learn….”

Dana sighed as her head rested against Dale’s muscled chest. What a beautiful song. She loved the simple melody, the piano accompaniment, the hauntingly familiar voice of the singer.

Whoever she was, she must have written the chorus especially for them, especially for this very moment, with Dana in the arms of Dale Dawson.

Her handsome Tristan.

Maybe it didn’t matter what had driven her to the hotel. It had brought her to Dale again.

And for now, it was all that mattered.

“I have missed you so much, Dana Katherine,” Dale murmured reverently in her ear. “I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms every night since you left.”

She sighed languidly, a small tear forming in the corner of her eye.

“Dreams weren’t enough after a while. I needed to see you, to know what you were doing, if you were happy.”

He began to move her more fluidly, more tenderly, as the song played.

“I’ve kept a close watch on you all these years,” he continued as they danced. “I could’ve approached you at any time, but I was too chicken to do anything. The truth is, Dana, I was scared…scared that you would reject me again like you did before.”

Dana absorbed every word, every syllable, of Dale’s confession. He must have loved her a great deal to have kept in constant touch with her life’s events.

“I came to DC…not for any meeting, not because of some career obligation, but to work up the courage to call you…to see you, to at least have a drink with you and try to work things out, to see if we had even a spark of the fire we used to have.”

Her eyes widened.

“I love you, Dana Scully. I always will, until you and I are old and gray and in our rocking chairs. I just hope…I just hope that you and I can rock on our own front porch in our golden years.” His lips descended upon her forehead, lightly kissing one auburn brow.

She looked up, again, and nearly fainted at the love, the tenderness, the wistful longing she saw reflected in his sapphire eyes.

He loved her.

Dale Dawson loved her.

Surely she was dreaming; this couldn’t be real. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it couldn’t….

“Make me laugh

“Say you know…what you want

“You said we were the real thing

“So I show…you some more…and I learn

“What black magic can do

“Make me laugh…say you know

“You can turn…me into the real thing

“So I show…you some more…and I learn….”

Dana lost all thought, all time, all wonder, when Dale’s warm lips gingerly touched hers and began to move slowly and softly along the soft expanse of her mouth.

Oh dear God, how she’d forgotten the rapture of his kisses, his caresses, his sweet words of adoration.

How had she managed to deny herself this for ten long years?

“Dana…” he murmured, pressing her more ardently to him.

Dana responded willingly, greedily accepting every inch of his warm kiss as Dale’s tongue slowly began to slide into her waiting mouth.

Sweet Jesus, he tasted like warm maple syrup on a cold winter morning, his tongue soft and supple, expertly teasing her teeth, her mouth, her lips.

No one had ever kissed her like Dale Dawson.

No one ever would.

That front porch was beginning to look very inviting.

“….if you love a lot you’ll lie a lot

“Guess they did in Camelot

“Mama’s waiting on my front lawn

“I pray…I pray…

“I said I pray for Jackie’s strength…”

Her blood turned to molten lava when his tongue began an elaborate mating dance with hers, imitating the act that Dana was beginning to crave throughout her entire being.

“I pray for Jackie’s strength…”

And then the song was over.

A long-winded speech was being given by the DJ through the speakers, but Dana barely heard him. She was oblivious to anything except that warm tongue sliding in and out of her mouth, those lips applying sweet pressure to hers.

Neither of them were even aware of the crowd standing around, observing their amorous exchange with great interest.

The DJ continued to speak to the crowd. “I think those two need to get a room,” he remarked.

Dale paused from his ardent attentions to address the DJ. “We already have one,” he shouted to the balcony, receiving whoops and hollers from the others.

Dana’s face began to turn an unbecoming shade of red upon hearing Dale’s comment. They most certainly did not have a room. He might, but she did not, and not with him.

Not yet, at least.

Her breath caught in her throat at the mere possibility of sharing a bed with Dale Dawson again.

They were heading down a very dangerous path.

Dale winked at Dana, grinning. “Well?”

She felt her eyes nearly pop out of her skull.

Well what?

He wasn’t implying….was he?

Oh God. Oh dear God, he was implying….

Her heart ceased to beat for several seconds.

There was no way they could…not after all this time… it had been so long for her. What if…what if, after all these years, she’d forgotten how to do it?

She couldn’t bear to find that out.

And dammit, she couldn’t remember why she hadn’t done it in so long….

“Dana?” Dale asked merrily. “I’m waiting.”

He was waiting. Yes, he was waiting. He had been waiting for a decade to be exactly where he was, and Dana, however unsure of her dormant sexuality, shared his anticipation with an almost adolescent eagerness.

She wanted him.

She wanted her Tristan again.

That kiss was only a brief glimpse of the pleasures he could offer her tonight.

Dana suddenly found her breath in one gasp and expelled it decisively. “Let’s go, Dale,” she said firmly, hearing the cheers of the crowd around them.

Dale’s sapphire eyes darkened to near black. “I thought I’d never hear you say that again,” he whispered heavily, gasping for breath as he swiftly moved to claim her lips.

The crowd roared, surrounding the couple, chanting words of hasty encouragement to them both.

Over the shouts of the mob, the voice of the DJ boomed through the speakers again. “Let’s send them off in style,” he announced to the crowd. “A little more of the Tori touch ought to get them going.”

Dana frowned suddenly, although Dale’s passionate kiss kept her from saying anything. Had she heard him right?

“Here’s a poetic little track from her newest CD,” he said happily, “in honor of our sexy little couple. Ladies and gentlemen, ‘Hotel’.”

The crowd applauded as the song began its dark introduction and encircled Dale, who was beginning to move with Dana to the tempo of the music.

“Met ‘m in a hotel

“Beneath ground

“Tell me that he’s missing

“Tell me this is one for…Lollipop Gestapo”

Dale pressed her rigidly to him, so that she was incapable of moving independently without him. His hips began to rotate seductively, urging Dana to follow.

Dana gladly obeyed, matching his movements with catlike elegance. God, it felt so good to be so close to him…to be dancing with him, moving with him, kissing him….

“You were wild…where are you now…

He began to execute a series of choreographed steps, leading Dana through the dance with ease as a look of complete amazement settled across her face.

The routine from the dance contest they’d won.

She remembered.

She remembered every detail, down to the tiniest, most insignificant step, to every grind of her pelvis against his.

“Met ‘m in a hotel

“You say he’s the biggest thing there’ll be this year

“Guess that what I’m seeking

“Guess that what I’m seeking isn’t here

“Met ‘m in a hotel

“Met ‘m in a guess world

“Guessed anyone but you

“You were wild…where are you now…

“You were wild…where are you now…”

A large grin began to spread across her mouth as she danced with Dale, her head flung back in a sudden moment of impulse. She laughed as Dale began to lift and then dip her toward the floor, his hips nearly fused with hers.

God, it felt so good to be dancing again, to be with Dale again, to be nearly mating on a dance floor with him.

She was still his Isolde, his passionate beloved.

Dale began to slowly lift her again, inch by blessed inch, taking time to kiss every bit of exposed flesh on the way. His eyes were unfathomably dark with desire as he rained kisses on her face, her neck, the tops of her breasts peeking through the neck of her sweater.

Then, as he dipped her again, her breath began to lose its steady rise and fall, her pulse becoming wildly erratic, her head pounding from the rush of blood to her brain and its rapid journey to other very sensitive areas.

“I want you, Dale,” she hissed as her head nearly hit the floor. “I want you now!”

Dale inhaled sharply, pulling her back up and slamming the weight of his lower body into hers, his breath as ragged as hers. “Say no more,” he growled, snarling as he moved his hips again, his hands possessively claiming her buttocks.

The chaotic climax of guitars, synthesizers, and drum machines began to meld with the cheering crowd surrounding them, feeding the frenetic energy being passed between Dale and Dana’s blending bodies.

There was something eerie about the siren-like sostenuto of the artist’s voice as she sang a succession of very high pitches, among the melee of music and mob, of Dale and Dana.

A voice crying for resolution, for fulfillment.

God, did Dana need fulfillment right now.

“I…I…have to learn…to…let…you…crash…down…

“I…I…have to learn…to…let…you…crash…down…”

“Dale, please…” she hissed in his ear. “I need you now.”

A seductive grin spread across his features. “Are you sure you can handle me, after ten years?”

Dana raised one of her legs and wrapped it roughly around him. “I think your competency is more in question than mine, Dale Dawson.”

Dale continued to grind into her. “And why is that?” he growled in return.

A warm hand dipping just beneath the waistband of his trousers caused Dale to gasp swiftly, holding his breath. “Women only get better with age,” she said seductively, her voice very low.

Dale hissed his pent-up breath. “In that case….”

Suddenly Dana found herself in Dale’s arms, being carried through the club, off the dance floor, through the lobby, and down the hallway toward the elevators of the hotel, her senses in complete vertigo.

Sweet Mary, he was actually going through with it.

They were going to make love tonight in his room.

Dana shivered involuntarily.

She’d never wanted anything so badly in all her life.

Part Six

Up to the twenty-seventh floor they traveled in the large glass elevator, Dale holding her in his arms, kissing her lips, her neck, every area of flesh he could reach with his mouth. Dana heard herself panting like an animal in heat, her moans and sighs interrupted only by the fusing of tangled lips and tongues.

“Hurry, Dale…” she garbled between kisses. “I can’t wait much longer…”

She checked the lighted number on the display of the elevator. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

“Dana…” Dale mumbled as his lips dipped below the neckline of her sweater.

Dana threw her head back, her eyes incredibly wide, as Dale began to sample the sensitive flesh of her breasts.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Damn elevator.

“I want your fire, Dana,” he growled roughly in her ear, lifting her tiny frame to push her against the glass wall of the elevator. “Give me your fire!”

Dana responded instinctively, wrapping her legs around his hips as Dale’s tongue ventured into the valley of her breasts.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

“You’re so beautiful…” he rasped, his lips seeking the tops of her breasts. “Still so beautiful…” His mouth continued to worship her partially-revealed breasts, his teeth working to free them from the trappings of their lace bra.

“Dale…yes….”

Dana clung to him helplessly as his lips and tongue worked their way up her satin flesh to the base of her throat, sucking and tasting the hollow there.

Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.

“Almost there,” he growled, wrapping her legs more tightly around him as he pushed her into the glass with the force of his thrusting hips. “Almost there….”

Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

“Dale!” she cried, as his tongue darted into the shell of her ear. “Get me off of here! Now!”

“Patience, my lady,” he whispered, his tongue flicking in and out of her other ear. “I’ll get you off soon enough.”

Oh, Jesus…

Dana felt another wave of dampness coat the insides of her thighs in response to Dale’s double entendre.

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

A loud gong echoed through the glass elevator when it reached the twenty-seventh floor, the metal doors opening to find an elderly couple staring in shock at the brazen display before them.

Dale turned around and grinned at the couple, lightly setting Dana on the floor of the elevator. “Top of the evening to you,” he remarked, with a hint of irreverence as he led her out of the structure.

The white-haired woman glared icily at Dale as she passed him.

Dale gave the couple a mock salute and waved farewell. “We’ll be going about our business,” he said. “Please pardon us in advance if we keep you up all night.”

Every ounce of color drained from the woman’s cheeks. “Close that door, dear,” she yapped to her husband. “I want to get to the opera on time.”

The husband just gaped, open-mouthed, as Dale carted Dana down the length of the hall to his room.

“Here we are,” he said, fumbling for the keycard. “Room 2742.”

Dana watched as Dale desperately attempted to fit the card in its slot while holding her in his arms. “Having trouble?” she wanted to know.

“Not at all,” he said, still fidgeting with the card.

Dana made a lilting remark about his difficulties. “I never knew you had such a hard time getting it in,” she taunted, enjoying the look of astonishment on his face.

“Curb that vixen tongue, hussy,” Dale growled, “lest you face the wrath of my solid spear.”

The door opened mere seconds later, and within a fraction of a second, Dale had closed the door and was pressing Dana up against the wall to demonstrate the power of his weapon.

“Your solid spear?” Dana smiled softly, seductively. “Come, Sir Tristan, pierce me. Impale me with your solid spear. I gladly welcome it.”

Dale’s lips descended upon Dana’s once more, rendering her unable to move underneath his iron grip. Dana sighed over and over as his tongue thrust into her warm, willing mouth, over and over again, his hips grinding furiously against hers.

“So the lady wants to be impaled, then,” Dale growled, carrying her to the bed and falling with her onto the soft down comforter of the bedspread. “Never let it be said that Sir Tristan refused Isolde’s demands.”

Mere seconds had passed, and suddenly Dana’s sweater had magically disappeared from her body, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, replaced by the smooth tanned flesh of Dale’s naked torso.

He took her into his arms, kissing her face, her neck, her breasts, as he worked clumsily with the stubborn clasp of her bra.

“God, I love you, Dana,” he breathed, kissing her ear. “You don’t know how long I have wanted to do this with you, how many eternities I have spent waiting for a chance just to be near you, to touch you, to even talk to you.” He savored her lips again, moaning as she returned the kiss with equal fervor. “I never in my wildest dreams imagined I’d be making love to you this weekend.”

Dana closed her eyes, her senses swimming in a pool of swirling sensuality. “I never dreamed it either,” she replied, sighing when at last the clasp was released.

Dale slowly removed the lacy item from Dana, his eyes hungrily roaming the expanse of each alabaster globe, resting on their rosy nipples. “You’re…perfect…” he whispered, his hands cupping the fullness of each one. “Absolutely perfect.”

Dana sighed again, moaning as his hands began to massage the tender flesh. He had such wonderful hands….

“Just as I remember you,” he continued, his lips encircling one breast. “Just as I’ve dreamt you were.”

“Dale…” she moaned, when his lips enclosed around her nipple, suckling with worshipful reverence.

His hands moved lower, to the smoothness of her abdomen, his fingers tracing the outline of her navel as his mouth laved every inch of her breasts.

“Beautiful…” he murmured against her breast.

Dana was nearly heaving, her breath weighty with desire, moaning as Dale continued to worship her breasts.

“You’re my little porcelain doll,” he continued to murmur, the vibration of his lips passing through her like shockwaves into her nipples. “My very sexy, sensuous porcelain doll.”

Dana found it hard to argue with Dale as he spoke against her nipples. He could call her a misanthropic hermit and she still wouldn’t argue if he kept doing that to her.

But she wasn’t a porcelain doll.

Slowly Dale removed her pants, one leg at a time, kissing the satin flesh of her calves, her knees, her thighs coated with the scent of her moist essence.

“Dale…” she gasped, as his mouth brushed against her panties. “Oh, Dale…”

“Give me your fire, Dana,” he said, kissing more firmly. “Give it to me. Let me make it mine again.”

“Oh, Dale…” Her hands grasped the chestnut strands of his hair as his tongue dipped beneath the lace to lick her clit.

Sweet Jesus, this was heaven. This was sheer rapture. She’d forgotten how incredible it felt when a man had kissed her there, much less a man with the velvet tongue of Dale Dawson.

“What do you want, Dana?” he moaned against the rosy nub. “I’ll give you anything you want tonight.”

Oh geez. Oh God, Oh Christ, where to begin…?

“Oh, Dale…” she cried as he began sliding the lacy garment over her hips and down her silken legs, his tongue working minor miracles on and around her center of pleasure.

She’d only been able to dream of such delights as of late. Dreams of being sucked and kissed in her most secret places for hours upon hours at a time.

Dreams of a dark-haired man with full lips and an incredibly proficient tongue worshiping her clit, teasing it, tormenting it, until she begged for release.

A dark-haired man with velvety eyes of gold and green and gray, the colors changing with the ebb and flow of the tides.

A dark-haired man with the sexist nose she’d ever seen, though he considered it to be too large. A nose that buried itself in her sex, inhaling her essence, as he licked her to fulfillment.

A dark-haired man who made love to her in her dreams with such passion and such tenderness, who had rocked her gently on the waves of desire through navy evenings of darkness, whispering only her last name as his one impassioned endearment.

“Mulder….” she moaned softly, through the haze of her pleasure. “Mulder….”

She felt a sudden slowing of that velvet tongue on her clit.

He couldn’t stop now; he couldn’t…

“Mulder,” she moaned louder, pleading with him. “Don’t stop, Mulder…”

And suddenly the tongue was gone.

Dammit.

Dana looked up in puzzlement to gaze into furious eyes of midnight.

Dale Dawson.

Shit.

The full realization of what she’d said, what had happened, crashed upon her with the force of a twenty-foot tidal wave, drowning her in the shame of her own slumbered stupidity.

Oh, Jesus.

It was all over.

Everything.

“What did you just say?” Dale hissed as he stood above her, his eyes a blue flame.

Dana covered her face with her hands, completely speechless. She’d called for Mulder.

Goddammit, she’d called for Mulder.

In the company of another man.

In the presence of Dale Dawson.

Dale Dawson was a jealous man.

She uttered a silent prayer to the Deity.

Not even God could save her from Dale’s wrath.

Dale grabbed her arm, jerking her furiously. “What did you just say, Dana? ANSWER ME!!!”

Dana held her arms high to defend her face from any sudden and violent impulse he might inflict upon her, her face contorted in fear.

“I know what you said, Dana. I heard you say it. I just want you to tell me to my face what you said.” He began to squeeze her arm with superhuman strength.

Dana winced as a bolt of pain lanced through her arms into her shoulders and neck. “Dale…no…”

“You’re fucking your partner, aren’t you?” he yelled as he increased his grip on her arm. “It is true!”

Dana raised herself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain Dale was causing her arm. “No,” she replied, her voice suddenly very high. “No!”

He jerked her again. “Are you saying no because you want me to stop or because you’re telling me the truth?” Another jerk. “Come clean, Dana!”

“NO!” she shouted, as Dale began to twist her arm around her back. “Please…stop…”

“You’ve been fucking Spooky Mulder all these years,” he growled ferally, twisting her arm even more. “All these years you’ve been banging him, on all those assignments, in all those hotels! No wonder why he won you over to his side!”

Tears began to flow from Dana’s face as Dale jerked her forward, her head resting on her knees. No, it wasn’t like that, not at all….

“You were supposed to spy on him, not become his whore!” Dale hissed in her ear, twisting her arm once more. “Fucking your partner was not a part of your assignment!”

“Ow!” Dana cried, as Dale twisted her arm again. “Dale, please…please listen to me…I didn’t…”

“You didn’t what?” he said disbelievingly. “You didn’t mean to fuck him? Is that what you mean? You didn’t want to get in his pants?”

He twisted her arm again. “You’re a liar.”

Dana’s face was completely distorted from the pain he was causing her, her eyes swollen and red from newly-shed tears. There had to be some way to convince him, at least long enough to regain control of her arm before it was returned as broken merchandise.

“Never underestimate the power of a woman working her way to the top,” Dale hissed, jerking her arm again.

Oh, Jesus…another inch and she’d need a doctor. <Please, Dale,> she cried silently. <Don’t do it…>

“Please Dale,” she cried, her voice begging, pleading for relief. “Just let me explain…just let go of my arm and I’ll explain everything…”

“Not a chance, Dana.” Dale climbed into the bed behind her and knelt just behind her, his hand still clutching her twisted arm. “You explain first and then…then I might let go of your arm.”

Another flood of tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“Well?” he said, his breath ragged in her ear. “Do we have a deal?”

Dana closed her eyes in acquiescence. What choice did she have right now? “We have a deal,” she replied softly.

Dale moved closer so that Dana was surrounded by Dale on all sides, his weight resting on her back and the arm bent around it.

“Now explain yourself,” he whispered in her ear, gripping her arm even more tightly.

Dana sighed heavily before replying to his request. “Dale, I…I don’t know what to say,” she began, her voice wavering from the pain he was causing her arm. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You’d better think how to begin,” he grunted, “or I won’t be so charitable with your sidearm.”

Dana shut her eyes.

“Why don’t you explain why the hell you lied to me about fucking Spooky Mulder first,” he said, “and if your answer is satisfactory, I might let go of your arm.”

<You might let go?> What the hell kind of game was he trying to pull?

<You’d damn well better let go.>

“What kind of answer will satisfy you, Dale?” she asked him. “You won’t believe me if I tell you the truth, but you’ll be even madder at me if I lie and say I fucked him.”

“Did you, Dana?” Dale gripped her arm for emphasis.

“No.” Her answer was a pained whisper.

“I don’t believe you.” He began to twist her arm again.

“No, Dale!” she screamed. “Don’t!”

Dale stopped.

“What do you want me to say?” she cried, her vision hazy from the multitude of tears clouding her fearful gray eyes. “Do you want me to say I fucked him? Will you let me go if I do?”

“Tell me the truth,” he said, “and I’ll let you go.”

Dammit to Hell, she was telling him the truth. Every breath, every syllable was the truth, and yet he still refused to believe her.

The years had dulled her memories of his jealous nature.

“Will it make you feel any better if I said I fucked him, Dale, just to tell you what you believe is the truth anyway?” she gasped, feeling her arm stretch to its limit.

Dale did not respond.

Dana took his silence as confirmation.

“All right, Dale, I fucked him,” she replied, her voice scratchy with fatigue. “I’ve been fucking Mulder for the last six years.”

Dana held her breath, anticipating the worst for her unfortunate arm. He could go either way.

She released her breath when she felt her arm loosen under his grip.

Thank God.

Dale said nothing as he removed his grip on her arm, choosing instead to move away from her to the back of the bed.

Dana turned around to face him, rubbing her sore arm. “Do you feel better now?” she asked him. “Are you happy now that I’ve said exactly what you wanted to hear?”

Dale frowned, meeting her defiant gaze with one of his own. “I would have rather not heard that, Dana.”

She sighed and bowed her head in frustration. Whatever she said, it didn’t matter. She was damned either way in his eyes.

There was no point in arguing the issue.

“Is he good?”

Dana’s head jerked upward. “What?”

“Mulder, your partner. Is he good in the sack?”

Her heart began to pound as Dana’s blood pumped furiously through her veins. He didn’t….

“Are you going to answer me or am I going to have to twist another arm to get it out of you?” he asked softly, his voice dangerously low.

Oh God. She should’ve seen it coming. Dale Dawson was never satisfied with a simple yes or no. He wanted more evidence to stack against her.

“That is none of your business, Dale.”

It wasn’t any of his business at all, regardless of the truth, regardless of the fact that she’d never slept with Mulder. Nothing of Dana Scully was anyone’s business but her own.

“Oh really?” Dale crept on all fours toward the center of the bed, his eyes blazing with anger. “I have your answer right here.”

Dana shuddered as he approached her slowly, ominously, reaching for her with those soft hands.

“He must be better than me if he can make you think of him when I’m doing wonderful things to your body,” Dale whispered, his hands touching her shoulders. “He must be an incredible lover if he can accomplish that.”

Dana shook her head. “You greatly overestimate your abilities.”

“You think so?” Dale’s hands clamped down on her shoulders, pulling her down face first on the bed. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

He pinned her beneath him, capturing her struggling arms with his hands.

“Don’t even think about moving,” he said. “You’re going to show me exactly what’s kept you fucking him all these years.”

“No, Dale…” Dana protested, as he whirled her around on her back. “This is crazy! You’re crazy!”

“I am crazy,” he growled, stealing a kiss from her neck. “Crazy for you, Dana Scully. I want to know what drives you to that spooky son of a bitch Mulder, what keeps you there, what he can give you that I couldn’t.”

Dana struggled violently beneath him, trying to break free of his grip. “Please stop, Dale…this isn’t how it’s supposed to be….”

Her sentence was interrupted by a slow, sweet kiss just beneath her jawline. “Does he know all your secret spots, all those perfect places I know that drive you insane with pleasure?” His lips claimed the lobe of her ear and sucked slowly.

Dana gasped as she felt the ache beginning all over again. Damn him. Damn him. How the hell could he nearly break her arm and suddenly cause her to want him all over again?

“Does Spooky Mulder know about this place?” Dale kissed the underside of her breasts.

Dana moaned.

“What about this one?” Dale’s lips rested upon the juncture of hip and thigh.

“Dale…oh God…”

Suddenly Dale’s tongue was on her again, rolling around her clit, and Dana could do nothing but whimper and thrash around wildly as he continued to lavish attention on her sensitive bud.

He chuckled, pausing from his ministrations for the slightest of moments. “You know, I wouldn’t mind it so much if you’d been turning to Mulder in my absence,” he said softly, returning to his work.

Dana’s eyes opened wide as Dale’s tongue slid into her honeyed depths. “Dale…oh God, Dale….”

“It would make sense,” he reasoned, almost to himself, as he began to thrust his tongue in and out of her. “Spooky Mulder could never be able to do what I can do to you.”

Dana closed her eyes and winced as she felt a single tremor overtake her body. Sweet Mary, she was going to come.

She could not–would not–give him the satisfaction.

“Get off me, Dale,” she hissed, attempting to hit him in the face with her knees.

Dale responded instantly, pressing his weight heavily upon them so that Dana was incapable of movement.

“Give me your fire, Dana,” he said, taking her clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

“Nooo…” she moaned, trying to wrench herself free from his grip.

He did not deserve her fire.

Again, she tried to move, but found herself paralyzed by his body, her most sensitive places held captive by that amazing velvet tongue.

She felt it building and building…oh God, he was so good…incredible…she couldn’t let him do this to her… but she was letting him do everything…everything he wanted to do without a fight at all….and she was loving every second of it…

“Oh, Dale…” she gasped, squirming beneath him. “Please….”

“Say it,” he demanded against her clit. “I’m better than he could ever be.”

What the hell….?

How could she answer that when she’d never sampled the pleasures of Mulder’s kisses?

How could she betray her own desires for Mulder by telling Dale Dawson exactly what he wanted to hear? And not once, but twice?

This had to stop, regardless of the past, present, or future. Regardless of the unbelievable pleasure he was lavishing upon her.

This had to stop.

“Dale….” Her voice was lost to her.

“What is it, Dana?” His lips lightly touched the swollen nub, causing her to shudder uncontrollably.

She struggled to find her breath, her brain scrambling to think of a logical plan of escape.

It was hard to think with Dale Dawson between her thighs.

“Dale, this isn’t right. This–just isn’t right.”

He frowned, looking up at her. “What isn’t right?”

“This. Us.” She sighed. “We had our chance, years ago, and, fool that I was, I blew it. I utterly blew it. I have no right inviting you back into my life after what I did to you.”

“I’m willing to forgive,” he said, his voice somewhat lighter. “I’ll forget everything. You said yourself you were a different person.”

She shook her head. “No, Dale.” She was finally able to roll away from him. Realizing her state of undress, she blushed and quickly placed a pillow over her naked torso.

“You’re not a different person?” Dale asked, slightly puzzled.

“No, that’s not it.” She sighed again, giving him an injured look. “You haven’t curbed your violent tendencies since we were together, and I can’t deal with that. No woman should have to deal with that.”

Dale winced in response to her reply. “I’m sorry, Dana, but I needed to know–”

“No, you didn’t need to know anything; you resorted to violence in the hope that I would tell you the truth. Well guess what, Dale? I was telling you the truth. I told you the truth before you ever tried to hurt me. You just wouldn’t believe me.” She kept her eyes away from him as she continued to speak. “Mulder and I have never slept together. We’ve never even entertained the notion of becoming that involved, due to the special nature of our work.”

Well, at least until the certainty of tonight.

“You called his name,” Dale pointed out with a frown. “You called out his name, right here on the bed, while you were with me. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

She couldn’t look at him.

“You haven’t slept with him,” he said, “but you call out his name while in bed with another man. Do you know what that means, Dana?”

Her eyes finally met his, only to hear his answer.

“You want him, Dana. You want him and you’ve been wanting him for years. You want him so bad you can’t even hide it from yourself anymore. It’s affected your ability to have relations with anyone and everyone, because it’s a secret you don’t want anyone to find out, and if they get too close to you, they’ll know.”

Oh dear God.

Dana closed her eyes, hiding her face in her hands.

Why did Dale Dawson have to be so damn perceptive?

“They’ll all know,” he continued. “Including Mulder.”

The tears began to flow again, more freely than they’d ever been the entire evening. Damn him. Damn him for always being so right.

“It puts me in a difficult position,” he said, observing her balled-up frame in tears. “I want to love you. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m willing to put the past behind me and face a future together with you, Dana. But I can’t do anything if you can’t love me in return.”

She looked up at him suddenly, wiping her eyes. “Dale, there will always be a part of me that loves you, that will love you until my dying day. I have given you so much of myself…my dreams, my hopes, my fears, things I’ve never given to anyone else. Things I’ll probably never give to anyone else. You know me better than any person alive on this planet.”

Dale smiled.

“But I can’t spend the rest of my life with a jealous man, Dale. I can’t.” She shuddered. “You nearly broke my arm.”

“I’ll get help,” he said. “I’ll seek counseling or whatever it is I need to do to assure you that you’ll be safe with me. I love you, Dana.”

A lone tear trickled from her sky blue eyes.

“I’ll take you away from that dead-end job you have and have you promoted somewhere close to me. Somewhere where we can have a life together, you and me, and a family, if you want it.”

Another tear began to fall as Dana realized how blind he was to her recent procreative condition.

The offer did sound tempting, though….

It wasn’t as if anyone else was offering, and she wasn’t getting any younger.

“We’d have our own little Camelot, just like we’d planned it ten years ago,” he said. “King and queen of our own domain.”

Dana sighed. “Dale…”

“Well? What says my lady?”

She smiled. “The lady needs time to think.”

“Time?” Dale chuckled, drawing her into his arms. “Time shall be the first of many gifts I bring to my lady Isolde.”

Dana reached for him, welcoming his embrace. She sighed again when his lips found the smooth skin of her forehead.

Part Seven

As soon as he had reached for her, he pulled away, his eyes suddenly dark. “What about Mulder?” he asked her pointedly, his voice uncharacteristically low.

Mulder?

Oh, God. Mulder.

She’d forgotten about Mulder, with all this grand talk of Camelot and chivalry and royal treatment. “What about him?” she wanted to know.

“How do you feel about Mulder?” he asked her, his eyes searching hers, probing them for answers.

How did she feel about Mulder?

Good God, how did she feel about Mulder?

They didn’t have six years to investigate that X-File.

“You love him,” Dale answered for her, his lips curling in a slight snarl. “You don’t even have to tell me. It’s in your eyes.”

Dana closed her eyes promptly.

“You used to give me that look, you know. That’s how I know.”

She opened them again to stare puzzledly at him. “I don’t know how I feel,” she said, running a hand through her auburn tresses. “I don’t know what to think about Mulder anymore. Everything’s changed so fast for me in the past year, all the things that have happened since the Files were shut down and suddenly reopened. Things suggested in the shadows, words spoken in whispers, overtures made, but nothing’s certain.”

Not even Mulder’s confession in her apartment had given her the certainty of the thing she most wanted from him…the one emotion he would never confess harboring for her.

If he even harbored the emotion.

Yet Dale could shout it to the moon and beyond that he loved her completely, even if he was a jealous man.

It was all so confusing.

“You don’t know how he feels,” Dale corrected her. “You know how you feel, even though you don’t want to admit it. You love him.”

Dana suddenly lost the rapid pulse throbbing throughout her body.

“He must be one helluva guy to have stolen your heart from me,” he said, sighing.

Dana nodded. Mulder was one helluva man.

“But,” Dale continued, tilting her chin, “I don’t believe he’s staked claim to it yet.”

Dana stared helplessly into Dale’s sapphire eyes.

“And I don’t think he’s stolen all of it away.” Dale kissed her tenderly, gently, holding her in his arms.

“Oh, Dale…” she whispered, returning his kiss with equal ardor.

He moved away from her, his eyes dreamy with happiness. “He hasn’t stolen it completely,” he said confidently.

Dana agreed, holding the soft skin of his hand.

He had such wonderful hands….

“But,” Dale told her, “you have your own quest, Lady Isolde. You need to sort out your feelings for this pretender to my throne. I’ll gladly abdicate if you find you love him more than you love me. I’ll let you rule with him forever, if you think it would last for even half that time.”

Forever. Oh God, such a long word….

She hadn’t thought about forever in a long time.

Forever was too much to comprehend right now.

She could barely live in the present with a flame from her past.

The heated look Dale Dawson was giving her wasn’t helping either.

“But for now…” he said, his eyes burning through hers.

But for now what?

“You’re here now, and not there. You’re with me. And since I have the home field advantage…”

Dana frowned. What the hell was he getting at?

The look on his face was enough of a reply.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay with me tonight.”

Dana gasped inwardly. Had she heard him right?

“You heard me, Dana; stay with me.” Dale began to caress her face, her neck, her shoulders, with his satin hands. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing all these years.”

He kissed her, fleetingly, then pulled away.

“I doubt Mulder has the balls to give you this,” he said, nipping the tops of her breasts with his teeth.

Dana gasped as the swirling cycle of her arousal began all over again. Sweet Jesus, what he could do to her with just a kiss….

“I can give you this and everything else, Dana,” he moaned against her breast. “Stay with me.”

His lips enclosed around her nipple and began to suck greedily.

Oh, Christ, he was making it so easy to say yes to him, to everything she’d forgotten she’d ever wanted until tonight. Those teeth, those lips, that tongue…sweet merciful Mother Mary….

“Stay with me,” he implored again, gradually moving her down on the bed.

Oh, God, no…she couldn’t….

“Stay with me,” he whispered in her ear.

She couldn’t….

“Stay with me.”

She couldn’t…no…no…

Yes, she could.

Her body cried out for more than sweet temptation.

Her pulse was like thunder, her blood molten lava, her body heavy with the weight of its long-dormant desires.

Desires which could not be deterred, delayed, or denied for one more night.

She knew it. She knew it, and she hated to admit it, but it was true. It was so very true, and it had been so very long….

She needed Dale tonight, regardless of what the morning would bring.

Her reply was a soft hiss, barely audible but firm with conviction. “Make love to me, Dale.”

Dale responded with an animal groan that nearly shattered her inner ear. “Dana, darling…”

He began to kiss her all over, his lips searing her face, her neck, with white-hot intensity, branding her as his own.

She was marked with his seal, with the scorching imprint of each heated kiss as his lips moved again to her breasts.

“No one can give you this but me,” he sighed, ravenously claiming the valley between her alabaster globes. “No one can even make you feel a fraction of how I make you feel, and you know it. You’ll always know it.”

Dana closed her eyes, helpless to do anything but allow him to possess every inch of her flesh with his volcanic lips.

Dale Dawson was a perceptive man.

“No one can touch you just the way you want it. No one can make you come just from a kiss. No one can give your body what it screams and cries and begs for in the wee hours of the night,” he moaned against her thigh.

Dana shuddered.

“We’ve always had this, baby. We always will.” His tongue flicked through the auburn curls between her thighs. “And that is why you’ll never want to give me up for some spooky partner of yours.”

His lips enclosed around her clit again and Dana cried a prayer to the Deity.

“That’s it, Dana,” he moaned, encouraging her response to his velvet kisses. “You know it. Accept it. Embrace it.” His lips began to suck the swollen bud once more, sending her body into uncontrollable quivers.

Mother of God, she was going to come…oh God…every nerve was on fire, every sense heightened to the infinite degree as her pulse raced faster and faster with each delicious sensation of his lips on her clit.

She had lost all ability to think, to reason, to even question anything he was doing to her. The precipice of pleasure loomed just ahead, only moments away from the release of a lifetime.

Ten years of Dana Scully, hurtling from the rocky edge into unfamiliar seas.

“Dale…!” she cried, reaching for his hair and pulling it violently. “Now, please!”

Dale groaned and sucked harder, slowly inserting one long finger into her satin sheath.

Dana cried again, begging for fulfillment as he pumped her furiously.

“Still not satisfied?” Dale chuckled, reaching for the zipper of his trousers. “Methinks the lady needs a more powerful weapon than my trusty finger.”

Dana nodded weakly, gasping for air, as Dale divested himself of his remaining articles of clothing.

He came to her then, mounting her, positioning his manhood so that she could feel the tip of him within her.

Oh God….

She gasped, her eyes wide.

“Command your knight, my lady,” he breathed in her ear. “Bid him do what he would with your body.”

Dana gasped again, her honeyed depths quivering with anticipation. She could barely breathe, much less command him….

“I can’t wait much longer,” he sighed, his muscles straining toward her, teasing her with the slightest movement inward.

“Dear God, Dale…” she moaned, gazing into his midnight eyes. “I–don’t know what–to ask for–”

“I’m sure you have a good idea,” he grunted, moving another fraction of an inch inside her. “But you have to ask.”

She moaned when she felt him slip slightly into her body. “Always the knight errant,” she whispered, her eyes large and luminous.

He chuckled, kissing her lips. “Always.”

After several moments of thought, Dana nodded and wrapped her legs around his hips, her eyes closed in breathless anticipation. “Impale me, Sir Tristan.”

A husky groan emanated from Dale’s mouth as he lifted her hips to receive him. “As my lady wishes,” he said softly, fitting himself inch by blessed inch inside her.

Suddenly the muffled sound of an electronic ring penetrated the air around them, interrupting their gentle joining.

“What the hell…?” Dale growled, stopping halfway inside her. “What is that?”

Dana sighed, rolling her eyes. “You won’t like my answer,” she said.

Frowning, Dale searched her sapphire orbs intently, demanding a reply.

Dana’s eyes traveled furtively to the crumpled heap of clothes at the foot of the bed, her glance resting on the phone peeking from beneath her sweater. “Duty calls,” she said with a reluctant sigh, attempting to roll away from the man on top of her.

“No.” Dale’s hands gripped her wrists, preventing her from moving. “Let it ring.”

Dana’s brows lowered into a puzzled frown. “I can’t,” she replied softly. “It might be a call about my case–”

“Let it ring,” Dale ordered her huskily, his dark eyes boring into her soul. “I can’t wait another ten years for this.”

Dana’s breath caught in her throat when she realized just how serious Dale Dawson was.

But she had to answer that phone.

“Can you wait another ten seconds?” she asked him, stroking his face.

Dale continued to frown, his eyes deep in thought as he weighed the potential outcomes from such a decision. “Fine,” he finally said, “but ten seconds only. Less if it’s that partner of yours. Am I clear?”

Dana nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to think about Mulder right now anyway. The guilt she felt was already unbearable enough without adding on the recent events of the evening.

Dale moved away from her, kneeling on the foot of the bed as Dana knelt to retrieve the small phone from the pocket of her pants. “Scully,” she spoke into the receiver.

“Dana?” The familiar voice spoke inquisitively into the phone.

She smiled. “Mom,” she said pleasantly, her eyes darting swiftly to the man on the bed, judging his reaction to her caller.

The furrows on his brow had relaxed.

Thank God.

“What is it, Mom?” she asked, sitting on the side of the bed.

She heard a sigh escape her mother’s lips. “Dana, you’d better get over here now,” she said. “I have a visitor.”

“What?” Dana asked, her forehead dimpling into a frown. “At this hour?”

“Yes,” the warm voice of Margaret Scully replied, with a sudden degree of urgency to her voice. “Please hurry.”

“Hurry? What for?” she wanted to know. “Is it that important?”

“Yes, it is,” she whispered into the phone.

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t say right now,” Margaret replied softly, “and I can’t talk long. Just get over here as soon as you can.”

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Dana asked, fearing the worst.

“I’m fine,” Margaret said, “but I need you over here now to help resolve this matter.”

Dana winced. <Dear God, please don’t let it be a prowler or burglar or….> She gasped as the terrible thought raced through her mind.

“Whoever it is, whatever it is, don’t do anything until I can get there,” she replied into the receiver. “I’ll send the police over to make sure you’re okay.”

“No, don’t call the police,” Margaret told her. “There’s really no need. Just get here.”

Suddenly she heard a voice in the background, saying something to her mother. Dana listened intently for any signs or clues pertaining to this mysterious visitor.

Dammit, she couldn’t make out the voice. What the hell was going on?

“I have to go now,” Margaret told her. “Please hurry, Dana.”

And then silence.

Dana pressed the ‘end’ button with frustrated fingers, a scowl penetrating the feminine features of her face. “Dammit,” she whispered.

“What?” Dale wanted to know.

Dana shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Dana replied, lost in her own thoughts.

“Was that your mother?”

Dana said nothing, her mind focused on the situation at hand. Her mother needed her for some unknown, inexplicable reason, and she wouldn’t even bother going into detail over the phone about it. Hell, she wouldn’t even let her call the cops. What was such a goddamn secret that she couldn’t tell her own daughter over the phone?

Dana’s mind whirred into action as she struggled to think of any and all possible scenarios her Bureau training could provide.

It had to be a prowler. Had to be. In the room, with her mother, at gunpoint, holding her hostage for ransom or for some unknown desire. Why else would her mother have refused police assistance in the matter?

She had to get to her.

Swiftly, decisively, Dana began donning her clothes without a glance at the man at the foot of the bed.

“What the hell are you doing, Dana?” he wanted to know.

“I have to go,” she replied, without looking at him.

“Why? What happened?” Dale watched her frantically pull the knit material of her pants over each leg.

“I don’t know,” she said, fastening her bra.

“Was that your mother, Dana? Is something the matter with her?”

Dana threw on her sweater, oblivious to his question.

“Dana, who the hell just called you?” he said more forcefully, his hand gripping her arm.

Dana gasped, her eyes wide. Not again….

“I think I have a right to know,” he said, the furrows on his brow returning once more.

She snatched her arm away, scowling at him. “It’s none of your business,” she said, slipping into her socks.

“None of my business? None of my business? What the hell do you mean, none of my business?” Dale was furious. “You answer the phone. You say it’s your ‘mother’. You talk on the phone like there’s some big emergency, then you start throwing on your clothes and ignoring every word I have to say to you!” He grabbed her arm again. “You’d better be honest with me, Dana. Was that your mother?”

Dana struggled to free her arm from his grip, but Dale was too powerful. She couldn’t tell Dale about her mother. Dale was fiercely protective of Maggie Scully, to the point of death.

This was her fight.

Besides, she’d be jeopardizing her mother’s life if Dale were to follow her there.

It was best left a secret.

“I have to go,” she told him firmly, pulling her arm away. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Dale rose from the bed and began following her toward the door. “Oh, no you don’t, Dana Katherine!” he yelled, clutching the hem of her coat. “Don’t you dare walk out of this room without giving me an answer! Who the hell called you just now??”

Dana frowned. “Since when did you feel it necessary to know every private detail about my life?” she yelled back.

The menacing look on Dale’s face caused a lump to form in Dana’s throat. Oh, no…not again….

“It was Mulder, wasn’t it?” he hissed. “Spooky Mulder!” He pulled her to him, grasping her firmly against him. “He called you, didn’t he??”

“No!” Dana cried, struggling in his embrace.

“He called you for some little assignation somewhere, didn’t he?” Dale growled, bruising her arms. “You’ve been lying to me all along!”

Tears began to form in Dana’s eyes as Dale’s grip became suddenly painful. “No,” she pleaded, gazing into his furious eyes.

“Then explain to me why you have no qualms leaving my bed so hastily,” he said, nearly crushing her arms with the force of his hold on her.

Dana’s voice was frantic as she struggled with a coherent reply. “There’s been an emergency and I have to go,” she explained, trying to stop the well of tears from flowing again.

“Why couldn’t you tell me that a minute ago?” he asked her, his voice suspicious. “If there had really been an emergency, you could’ve told me right then! What are you hiding, Dana?”

She winced.

“Answer me!”

Dana found herself pushed back onto the bed, crushed by Dale’s weight on top of her.

“Answer me, goddammit, or I’ll make you answer, you lying bitch!”

Dana gasped swiftly. He’d just called her a….

How dare he?

She spat in his face. “Don’t you ever call me that again, Dale Dawson!” she growled ferally, struggling under the weight of his body.

Dana’s face buckled under the force of the slap he sent flying across her cheek.

God damn him.

“You seem to fit the mold,” Dale responded with a cruel sneer.

Dana wished she had control of her arms to slap the living hell out of his pretty face.

“Must be some emergency for Spooky Mulder to call you at this hour.” Dale’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can just imagine the briefing he was planning on giving you.”

Oh…damn him to the bowels of Hell.

“It wasn’t Mulder,” she yelled in his face, hoping that the louder she spoke, the more it would sink in. “Why can’t you get that through your head?”

“Why can’t you tell me who called you, Dana?” he demanded.

“Because it’s none of your goddamn business, Dale!” she shouted, landing a kick to his midsection and enabling herself to roll away from him.

Dale gingerly placed a hand to his stomach, shooting sapphire daggers straight into her heart. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” he yelled, struggling to get up. “Just like before!”

“I beg your pardon…?” Dana’s eyes returned his murderous gesture.

“You were secretive like this, too, one other time,” he shouted at her accusingly. “The night you left me for Jack Willis.”

“I didn’t leave you that night,” Dana hissed. “I’d left you long before that, you possessive bastard!”

He frowned again. “Don’t I know it,” he countered with an evil sneer.

“Oh yeah?” Dana screamed at him. “Think about this for a second, Mr. Jilted Lover! Have you ever considered that the reason I left you might have something to do with your goddamn violent impulses?”

Dale gave her a blank stare.

“Well, that’s great. That’s just fucking great, Dale,” she replied, snarling at him. “You’re never in the wrong, are you?”

“You left me, Dana,” he said with conviction. “I did nothing to make you leave.”

“Nothing? Really?” Dana’s eyes widened incredulously. “I can’t begin to count the times I had a black eye after fighting with you over stupid trivialities like this!” She pointed at him. “I stayed with you because I loved you and I wanted to make it work, but even I had my limits!” She took one step closer. “You just couldn’t stand the fact that Jack had his eye on me, could you?”

Dale said nothing.

“You never believed me when I told you I was faithful,” she said bitterly, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Instead you’d just slap me around until you were convinced I wouldn’t sleep with him again!”

Dale continued to stare at her, completely perplexed.

“And I took it,” she said, her voice edged with even more bitterness and anger. “I took it because I loved you so much! Because I thought you were the only man I could ever love and want in my life!” She snarled furiously. “Love is fucking blind, isn’t it?”

Dale shook his head, but said nothing in his defense.

“Eventually I got tired of being your little punching bag,” she hissed at him. “And yes, I did become interested in Jack, but only because you were driving me away with your jealous temper!” She glared at him. “At least Jack was able to offer me a steady, comfortable relationship without the manic mood swings of your personality.”

The look in Dale’s eyes suddenly darkened to near sable. “That’s a load of bullshit, and you know it,” he growled, rising from the bed to approach her. “That’s the excuse you’ve fed yourself for ten years to justify leaving the best thing you ever had!”

Dana attempted to speak, but her mouth was suddenly covered by Dale’s hand.

“It’s my turn to speak now,” he whispered menacingly.

Dana had no choice but to comply.

“You left me,” he said, “not because Jack Willis was stable or comfortable, or even because he was a better lay. God knows the old man was far from in his prime.”

Her eyes widened. “How dare you…” she mumbled against his hand.

“Let me finish,” he ordered, clamping his hand more firmly over her mouth. “You left me because I didn’t have the power to give you what you wanted…what we wanted. Power. Prestige.” His lips curled disapprovingly. “Jack could open doors for you, and you knew he could. That’s why you left me.”

Another stream of tears flowed from Dana’s eyes.

“Now look who’s holding the big guns and who’s six feet under.” He grinned devilishly, gripping her waist with both hands.

A look of horror spread across Dana’s face. “You bastard.”

“You know I’m right,” he continued, holding her more tightly with his other arm. “We’re made from the same mold, Dana. You and I both. We recognized it the instant we met at the Academy, you with your rebel passion for life and me with my ambitious drive. We were made for each other. That’s why we’re still so good together, ten years later.”

Dana desperately fought the vise around her waist, twisting and turning in a vain effort to break free of his grip.

“Dale, I have to go,” she said, her voice wavering.

Dale laughed. “What?”

“I have to go now,” she repeated, more insistently.

Dale stopped laughing, his eyes a furious midnight. “Why, is Spooky waiting for you in some seedy motel room?” he wanted to know.

She closed her eyes. Damn him.

“You know, Dana, I obviously do not see your reasoning in having an affair with your own partner. He can’t offer you anything but those bogus fantasies you chase every day.”

Oooh….

Dana’s blood began to boil. Dale was insulting six years of her life’s work. Mulder’s work. Mulder in general.

“What makes you think I want more than that?” she asked him, challenging him, taunting him. “Maybe I’ve changed over the past ten years. Maybe I want to believe in something beyond myself, Dale. Maybe I want to undertake any and all efforts to prove that there is something out in that infinite universe, and maybe–just maybe–I want to share that work with someone who doesn’t care about what other people are thinking about his precious reputation every waking minute of the day. Has that thought ever crossed your mind?”

He frowned. “Never. A spade is a spade, Dana. You’ll never change.”

Dana winced.

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.”

Suddenly she felt a more painful blow to her fragile ego, more hurtful than any of his fearful slaps or punches to her face. He was insulting everything she was, everything she’d become.

God damn him.

Part Nine

[There is no Part Eight]

“I can make it so good for you, Dana. Everything. I can pull a few strings and get you a promotion out of that shithole of an office. Word has it that people even higher up than me are trying to salvage your career from the gutter, to get you away from that nobody of a partner. I’m sure they’d appreciate my intervention in this matter, not to mention how much they’d approve of a union between you and someone more of your making.”

Her eyes widened again, unable to believe anything he was saying. Surely he wasn’t offering….?

“Request a reassignment and leave your spooky lover with his little green men where they belong…in the garbage.” He smiled. “My bed is much warmer than his.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe this,” she breathed, barely able to contain her rage. “What you’re asking…is not…could not…nor could ever be something remotely appealing to me.”

He laughed. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Dana. Not yet anyway. I’m asking you to come to Portland with me and learn what it’s like to be on the top of the totem pole for a change.” His voice softened. “I’m asking you to give me another try.”

Her face contorted into a skeptical frown, her ice blue eyes glinting angrily in the dim light. “I can’t believe you have the gall to stand here and ask for another chance when you nearly broke my arm, manhandled me, and hit the hell out of me!”

Dale shrugged. “If you leave Mulder, you’ll never have to worry about that again–”

“I’m not with Mulder at all!” she yelled to his face. “How many times do I have to tell you that before it sinks in your brain? I haven’t done anything with Mulder in the past six years! Come to think of it, I haven’t done anything at all with anyone for more years than I’d care to admit!” She sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair. “I don’t just go to bed with any man, much less a coworker. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Dale laughed disbelievingly. “Who are you trying to fool, Dana Scully? Check your track record, starting with me.” He chuckled again. “We might be able to go back a little further if we dig deep enough.”

She pointed an accusing finger at him. “Dale Dawson, so help me God, this conversation is going to end right now and I am going to walk out that door if you insult me one more time.”

Dale grinned. “I’m just putting things in perspective for you. You are hardly the Puritan you present yourself to be.”

Dana held her breath as she realized just how right he was. How right he’d been, so long ago….

Damn him, damn him, DAMN HIM….!

“I don’t have to listen to this,” she said, heading toward the door. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“Fine,” Dale said behind her, following her to the door. “Go meet your spooky little love slave and let him fail to match what I can do for you,” he taunted.

She whirled around. “You–are a sick and twisted bastard,” she hissed.

Dale grinned, choosing not to respond in kind. “The offer still stands, Dana, should you choose to accept it. I’ve always admired a woman with your level of ambition.”

God damn him….

Tears began to fall from her eyes as she addressed Dale with one final statement, her hands on the doorknob. “I thought you’d changed,” she sobbed, her voice unsteady. “I thought that maybe, for once in your fucking miserable life, you would have gained some sense of conscience. Well, it appears I was wrong.” She sighed. “I never even realized how even more heartless you’d become all this time.” She paused before continuing. “I never realized the Bureau bed was so good at getting people their precious promotions.”

With that, she turned the knob to leave, but Dale’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She stood, frozen, as her ears listened to his icy reply.

“Like matches like, Dana. You slept in it for a while. You know exactly what the Bureau bed can do.” He chuckled. “You were real good in it, too, baby. You knew exactly how to make it, roll in it, and rip the sheets off it.”

The blood began to pool in her legs as Dana’s heart ceased to beat. That fucking bastard….

“Have a nice time with your partner,” Dale said sarcastically, emphasizing the last word. “And give me a call when you find he doesn’t live up to your standards.”

She stared at him, completely mortified, as Dale waved a patronizing goodbye. Rooted to where she was standing, his words echoed over and over in her brain.

No, she wasn’t that way, she wasn’t, she wasn’t….

“I hope to hear from you soon,” he remarked, opening the door for her with a flourish.

The chilling glare Dana gave him was enough of a response as she walked out of the room into the hallway. “Always the knight errant, Dale Dawson,” she remarked bitterly, walking toward the elevator without a glance behind her.

Part Ten

Angrily she pressed both buttons on the elevator, not really caring which way she went. She needed to get off that damn floor…out of the damn hotel…as soon as possible.

And Dale Dawson needed to get the hell back in his room and the hell out of her life as soon as possible. She hated waiting for that elevator, knowing he was watching her every move, her every gesture.

That arrogant, self-serving, power-hungry bastard…how dare he say those things to her?

How the hell could he say he loved her?

And, fool that she was, she’d believed him.

For a while.

<Come on,> she silently willed the glass elevator, bouncing nervously up and down on the balls of her feet. Feeling suddenly more vulnerable, she folded her arms as a poor means of defense from the probing eyes at the end of the hallway.

As if on cue, the steel doors opened and Dana flew into the welcoming safety of the elevator, pressing the lowest numbered button repetitively, obsessively, to close the doors.

The elevator made its inexorably slow descent toward the ground floor as Dana leaned her head in relief against the glass. It was done. Over.

Thank God.

How stupid she’d been. Utterly, completely stupid, as naive as the day she’d been born. Trusting. Completely gullible to all his facades, his pretenses, his lies.

She should have known better than to give any man her trust after her failed relationship with Dale, much less with the same man who laid waste to it in the first place. She’d vowed it to herself to never trust another, ever.

Mulder had been the only exception.

But even Mulder had had to prove his worth, like everyone else.

And he had succeeded.

He’d succeeded remarkably fast.

Dana closed her eyes, her thoughts suddenly shifting to the night’s earlier events. Mulder….

Oh, God, Mulder….

She remembered now, now that the effects of the alcohol had diminished somewhat and had left her with a splitting headache.

She had to find him. She had to talk to him, to reason with him, to beg for his forgiveness after what she’d done to him.

She hadn’t wanted to leave. She’d very much wanted to stay. God, how she’d wanted him to stay with her that night. She’d been completely terrified to let him stay with her.

Terrified of her love for him.

Terrified of what he would do if he found out.

Scared to give him something she’d sworn to keep to herself for the rest of her unnatural existence.

Giving him her cruelty instead of her love.

He hadn’t deserved her cruelty.

He’d never deserved her cruelty.

He deserved so much more than what she could give him.

Part Eleven

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the opening of the massive doors.

Ground floor.

Dana stepped out of the elevator, trotting through the atrium, into the lobby, past the front desk, checking her watch.

2:02.

Where had the time gone?

And where the hell were her shoes?

Dana walked through the revolving doors, the sudden burst of winter air sobering her senses, her thoughts remarkably cleared. As she approached the valet, she made an executive decision for the future happiness of Dana Scully.

She would check on her mother first.

She would attend to Mulder afterwards.

She would attempt to get some semblance of slumber and awaken in the morning, refreshed, and maybe leave for church in enough time to talk to Father McCue about this diabolical dichotomy within her, this dark side which Dale Dawson and that damn redheaded singer had brought to the surface of her consciousness.

She couldn’t save herself, regardless of what she’d prided herself to believe all these years.

Maybe Mulder had been right about calling in an exorcist.

Maybe Mulder had been right about a lot of things that she had refused to accept or embrace over the past six years.

Maybe she’d start listening.

The tears began to flow uncontrollably, nearly freezing on her face as Dana waited for her car. She welcomed them. She welcomed the salty tears of sadness, the sweet tears of relief from her recent ordeal, the bitter tears of self- awareness, of light and dark, of the heaven and hell within her spirit.

And finally, as the valet arrived with her car, and as Dana sought the safety and warmth of the vehicle, she tasted yet another flavor of tears from her soul.

Tears of paralyzing fear and uncertainty for the future of her tormented existence.

Sighing, she wiped her eyes and turned on the radio.

Music would be good right now.

Music was a far better healing for the soul than Dana’s medicine could ever hope to become.

She thanked God silently for His heavenly gift as she pulled away from the hotel, steering her car to the north.

She would have peace within, with God’s help.

She vowed it upon her father’s grave.

Winter

Title: Winter
(Part 4 of The Amos Absolution)
Author: Bidie McCucholl
Category: SR, SA
Rating: R
Archive: Please post to Gossamer, Ephemeral, and ATXC. Anywhere else, please ask.
Spoilers: Beyond the Sea, Lazarus, Small Potatoes
Keywords: Scully angst, Mulder/Scully romance

Summary: Scully, out of concern for her mother, leaves the hotel and the heart-rending events within it in search of the cause of Margaret Scully’s terrifying phone call. Sadly, as much as she fights to escape the voices within her head, she finds that they will not grant her reprieve from their torment, and Dana suddenly finds herself envisioning the world from the eyes of her past

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Feedback: Send all feedback to [email protected]. Good or constructive feedback is always welcomed, but flamers will be hunted and haunted by my own protective demons. 🙂 And as far as my own thoughts about this series, I feel Tori pretty much sums it up:

“I have no idea what people think about when they listen to my work. It’s one of those things where if I was a fly, I probably wouldn’t want to be in the room. I just put it out there, and people can think what they want.”

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AUTHOR’S NOTES:

“The writing gods decided to stop by, and you try and be there when the muse decides she wants to hang out with you.” -Tori Amos, in her recent BILLBOARD interview

This story was posted about a year ago, and it’s the last of the reposted installments of The Amos Absolution. The final story, “Little Earthquakes”, will be posted very soon. Thanks for all of you who have been reading and re-reading this story. I thank you all. 😉

Thanks again to the Beloveds for breathing down my neck, all the readers who wrote me every two weeks asking for this story, and everyone in general who recognizes the universal power of music. 🙂

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“….It’s 2:30 am and you’re listening to Love Songs with Delilah….”

Delilah.

Dana winced in disgust.

Bitch.

“….hope you’re listening with that special someone right now, cuddling in that soft warm bed or curling up by the fire together, watching it as it slowly goes away…”

Bitch.

“….thinking about all the wonderful things that brought you two together, what still keeps you together after all this time…commitment, sacrifice, trust….”

Trust.

She pressed ‘scan’.

Bitch.

What the hell did a woman named Delilah know about trust?

She should have never turned on the radio, dammit. Things had been bad enough with only silence to distract her from her present fiasco.

Goddamn Dale Dawson.

Goddamn Dana Scully for ever getting involved with him.

What the hell had she been thinking, all those years ago?

She’d been more naive then. Hell, any woman, naive or otherwise, would have fallen for him.

Dale was too good at the game.

Better than she had ever been.

Dammit.

“I’ve changed,” she said aloud to the emptiness around her, hoping to convince the elements of her conversion.

No response, save for the blaring noise of radio stations in five-second alternation.

Exasperated, Dana pressed ‘scan’ again.

Would anyone ever listen?

“…God knows I know I’ve thrown away-ay-ay-ay

“Those gra-y-ay-ay-ay-ces….”

What the…?

A harpsichord and a singer, wailing in tandem, in a style which was far from fugal or Baroque. Expressionist, some sort of twentieth century modality, with the voice of a frustrated, angst-ridden rock princess.

A sickeningly familiar voice.

Dana winced again and reached for the ‘scan’ button, but was suddenly paralyzed by the satirical sarcasm of the next verse.

“The belle of New Orleans

“Tried to show me…once how to tango

“Round and round your feet

“Round and round like good little roses”

What the hell kind of a song was this? Tango in New Orleans? Just who was this goddamn redheaded singer anyway?

The blare of a horn pierced Dana’s thoughts as she found herself nearly touching the side of a neighboring car.

Shit.

Adjusting the wheel, she slowed slightly to safety and muttered bitterly to herself.

That goddamn witch-woman on the radio nearly wrecked her.

She took a deep breath and kept both hands on the wheel, at least until she could reach for the button on the radio without killing herself on I-95.

“Blood roses, blood roses, back on the street now…

“Now-how…now…now-how…

“You cut out the flute

“From the throat of the loon

“At least when you cry now

“He can’t even hear you…”

Dana didn’t know which was worse, getting herself killed on the interstate or going insane from listening to her own damnation, to this relentless badgering by a judge who had already condemned her to die.

Either way, she’d end up dead before the night was over.

“Come on come on come on come on come on come on”

Was she laughing?

“Come on, ah when he…sucks you deep, yes

“Sometimes you’re nothing but…me-e-e-eat….”

Meat.

Nothing but meat.

Goddamn Dale Dawson.

Goddamn that Tori woman.

Goddamn everything.

“…And that was ‘Blood Roses’ by Tori Amos, by request on your college radio station, WMUC, freeform radio at its finest…”

Dana rolled her eyes.

Figures.

“We’ve got another great lineup coming your way in just a few minutes, so stay tuned and don’t touch that dial–”

Dana groaned and stabbed the power button with the tip of her finger.

Silence was a more appealing option than love songs or Delilah or an exam-cramming, pizza-scarfing college student’s idea of good music.

Her eyes darted to the digital display above the radio.

2:35.

She was making good time.

Ten more minutes on I-95 and a few side roads would lead her home, hopefully to find her mother still intact from whatever had traumatized her an hour ago.

Hopefully still alive.

Dana sighed. <God, please let her be all right,> she prayed silently, retrieving her cell phone from the passenger seat.

It had been an hour since she’d gotten the call, and Dana had tried calling her several times on the way. Surely she’d have heard from Mom if she’d been able to call, if someone hadn’t broken in and robbed her, taken her somewhere, or worse….

Dana applied more pressure on the accelerator.

<Please let her be all right,> she repeated to herself, pressing ‘redial’ on the phone.

Why hadn’t she called the police? Why didn’t she want the police involved? And why the hell had she asked her to spend forty-five minutes on the road in the middle of the night?

It just didn’t make sense.

Not that she minded, though. Dana was glad for the chance to put her brain to good use for the night. It was far better than rehashing dark secrets and shadowed memories or weeping like some sappy blubberhead over all that had happened to her that evening.

She winced.

Her eyes became narrow slits as the voices in her head became the voice of another judge…one as guilty as she.

Damn him.

Damn him for being so goddamn right.

But that was so long ago….

“Come on,” she growled aloud, hoping to silence the noise in her head with a few of her own doing. “Pick up, Mom. Pick up.”

The phone continued to ring.

“Goddammit, Mom, pick up,” she growled more insistently.

No answer.

“Shit!” Dana hurled the phone into the passenger seat, pounding her fist against the steering wheel. “Why won’t she answer?!”

The car lurched forward as Dana pressed the accelerator to the floor, sending it flying past an already speeding semi truck.

<God, please let her be all right.>

Suddenly she heard something…something coming from the seat beside her. A muffled ring.

Her phone.

Thank God.

With one lightning-quick motion, Dana grabbed the phone and spoke eagerly, breathlessly, into the receiver. “Mom?”

“Agent Scully.”

Dana frowned as she recognized the commanding voice on the other end of the phone, frustrated and puzzled all at once. “Hello, sir,” she managed to say.

“Would you mind explaining to me where the hell you are right now?” Skinner growled in her ear.

“I’m in my car,” she replied matter-of-factly, unwilling to reveal anything else.

“I figured as much,” he continued, “once I heard what just woke me up at 2 am.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you aware that Agent Mulder has an APB out on you?”

“What?” She frowned again.

“You heard me. Apparently he’s tried calling you since eight this evening and hasn’t been able to reach you.”

“Why should that bother him?”

“Agent Scully, your whereabouts are not your concern alone. They are Agent Mulder’s, as your partner, and mine as well, as your superior. Or have you forgotten that you’re still on assignment?”

Dana winced again. The case….

Dammit.

“It is your responsibility to keep the Bureau informed of any changes in location while on assignment, and not only have you violated policy, apparently you have caused enough concern for Agent Mulder to send every law enforcement officer in three states looking for you.”

Dana sighed.

“Can you tell me where you are and what the hell is going on?”

She sighed again. “Not really,” she replied, her voice despondent. If she knew what the hell was going on, she wouldn’t be driving to Baltimore in the middle of the night.

“Are you going to tell me where you are, or are you going to be found and find yourself explaining your whereabouts to OPR?”

Dana held her breath for several seconds.

“The choice is yours,” he said with a dark finality.

Several seconds passed as Dana continued to drive, slowly releasing the breath she’d contained as she tried to think of a solution.

She couldn’t tell him where she was going. Skinner would most definitely tell Mulder, and Mulder would be in his car and in Baltimore before she even had a chance to figure out what the hell was going on with her mother.

Her mother was enough of a problem for the moment.

Finally she spoke. “Sir, I can assure you that I am not forsaking my current assignment, nor am I intentionally violating policy. Agent Tyler has my number if he needs me, and I will be back in DC first thing in the morning. There really is no need for concern.”

“Then why is Mulder looking for you?”

Little Earthquakes

Title: Little Earthquakes (Part 5 of The Amos Absolution)
Author: Bidie McCucholl
Archive: Please post to Ephemeral, Gossamer and ATXC. Anywhere else, please ask.
Category: SR, SA, XR
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Spoilers: None
Keywords: MSR, The Amos Absolution

Summary: In this last story, Scully finally is forced to confront her many demons by her one remaining angel. From her past to her present, and finally to the future that is only briefly discussed but never embraced until the very last moment of truth, Scully must make the choice to live or never truly live — only until the choice is suddenly made for her.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, I just try to give them decent sleep at night. Please don’t sue me; I haven’t made any money off of them and I’m too broke to afford a decent lawyer.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Just when you thought she was finished….<g>

Well, I am. Practically. I’ve been working on this story on and off for about a year now, due to real life and other minor emergencies like moving and beginning a new career. Needless to say, writing has been on the back burner for a while, but only because I haven’t given it the time and the dedication it deserves.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your viewpoint), this leads me to make an official announcement: I will be retiring temporarily, perhaps permanently, from XF fanfic after this series is completed. If I had the time, I would love to tell more stories, but now I feel I’ve said all I needed to say in this series, examining and attempting to understand the nature of Dana Scully. I really have no more stories to tell. I thank you all for allowing me a forum in which to express my creative side for the past two years, regardless of the mixed feelings this creative expression has caused in the community.

Writing fanfic has given me great enjoyment over the past two years, with this series, with the handful of stories I’ve written, and to me, that’s all any writer could ask for — being happy with one’s own work.

And…I know this is very late in saying, but thank you to all who believed in me enough to vote a few awards my way for this series. You believed in this series when many didn’t and thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving it a chance. Also, thank you to the Beloveds, for making me get out of real life every once in a while to work on this story. I love you all.

Thanks again! It’s been a wild ride. May the new authors in this community stay in the saddle for a very long time.

Love, Bidie.

––––––—

<…I’ve got some horses to ride on to ride on they say that your demons can’t go there…and maybe I’ll find me a sailor a tailor and maybe together we’ll make mother well….>

Mist…clouds…space and time and nothing to fill it except blue eyes and soft hands….

Lips…soft lips, touching, tasting, sucking the dew from within….

<Don’t stop now what you’re doing what you’re doing my ugly one…leave them all here hard to hide a hundred girls in your hair it won’t be fair if I hate her if I ate her… you can go now…>

Someone’s watching….

<…You can go now….>

Dale…?

No, not Dale…his eyes were blue….these eyes are green… a beautiful boundless green….like jade from China….

And new lips…full lips, sweeter lips, tender lips, savoring, demanding nothing, only giving.

Mulder….

<You’re already in there…I’ll be wearing your tattoo… I’m already in…circles and circles and circles again the girl’s in…circles and circles….circles again….>

Yes…Mulder….

<…don’t stop now what you’re doing what you’re doing my ugly one….>

Don’t stop, Mulder…yes, melt my blouse with your breath…just like that…don’t think…no time to think… just do it do it do it do me and make me forget…

<…you’re already in there….>

Help me remember….

<…I’m already in…>

Ohhh yesssss, Mulder….

<…circles and circles and circles again….>

Round and round…just like that…oh God you know what I like without having to ask…circles against my clit and oh…there…inside me…God how do you do that, Mulder…

‘…circles and circles and circles again…’

Oh, God yes….yes yes yes….

‘…thought I was over the bridge now…’

Oh, yes I am….almost….oh GOD….

‘…over the bridge nowwww….’

Ahhh…ohmigod…almost there…harder, harder, faster… yessss….

‘…I’m already in….’

Already there, so fast, oh, GOD, Mulder…!

‘…Circles and circles and circles again the girl’s in…’

YES….

‘…circles and circles…got to stop spinning…’

Keep spinning, keep spinning, oh, yes, more…another… give it to me Mulder please…oh yes, yes, yesyesyesyesYES…!

One swift gasp, another cry, and down to Earth again.

Her eyes opened.

Holy Mother of God.

* * *

When she was finally able to process the daylight streaming through the curtains and the lone sensation of solitude, her smile of ecstasy suddenly faded.

Morning? Morning…?

And where the hell was Mulder?

This wasn’t her apartment, her bed.

And suddenly she realized.

Dammit.

She’d been dreaming.

And she’d overslept.

Her eyes darted to the clock on the television.

8:00.

‘Circles and circles and…circles again’

Shit.

She heard the singing, the lulling softness of the voice filtering through the speakers of the television, the image of that voice on the television screen. The same voice she’d grown to resent with a vengeance.

She’d heard it in her head, all night long.

And the dreams she’d had….

Goddammit.

How could something so beautiful come from someone so disturbing?

She frowned again, her mind whirling, desperately fighting to regain some sort of semi-consciousness.

How had she ended up here? What the hell had happened to her to give her such a splitting headache?

God, she felt awful.

Dana rubbed her eyes vigorously, hoping to cleanse them from the images racing through her mind, the incredibly vivid and erotic visions still indulging her senses.

‘Circles and circles and circles again…’

She’d been dreaming.

But it had seemed so real…everything…Ahab and Dale and oh, God, Mulder…

Sweet Jesus, that couldn’t have been a dream.

Her body refused to believe it.

Slowly, languidly, she rose from the couch and began stretching toward the ceiling, sighing as she felt her insides quivering with the fading remnants of her orgasm.

Maybe if she closed her eyes again, she’d wake to reality.

She sighed.

Fat chance.

‘Circles and circles and circles again…the girl’s in circles and circles…’

She glared at the screen.

‘Circles again….’

Dana pounded her fist against the power button, killing the VCR.

Circles.

Goddamn endless circles.

None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t picked up that fucking CD in Nora Benton’s apartment. Absolutely none of this.

Goddamn that redheaded banshee.

“I have to go home,” she muttered, fumbling around on the floor for her shoes.

Then she remembered.

She had no shoes.

She’d left them at the hotel, somewhere on that dance floor.

Oh God…

Dana winced as memories began flooding fresh from her dormant senses.

That hadn’t been a dream.

“No,” she said, with more determination.

She would not think about it.

Dropping to her knees, she continued to hunt for her clothes, her gloves, her phone…anything she might have brought in with her last night.

Somehow she guessed if she could actually see two feet in front of her without squinting from the blinding sunlight, she might be able to get out of there before mid-afternoon.

Her hands brushed against the note she’d been holding in her sleep.

Mulder’s note.

Quickly she folded it and tucked it in her pocket.

Not above crawling to find her possessions, Dana began moving around on the floor, searching for any other items she might need.

Her cell phone. There, just under the couch.

She picked it up, another memory flooding her senses.

Skinner.

Shit.

She really needed to get home.

Or did she?

Dana slowly rose to her feet, pondering the potential outcome.

She didn’t have to call. No, she didn’t have to. Notifying Skinner of her return would only be proper procedure.

Proper procedure would keep her job.

That goddamn joke of a job.

A insolent smirk barely graced the corners of her lips.

No, she didn’t have to call.

Maybe she wouldn’t.

<Goddammit, Dana, get a hold of yourself,> the voice of reason rang in her ears. <Do you want to lose everything?>

She sighed.

She’d already lost everything, if her memory served her correctly. There was nothing more to lose. What difference would it make in the grand scheme of things?

Not a hell of a lot.

“Stop it,” she told herself, scowling as she paced the center of the room. “Just stop it!”

She shouldn’t be thinking like this.

She wouldn’t think like this.

“This isn’t you, Dana,” she whispered, clutching her aching head.

Christ, it was hard to think with a headache and a hangover straight from the bowels of Hell. There had to be some way to concentrate, to focus on the matter at hand.

She’d think about it driving.

Somehow she was able to make her way to the closet, shuddering and shimmying into her coat. God, it had to be twice her weight this morning.

Did she have everything?

Quick check. Cell phone, note, keys, shoes…?

Dammit.

She couldn’t walk out there without any shoes.

How the hell had she run from that damn hotel in the middle of winter?

God, she was losing it. No, correction; she was lost. She’d been losing it for far too many years.

Certifiably insane.

Dana winced and shook her head.

She might be crazy, but she at least had some wits about her to keep her feet from freezing during the drive home.

Dana rummaged through the closet and found an old pair of running shoes. Familiar running shoes.

Her old running shoes from the Academy.

How many miles had those things seen?

A shudder passed over her as she remembered that fateful day on the reaction course, early in the morning, when Dale had suggested something far more entertaining behind that large oak tree. Something they’d never done before.

Goddammit.

More memories…oh God, more memories…no…

The shoes fell out of her hands, onto the floor.

“Go away,” she sobbed, her voice a murmur as she clutched her throbbing head. “Please…please just go away….”

Those hands….

“No!” she shouted, clenching her fists.

Goddamn Dale Dawson.

“I have to get out of here,” she moaned, her voice wavering. “I have to…”

She kicked her feet into the shoes.

“Have to….”

Dana winced.

She raised herself up, admiring her handiwork.

<See, Mommy? I told you I could do it. Now watch me run, Mommy, watch me run around the house and watch me skip and jump and play and I don’t need you to tie my shoes any more Mommy I’m a big girl now….>

Dana felt the rush of tears to her eyes.

Oh God.

What the hell was happening?

“Take control, Dana,” she ordered herself, feeling her muscles tighten.

she heard herself respond.

What the…?

“You will take orders,” she answered herself, not caring whether or not she sounded crazy. She knew she sounded crazy. She was crazy. Absolutely flipped.

She might as well tell herself a thing or two.

“Take control,” she repeated, closing her eyes to concentrate.

Somewhere there was an obedient daughter within her.

Maybe she was at home.

Home….yes….

She strode purposefully to the door, unlocking the dead bolt and jerking the knob to the right.

It’s time to go home, Dana.

The door opened with a violent pull and suddenly Dana found herself walking toward her car, nestled in a blanket of newly-fallen snow.

Cell phone, note, keys, shoes…she had everything… didn’t she?

God, she hated snow.

<….I run off where the drifts get deeper….Sleeping Beauty trips me with a frown…I hear a voice…‘you must learn to stand up….for yourself ‘cause I can’t always be around….’>

Dana froze.

She’d forgotten the videotape.

Her smirk returned.

What a tragedy.

She continued to make her way toward her car, sidestepping the chunks of ice and snow.

<….This is not a-really this a-this is not a-really happening happening….>

She stopped again.

<….You bet your life it is….>

What the hell….?

<….You bet your life it is….>

Goddammit.

<….Oh you bet your life….>

It wasn’t going to stop, was it? Not a goddamn thing was going to stop.

Dana stomped and pounded the snow beneath her feet in exasperation, muttering a string of expletives.

Goddamn motherfucking redheaded banshee Tori bitch woman creature.

She was in her head now.

<….Inside my head the noise….chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter….and I know you’ll always be… still coming out of your mother….>

Shit.

Dana pummeled the snow again.

She should never have played that video.

If that’s how she wanted to play it, fine.

Dana Scully would give the banshee a few lessons in playing games with her head.

What was on the radio?

* * *

“In my head I found you there

“And running around and following me

“But you don’t, oh dare, now….”

Shit.

Her. Again.

She pressed ‘seek’.

<Don’t YOU dare, bitch.>

“But I find that I have, now, more

“Than I ever wanted to….”

Shit.

Back to back stations.

What the hell…?

Dana found herself back on the Interstate, obsessively pressing the ‘seek’ button.

Bitch.

Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.

Jesus Christ, what the hell was happening?

And why the hell wasn’t her radio working right?

“…Today’s the day, folks, the moment of reckoning. Will you accept Jesus Christ into your heart and make him Lord of your life?”

Seek.

“‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock…’”

Seek.

Goddamn evangelists.

“‘And now we’re up to our Long Distance Dedication from Patty in Lincoln, Nebraska. Patty writes: “Dear Kasey, last year I lost the best friend and love of my life–-’”

Seek.

“‘…But when you gonna stand on your own

“‘I say the world is sick, you say ‘tell me what that makes us darlin’…’”

Holy Christ.

Not again.

She reached for the seek button, but realized she’d turned off the radio.

No, not again. Not here.

Dana pressed harder on the accelerator.

Goddammit…

<Don’t you love to turn this little blue girl upside down…>

She winced again, and suddenly, almost unconsciously, Dana’s voice began intoning, in the faintest of whispers, a string of familiar and long-forgotten childhood verses in an effort to drown out the voice in her head.

“This old man, he played one, he played knick-knack on my thumb, with a knick-knack-paddy-whack, give a dog a bone, this old man came rolling home…”

And he played two, and three, and four, all the way to ten, and then to one and back again.

And he played it again and again, in her head, on her lips, drowning out all other songs, other singers.

<Praise God for This Old Man,> Dana mused as she slammed her foot onto the accelerator.

Home seemed light years away.

* * *

Ahab had always said that silence was golden.

Now, silence was acrid, bitter as bile in her throat, as Dana sat at her kitchen table, staring blankly into the space around her, all senses dulled and paled to the whirrings of her mind, the voices within.

<Cincinnati…I like the word…it’s the only thing we can’t seem to turn upside down…>

Dana found herself welcoming the voice, embracing it, too tired physically and mentally to fight it any more. Whatever the hell it was trying to say to her, it wasn’t giving up anytime soon.

So she’d welcomed the voice, in the midst of her silence.

Her fingers absently caressed a piece of paper on the table just beneath her, following the redundant patterns of each and every fiber in a never-ending circle.

One more circle.

What the hell.

Soon this would all be over anyway. Might as well enjoy one last circle, one last fruitless effort before allowing the voice its final victory.

<…Inside my head the noise….chatter chatter chatter chatterchatter…and I know you’re all the same…still coming out of your mothers….still coming out of your mothers…upsiddde dowwwnnnn….>

Shit.

Maybe she should just follow Nora Benton’s example and ram an icepick through her skull.

Silence in her head seemed to be a priceless commodity.

<…but when you gonna stand on your own…>

Stand on your own.

The words began repeating themselves in her head, like a broken record.

Goddammit.

<…stand on your own…stand on your own…she’s been everybody else’s girl…maybe one day she’ll be her own…>

Her own. Her own, her own, her own.

What the fuck was her own?

Hadn’t she been her own for the past twenty years?

<…I think it’s perfectly clear…we’re in the wrong band….>

The wrong band.

All this time she’d been playing the oboe instead of the piano, busting her lungs to produce the perfect note, the perfect sound, fighting like hell to tune the goddamn thing when she could’ve done much better at something easier to learn, easier to play, something more suited to her ability.

And all she’d ended up with was a splitting headache and a fire in her lungs.

Her eyes traveled to the paper she was holding, and a small sigh escaped her lips.

Everything was about to change.

Hungrily, her eyes began to read the words, absorbing them, memorizing them, scrutinizing them with a clinical eye.

It was her last will and testament to a cold and unforgiving profession, a walk of life she had entered not out of ambition, out of greed or lust for recognition, but in spite of that walk, her path, her fate.

Fate would not be denied again.

Slowly Dana began to rise from her chair, creeping silently into the living room, to the remote control resting on the coffee table. Without a word, without a moment’s hesitation, she turned up the volume on the stereo.

‘Go go go go now…out of the nest it’s time

‘Go go go go now…circus girl without a safety net

‘Here here now don’t cry…

‘You raised your hand for this assignment…’

Dana winced, clutching the remote to her chest.

Guilty as charged.

‘…Tuck those ribbons under your helmet

‘Be a good soldier…’

She held the remote more tightly, practically gripping it.

No, no more…no more lies…no more pretense, no more facades…no more anything….

No more.

Dana turned away from the stereo and walked back into the kitchen, glancing at the letter on the table.

No more.

‘…I walked into your dream

‘And now I’ve forgotten how to dream my own dream…’

Her dream.

What the hell was her dream?

Was it Mulder’s dream?

Was it Dale’s dream?

Was it Ahab’s dream?

She couldn’t remember….

Dammit.

She needed to remember….

‘…I escape into your escape

‘into our very favorite fearscape…

‘It’s across the sky…’

Escape.

She held up the paper.

Exactly.

How long had she kept this paper? Years. She remembered the day she’d typed it, after returning from Philadelphia and the incident with Ed. Mentally, physically, psychologically frustrated, she’d been ready to quit then and, in fact, had been on her way to Skinner’s office, resignation in hand.

That is, until she’d walked into the office.

Until she saw Mulder.

That look on his face had done her in.

He’d worried about her.

He’d missed her.

Dammit, he’d actually cared about her.

She hadn’t wanted him to care about her.

It would have been easier for him not to care.

<‘All this because I didn’t get you a desk?’>

<No, you bastard, all this because you didn’t get me out of this miserable basement more often. All this because you didn’t get me anywhere in our search for the truth but in a goddamn endless circle.>

She frowned.

<There’s your truth, Mulder,> she thought bitterly. <Nothing but circles. Circles and circles and circles again…>

She gasped.

Shit.

Her phone was ringing.

Dana stood, frozen, hearing the phone ring a second time. Slowly, reluctantly, she made her way over to the cell phone, hesitant to answer it.

Only two people could be calling on her cell phone at this hour.

The phone rang a third time.

Skinner. Maybe it was Skinner. She’d promised to call him. She hadn’t.

The phone rang a fourth time.

Shit.

She needed to answer.

What would she say? That she was quitting, that her resignation was right in front of her?

No.

She couldn’t tell anyone.

Not until tomorrow.

Sighing, she answered the phone. “Scully.”

The voice on the other end was curt, noncommittal.

“Good morning.”

Dana held the rest of her remaining breath.

Mulder.

Dear God.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak, to offer him even the slightest courtesy of greeting. She just stood, rooted to the spot she was standing, her blood turning to ice with every second of silence.

Ahab was wrong about silence being golden.

Silence was frozen.

“Scully?”

She closed her eyes, still unable to breathe, as the silence broadened, lengthened.

“Scully, are you there?”

His voice was warm suddenly, briefly, tinged only with the briefest hint of concern.

“Come on, Scully, I know you’re there. I know it’s you. Answer me, dammit. Let me know you’re all right.”

Her mouth opened to speak, but all that came out was a weak gasp.

The silence had robbed her of her own words.

Somehow she found her breath again, but it was labored, burdened, as if the Antarctic had yet again descended upon her and frozen everything but her consciousness.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him for ever making her feel this way.

“What do you want, Mulder?” she managed to whisper, hearing what sounded like a faint sigh on the other end of the phone.

Mulder replied softly, his voice subdued. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

All right?

She was far from all right.

“I’m fine, Mulder.”

The lie spilled instinctively from her lips, yet another routine falsehood.

“You sure?” he asked her.

She frowned suddenly. “You don’t believe me?”

“Well, after last night, after….” His voice trailed off.

Silence. Again.

Dana felt the blood pooling in her feet.

Silence was definitely frozen.

She heard him clear his throat, only to speak once more.

“Anyway….”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Anyway,” he began once more, “I just…wanted to check up on you, to…see if you’d made it home.”

“I’m here,” she said softly, cursing herself for being so cold, so nonchalant. She could feel the burdening guilt press upon her heart, the same guilt from last night, only intensified.

<You have to tell him,> she heard her mother’s words from last night.

Swiftly she took a deep breath and expelled it, hoping to expel with it the memories of that conversation.

It wasn’t that easy.

Nothing with Mulder was ever easy.

“Is there…anything else?” she asked him softly, wishing he would just leave her alone long enough for her to sort her feelings out, to find the courage, the right words, to break the news of her resignation to him.

“You busy, Scully?” His query was sarcastic, mocking.

What the hell was he implying?

“What was that?” she said, her voice slightly higher, edged with offense.

“I said, are you busy?”

She sighed again. “Maybe.”

“It’s eleven on a Sunday morning. No one’s busy on Sunday morning.”

“No one except priests, Mulder.”

“You going to Mass or something?”

“Maybe.”

“‘Maybe.’” Mulder’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Is ‘maybe’ your official answer to every question I ask you this morning?”

She frowned.

“Nothing’s official on a weekend, Mulder. This is my time.”

“Fine, Scully. Go to Mass. Sorry to keep you.”

She frowned again. What the hell…?

“I’ll solve this case myself,” he continued, his voice noncommittal.

Immediately her senses spun on their heels, whirling around to face her head-on. The case….

Shit.

She lit into him, full force.

“Mulder, stop it. Just stop it right now. You can’t solve this case. You’re not even allowed near it. I’m even on the outside.” She exhaled a frustrated breath. “We’ve already pushed the envelope enough as it is and as far as Nora Benton is concerned, I don’t care anymore.”

Silence.

“I just want my life back.”

Dammit.

“Let Tyler do his job, Mulder, and just let it be. Leave it alone.”

Again, more silence.

“Scully, you’d better sit down,” Mulder finally replied.

“Why?”

“You won’t believe what I have to tell you, what I found last night.”

She frowned suddenly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Enlighten me,” she said, with a hint of her own sarcasm.

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” he bit back, somewhat insulted by her reply.

“Mulder, I’m exhausted. Really. I don’t give a damn about this case anymore. I just want to do what I have to do and catch up on some much-needed sleep today. That’s all I can physically manage right now.”

Mulder sighed. “Fine. I can respect that. But I can tell you with absolute certainty what caused Nora to kill herself, what caused the deaths of all those other women in the warehouse.”

Her eyes widened.

“I also have a theory that would explain your condition last night, tying what happened to you with Nora Benton. It explains everything, even the voices in your head.”

Dana held her breath.

Explain. Everything.

“If you’re interested,” he taunted, adding that damn conditional phrase which he knew to be torture to her curious, scientfic nature.

She sat down.

“Interested, Mulder? Of course I’m interested. I’m always interested.” She paused for yet another deep breath, to try to clear her head. “When did you have time to do all this research?”

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he said, his voice suddenly rough.

Dana felt her heart skip a beat as the familiar burden of guilt settled upon her.

He hadn’t slept…he was worried…worried about her….

“I took that CD you’d stolen from the crime scene and cross-referenced it with several other albums by the same artist,” Mulder said. “Turns out that Nora’s CD is actually an amalgamation of several songs, all on different albums, by Ms. Amos.”

She frowned.

“It gets better,” he continued, almost gleefully. “The disk is a recordable/rewriteable CD, burned on home equipment for personal use.”

Again, Dana said nothing.

“Technology these days, eh?” Mulder remarked.

Again, silence.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I had the Gunmen analyze the contents of the disk, on a wild hunch. I was expecting to find something, but nothing near what they ended up with.”

“What…did they find?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t want to say. Not on this line.”

She rolled her eyes.

<That’s just fucking great, Mulder. Reel me in and leave me hanging.>

“I’m on my way over to your place. I’ll tell you more about it later. Oh, and get dressed. We’re going to a funeral at 1:00 — that is, if God doesn’t mind your playing hooky for one Sunday.”

Another frown surfaced across her forehead. “Mulder…”

“Don’t argue, Scully. Just trust me on this.”

Trust.

Of course.

She was obligated to trust him, even if her senses screamed otherwise.

“Fine. Get over here. But don’t expect me to go anywhere with you. Just tell me what you know.”

Her goodbye was curt, clipped, a desperate attempt to hide the rampant emotions within her.

She would let him in, but only for a moment. She couldn’t afford more than a moment.

* * *

Mulder.

Mulder was coming.

Coming over here.

She shook her head wildly, ridding it of excess water, as she checked the clock on the bathroom wall.

No time. Never enough time.

And she looked awful.

Staring in the mirror, Dana inspected the dark circles under her eyes, their slight puffiness, and groaned.

Not even she could work this medical miracle.

Somehow in the next few minutes, she, Dana Scully, would have to muster every aesthetic resource she had to become some recognizable form of herself.

No time.

She threw the makeup bag into the sink, plugging in the hairdryer.

No time.

She tried not to think about the clock in front of her, the tick of the secondhand as she practically slapped a layer of foundation on her face, haphazardly smoothing it with shaky fingers.

Mulder would not see her like this, how the night had aged her two lifetimes. She was strong, indomitable, impervious to elation or depression. She was Special Agent Dana Scully, goddammit.

She would play the role to perfection.

Powder. Where the hell was the powder?

She fumbled in her bag for the small round compact, cursing audibly.

Fuck it.

Dana reached for the nearest alternative, slapping her face twice with a L’Air du Temps powder puff.

At least her face would smell like a million bucks.

Clumsily she applied her neutral eyeliner, cursing again as the pencil ventured off course.

Nothing was going to be easy today.

A hint of matching eyeshadow, blush, and lip color, and she stopped, examining her face in the mirror.

Christ, she looked pale. Dead, even.

Oh well. No time to redo everything.

Time was running out.

The hairdryer laid dormant suddenly, resting as Dana turned her ear toward the door.

Had she heard something?

Three knocks, loud and large, in the distance.

Shit.

He couldn’t be here already.

She heard them again, as if in response to her thought.

Shit.

He was here.

Quickly she donned her flannel robe and ran a brush through her haphazard locks, quietly uttering a string of obscenities.

Goddamn him for being so punctual, at the least likely moment.

“Scully? Hello?”

She could hear his voice, growing louder as she neared the door.

Nerves of steel, Dana Scully.

She willed her face into a mask of neutrality.

Nerves of steel.

Slowly she opened the door to find Mulder leaning against the wall, dressed in a dark gray suit with a conservative but obviously expensive silk tie.

Dammit.

Why the hell did he have to look so good when she was hellbent on ignoring him?

Her eyes drank in the sight of him, her nose tingling with the scent of fresh cologne, manly, powerful, potent, something definitely Mulder.

God help her, she was losing it. Again.

“Scully?” Mulder waved a hand in front of her face.

She blinked from her daze.

“You know, you might want to let me in before the neighbors start talking.” A slight grin etched his features.

She stared at him unflinchingly. “Let them.”

The grin faded from his face, replaced with a heated stare.

Shit.

Suddenly she felt warm, incredibly warm from the intensity of his gaze as he perused her, up and down, examining her state of near undress, his face blank and expressionless, every emotion hidden in those velvet eyes.

What the hell was he thinking?

Nerves of steel, Dana Scully.

Slowly, with all the grace she could muster, she stepped out of the way, gesturing inside. “Come in.”

Mulder sauntered casually in the living room, tossing a large envelope on the couch before turning back to her.

“I would’ve been here earlier, but traffic was a bitch and a half. I always thought everyone slept in on Sundays,” he remarked dryly.

She stared at him.

“Earlier?” She frowned. “Mulder, you just called me thirty minutes ago. How could you have been here earlier?”

“I was at Headquarters,” he said, his eyes perusing her once more. “Tying up a few loose ends.”

“Oh.”

Damn those eyes….

“Gathering evidence to bring over here, everything Agent Tyler intended on shelving indefinitely.” Mulder nodded at the large envelope on the couch.

“I don’t understand.” Her frown deepened.

Mulder gave her a puzzled look. “Scully, we’ve talked about this. No one autopsied those women. No one touched any of the evidence you’d gathered in Nora’s apartment. You don’t remember that?”

Remember…yes, she did…some….

It wouldn’t hurt to hear it again.

“Refresh my memory, Mulder,” she murmured, motioning for him to sit.

Mulder complied, reaching for the envelope. “I found test results, medical logs on Nora’s patients. You remember that?”

She nodded.

“I found something else,” he said. “It took a little digging to find it on a queue for the incinerator, but there it was, awaiting its fate like a condemned criminal on Death Row. What surprises me is the fact that no one destroyed it on sight.”

Dana sat down beside him, taking a small bound book from his hand.

“It’s her journal,” Mulder told her. “Nora’s personal journal. If the clinical evidence isn’t enough to point a finger, this little book downright clinches the case.”

She opened the book slowly, reading the cover page.

“I took the liberty of dog-earing important pages,” he said. “There’s too much information otherwise.”

She turned to one of the last entries, sighing slightly. “Mulder, I’m sure you realize using a personal diary as evidence requires more than a few juicy passages of previous exploits,” she said sarcastically, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m not placing faith solely in the diary,” Mulder argued, “but it’s a helluva start.” He turned to one of the last entries. “Read this one.”

Sighing, Dana read the handwritten entry aloud.

“‘January 1, 1999. Happy New Year, Nora. I’ll just wish it to myself, seeing as how I have no one else to spend it with. I didn’t even watch the Dick Clark special this year because it only reminds me of how desperately alone I am in this world.’”

She turned to Mulder, frowning.

“Keep reading, Scully.” He motioned for her to continue.

“‘All those people, celebrating the new year, embracing, yelling, dancing, kissing. All that public affection screams ill breeding, at least in my opinion.’”

She turned again to Mulder.

“Cheerful, eh?” he remarked, motioning again for her to read.

“‘I was raised by a lady, and I became one. Ladies never fling themselves on anyone, in friendship or otherwise. Ladies keep their distance, behave themselves properly, becomingly. Those women are nothing but low-bred whores. Of course, I can’t really blame them for their behavior, given their upbringing.

“‘It still doesn’t excuse the ladies my age, who flaunt themselves like teenagers on other women’s men. Women like Ellen White, the little tramp.’”

She turned again to Mulder. “Ellen White? Who’s Ellen White?”

“Keep reading,” Mulder said.

“‘As far as I’m concerned, she never remarried. She doesn’t deserve to take his last name. My last name. Not that David’s any better than she is, but still….’”

Dana gasped suddenly, turning to Mulder.

“Keep reading,” he told her, his voice filled with anticipation.

“‘…You can’t blame politicians for a routine philandering. It’s in their blood.’”

She frowned again.

“Don’t stop now, Scully.” Mulder prompted her to continue.

“‘Both of them deserve to rot in Hell for what they’ve done to me. Both of them. God will have His revenge, but I’ll have mine first.”

She gasped again, nearly dropping the book.

“Oh my God…Mulder….”

“Pretty clear motive, isn’t it?” Mulder murmured in her ear.

Dana shook her head, her frown deepening. “She couldn’t ….she didn’t….”

“She did,” Mulder said with firm conviction.

“But how?” Dana asked, her voice edged with disbelief. “Mulder, I examined Ellen’s body myself, in the morgue. Ellen Dorne killed herself, just like those other women that were found with her. There’s no possible connection.”

“Scully, you haven’t seen what else is in this envelope,” Mulder told her. “You have no clue, no concept of the deap- seated resentment Nora had for this woman, the woman David Dorne left her for.” Mulder turned the page to another entry in the journal. “Nora Benton had a death wish. For both of them.”

Dana frowned, completely puzzled. “Mulder, tell me what the hell is going on here. From the beginning.”

Mulder grinned. “For someone who doesn’t, and I quote, ‘give a shit about this case’, you’re awful curious.”

She glared at him. “Just fill me in, dammit.”

Mulder gave her an amused…amazed…appreciative? look she couldn’t quite discern.

Damn him.

“Senator Dorne was married previously,” Mulder told her. “Married to Nora Benton, a wealthy socialite who caught his eye at a charity benefit, right here in Washington, when he was interning for Congress. It’s all there, in the background check and several articles I managed to dig up from the archives.”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“From all accounts, it was a fairytale wedding, a match made in heaven, right out of Grimm or something. David Dorne had nothing at that time, not even a pot to piss in, but Nora took him in, tutored him, trained him in the ways of Washington society, and as her own career was taking off, she was rallying support behind the scenes to win her husband a seat in the Senate.”

Mulder grinned wryly. “It was a regular Cinderella story. Or Cinderfeller, if you will.”

Dana nodded. “When was all this?”

“1972, to be exact, eight years after they’d married,” Mulder replied. “Nora knew Capitol Hill was his ultimate goal, and being blindly in love with him, set out to help him achieve his dreams, as her gift to him, her reward for finding the love of her life.” He shrugged. “The rest is history.”

“When did they divorce?”

“Surprisingly enough, not too long ago, which is probably what prompted Nora to get trigger-happy on all her friends and herself.”

“What the hell…?” Dana was completely confused. “Mulder, explain.”

“David and Nora officially separated in 1997 and a divorce was granted a year later, two months before this journal entry.” Mulder moved closer to her. “Nora knew that David had been seeing Ellen for some time. According to this diary, she’d known at least since 1991, but she’d kept quiet, amid the rumors and speculation. She tried to keep her marriage together.

“While her marriage was falling apart, her practice was flourishing,” Mulder continued. “By 1995 Nora had a steady and loyal clientele of prominent people in Washington, a literal list of Who’s Who, all praising her alternative regression therapy as a success.

“Nora dove headfirst into her work, determined to make something good of her career, something to show her husband that she wasn’t as bad of a wife as he made her out to be. Senator Dorne, however, wasn’t listening.”

The lines in Dana’s forehead deepened.

“From what I’ve read, David came to her, threatened divorce in her face, and told her everything…about Ellen, about the others.”

“The others?”

Mulder nodded. “The women in the warehouse.”

Mortified, Dana bolted from the couch. “Mulder, that’s insane! Absolutely ludicrous!”

His face was neutral.

“You expect me to believe that all those women…every single one of them…had had an affair with David Dorne and that Nora knew about them?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it, Scully.”

“Show me,” she said, her voice tense. “Show me proof and I’ll believe it. Mulder, this whole story sounds like one of your hairbrained theories, some bullshit hypothesis you concocted all of a sudden in some half-ass, hasty attempt to reach an understanding about this case.”

She pointed at the envelope. “I’ll admit, everything was halfway plausible up to the point where Beloved Husband spills the beans about all his conquests, but that’s even stretching it beyond any logical boundaries. Show me hard evidence that any of this ever occurred, Mulder, and I might be willing to believe you.”

Her arms folded, a stubborn defense against him.

“Scully, it’s all there. I’ve checked and cross-checked everything. I’ve had nothing but time on my hands the last few hours. I know I’m right.”

“Even if you are right, Mulder, even if for one minute I might be able to buy into your theory, that still does not explain the glaring fact that those women took their own lives. Their OWN LIVES, Mulder.”

“How do you know they took their lives?”

He stood, challenging her.

“Who’s the pathologist here, me or you?” she retorted. “I examined those women myself. Those wounds were made by their own hands. I told you that two days ago.”

“You can only assume they took their lives, based on the obvious,” Mulder countered. “I think there were other forces at work here, forces that compelled those women to kill themselves.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Dana Scully began to laugh.

To laugh.

“So what killed them? Some psychic murderer with telekinetic powers?” She laughed again, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “No, no, wait. I know. Some convicted felon projected himself out of his body and willed those women to slit their throats. That’s it. Christ, I’ve been so stupid!”

Mulder’s glare darkened.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid, Mulder! As always, I should defer to you, to all your bullshit theories. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want someone to agree with you, to worship you in all your crackpot glory, am I right? Well I can’t do that, Mulder. I haven’t and I’ll never be able to buy into any of it, just like all those other people who laugh at you, who ridicule you and poke fun at you and label you Spooky and stark raving mad!”

She saw him inch closer to her, an unnameable expression in his eyes.

“Scully, would you just listen to me? Just listen to me for one goddamn second!” His voice echoed throughout the room as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “While you’ve been joyriding through three fucking states, visiting your mother, and acting like some raving lunatic on crack, I’ve been the logical half here, the rational half, gathering all the evidence, weighing all the facts. Don’t stand here and insult me when you’ve done nothing but add to the problem!”

Dana froze, every sense reeling as Mulder pulled her closer to him.

“If I’m stark raving mad, you are too. We’re in this together, you hear me, Scully? Both of us.” He shook her arms once for emphasis.

She glared at him, her words pure venom. “I’m no part of your life, Mulder.” She wrenched herself free and began walking toward the bathroom, her back to him. “You know the way out.”

“No, Scully. Not this time.”

She stopped.

“We’ve got a case to solve.”

Gasping, Dana turned around, an incredulous look on her face.

“Dammit, Mulder, this is not our case. Not at all. Can’t you get that through your fucking skull?”

“I think it qualifies as an X-File,” Mulder told her. “I’ve already asked Skinner to consider assigning us in a more official role.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’d think about it.”

Dana rolled her eyes.

“Given light of the mysterious circumstances of Nora’s and those other women’s deaths, I think it’s only a matter of time before we’re on the case officially. Might as well get a head start.”

“Mulder, Tyler won’t let you ten feet near this case,” she told him. “He hates you.”

“Doesn’t matter. Skinner has the final say. Add to the fact that Tyler’s been covering up evidence, and we have a strong case for reassignment.”

“Reassignment.” Dana’s voice was bitter.

“Yes.”

She walked toward him.

“I’d like nothing better, Mulder.”

Mulder frowned suddenly. “Scully, are you agreeing…?”

“Figure it out for yourself. You’re the one with all the hunches.” She turned around and walked into the bathroom. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed.”

Mulder stood still, completely baffled. “Dressed for what?”

“For Mass.”

“Mass? I thought we were going–”

“You thought wrong. You never asked me if I wanted to go with you. You assumed.” She reemerged from the bathroom. “I’m sick of being your beck and call girl, your sidekick, all because you assume I’ll be there for you, whatever happens.” She paused for a moment before continuing.

“You’re on your own with this, Mulder. I can’t help you.”

“Scully…”

“Don’t argue, Mulder. I mean it this time.” She folded her arms in front of her.

“Scully, you need this,” he said, walking toward her. “You need what this case has to give, to offer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Those voices in your head, the voices that drove you crazy last night. I know what did it. I know what happened to you. You walk out now, you’d better get cozy with them, because you’ll be living with them for the rest of your life.”

She froze.

“Are you prepared to deal with them?”

Dana said nothing, only stood in front of him, silent, secretly quivering from the thought of that possibility.

She couldn’t bear to live the rest of her life with those goddamn voices.

One day had nearly killed her.

“Are you, Scully?”

Slowly, subtly, she shook her head, watching helplessly as Mulder moved closer to her, taking her hand, sending ten million volts into her arm.

“Come with me, Scully. I’ll explain everything on the way. You don’t even have to believe it if it gets too crazy. You never do anyway. I just want to bounce a few ideas off of you. How’s that?”

It seemed like an eternity before Dana found the words to speak again. “Whose funeral is it?”

Mulder smiled slightly, hopefully. “Ellen Dorne’s.”

Dana mulled the millions of potential outcomes before finally nodding her head. “Fine. I’ll go.”

She might regret it later, but right now it seemed to be her only option.

“Atta girl,” he said softly, his hand brushing her wrist.

* * *

One auburn eyebrow arched in amazement when Mulder opened the door, gesturing with a flourish inside the car.

What the hell had inspired him to become a gentleman?

“Are you going to get in, Scully, or are you going to let me stand here looking like an idiot?”

She smiled slightly.

“I’m afraid you can’t escape looking like an idiot, Mulder.” Dana sat in the passenger seat, smirking playfully.

Mulder took his seat, settling behind the wheel with a cheesy grin. “I’ll remember that the next time you want me to spring for lunch.”

The car sprang to life, resurrecting a blaring stereo and a cacophony of wailing guitars.

“Jesus, Mulder!” she shouted, covering her ears. “Are you deaf? What the hell are you listening to?”

Mulder reached for the volume control and adjusted it to a more pleasing level. “Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?” she hissed. “Mulder, you nearly severed my eardrums.”

Sighing, Mulder ejected a disk from the stereo and held it to her face. “Look familiar to you?”

Dana gasped.

The CD.

“I was listening to this on the way over, trying to hear something.”

She rolled her eyes. “At that volume, I’m surprised you can hear at all.”

“No, Scully, you don’t even know the half of it.” He shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. “I was listening for messages.”

“Messages?” She frowned. “Mulder, what the hell…?”

“Do you remember when I called earlier?” he asked her. “Do you remember what I told you, what the Gunmen had found?”

She nodded.

“Byers found an anomalous wave pattern embedded in each track of the disk, unrelated to the patterns of each song. How much do you know about spectrometry, Scully?”

“Not much,” she replied, “except that different frequencies of sound tend to give off different wave patterns. Speech patterns, for example, give off different levels than patterns based on pitch frequency or music.”

“Exactly,” Mulder said, his lips curled in the hint of a smile. “Byers found two wave patterns, combined into one. He was able to isolate it and analyze the patterns separately. One pattern was normal, apparently the original track of the song. The other pattern, however, was digitized speech, found on every single track of the disk.”

Dana froze.

“Subliminal messages, Scully,” Mulder said, emphasizing the words, as if to make sure she heard them. “Recorded separately and added into the songs.”

She lost her breath. Jesus Christ…was that what had happened…?

“Did you…did you hear the messages?” she stammered, completely dumbfounded at this newest epiphany.

Mulder nodded.

“What…what did they say?”

“Various things, some good, some bad, but all designed to promote suggestibility and dredging of the subconscious.”

Dana found herself unable to breathe, to move, to even think. Her brain was whirling in circles, her senses reeling.

“It’s all right here, Scully. Nora Benton’s regression therapy.” He tapped the CD.

When she did not speak, he continued. “Looks like you were an unwitting victim.”

An unwitting victim.

The words reverberated through her head.

Holy shit.

“Quite a feat for a dead person,” Mulder added. “Nora succeeded where all doctors have failed…to treat people from beyond the grave. I read all her journals. It was her life’s dream, her life’s work. Looks like she finally accomplished it.” He watched, somewhat cautiously, as she closed her eyes in thought.

“Mulder…” she whispered, after what seemed like an eternity of her own.

“What?”

“Are you suggesting that Nora Benton did this…to me?” Her voice was shaky.

“I’m not only suggesting, I’m stating without a doubt,” he told her with firm conviction. “Nora may not have meant for you or anyone to find that CD, but it was clear that she was indeed paving a way for some sort of subliminal do-it- yourself therapy.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her brain swimming with a wave of new information. “What the hell happened to me?”

Mulder shrugged. “I don’t know all the facts,” he said, “but it’s obvious from the journals I’ve read that she was determined to singlehandedly rid all humanity of its personal demons. She’d even applied for a patent.”

“Mulder, no psychologist, no doctor, no person can attempt to do any of what you’re saying,” she argued. “It’s just not possible. The technology just isn’t there.”

“You’d be surprised what Nora did with a song and a subliminal message,” Mulder told her. “I don’t know how she did it, but her patients eventually found peace from whatever mental turmoil they were experiencing.”

“How, Mulder?” Dana’s voice raised higher, edged with skepticism. “How?”

He shrugged.

“You can’t just leave something like this out in the open without an explanation,” she told him, her voice agitated. “Things just don’t take place without some logical order of events to tie everything together. There had to be some kind of psychosis somewhere, in each of her patients.”

“Everyone’s psychotic to a certain degree, Scully.” He slowed the car to a stop. “Some require medical attention, some don’t.”

“But if you asked Nora Benton, she’d say everyone needed treatment,” Scully said, anticipating Mulder’s statement.

“Precisely.” Mulder turned the car onto another street.

“So what now?” she asked, her voice acrid. “What happens to me now that I’ve found all these voices in my head?”

“Scully, have you asked yourself why you started hearing voices to begin with?”

She frowned.

“I don’t know, Mulder. I don’t know.” She shook her head, sighing wearily.

“I’ve got a pretty good guess,” Mulder told her, “but if I tell you, you have to promise not to get skeptical on me and proceed to blow my theory out of the water.”

“I can’t promise you anything, Mulder. I have to hear it first.”

“Fine,” he agreed, sighing. “I think those messages somehow brought out memories of your past, things you’d repressed, never dealt with, for weeks, months, even years. Furthermore, I think those messages have stayed with you somehow, rooted in your subconscious, reminding you of all your unresolved issues, bombarding you with them, until you finally resolve to deal with every single one of them.”

Dana stared, dumbfounded, at Mulder.

“Nora spoke of it as ‘healing’, the exorcising of these personal demons,” Mulder said. “We all have them, haunting our subconscious at night, in our dreams, in our thoughts, when we’re alone, with no distractions. She wrote that life was a constant struggle with the past and present, the battle to reconcile both without sacrificing our sanity. And, if we’re successful, we can find peace somewhere in this life.”

Sighing, Dana finally found the strength to reply. “Mulder, that’s a beautiful concept, and quite poetic, but I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t believe that the way to peace lies in some personal struggle, some exorcism through reconciliation of past issues. We can’t change the past. We just have to keep going.

“Peace, inner peace, is as elusive as truth. Even your truth, Mulder, the truth you’ve worked so hard to uncover all these years.” She sighed again. “I don’t think any of us can say for certain that we’ve ever attained even a faint hope of peace, and I’m quite positive none of us will ever have it in this life.”

He remained silent, absorbing her words.

“Mulder, I became a doctor not only to save lives, to help people, or because it was what my father wanted me to do, but to learn the science behind the supernatural, to understand the mind of God in some rational, quantifiable equation. Every day I come closer to understanding what this life is all about, and if it weren’t for all this distraction, this goddamn strife around me, I probably would’ve touched the face of God by now.”

Mulder looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe it’s my pride that keeps me from finding God,” she whispered, lowering her eyes to avoid showing the sadness in them.

Suddenly she felt an arm around her shoulder.

Mulder.

She looked to find him gazing at her, his eyes radiating an inner warmth.

“Maybe it’s my pride that keeps me from finding the truth,” he admitted, his fingers curling around a strand of her hair.

Dana smiled slightly, welcoming the intimate contact for the briefest of moments. She needed contact. She needed this simple pleasure.

When Mulder began slowing the car, pulling to the side of the road, she frowned. “Mulder, what are you doing?”

Mulder said nothing for several moments, turning off the engine.

“We need to talk, Scully,” he said.

Her eyes widened.

Talk?

“I don’t want to wait until later,” he told her. “We may not have time later.”

She gulped, trying to ease the lump in her throat. “What…what do you want to talk about?” she whispered, her eyes large and luminous.

“Us,” Mulder said. “About last night.”

She gulped again, trying to find her breath.

“Scully, I know what happened last night was part of this ‘healing’, these personal demons coming out.” Before she could protest, he stopped her. “Now before you argue with me, just listen for a minute.

“I know that CD made you think of things in your past, things that you’d never dealt with. I know something was screwing around in your head to get you to face some of these issues. I know some of the things you said may or may not have been a product of the voices in your head, wherever they came from.”

She nodded, agreeing with him.

“I want to know what some of those issues were.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?

“We don’t have that kind of time right now.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

She shook her head again. “Not now, Mulder. Maybe some other time.”

He sighed. “Fine. I want to know something else then.”

“What?”

“I want to know if you meant any of what you said to me.”

Dana frowned, trying to remember the night before. Everything was so hazy….

“Did you?” he asked again, prompting her.

She shook her head. “Did I?”

“Can you remember any of what you said to me?” he asked her.

“A little.” Her voice was soft.

There was so much….and yet so little….

“Scully, open up to me. Let me in for just a minute. I want to know.” His hand moved to the base of neck, caressing there.

The lump hardened in her throat, a million spines prickling her skin as Mulder caressed her tenderly, gently.

<Tell him,> she heard her mother say.

Goddammit.

She closed her eyes.

“Mulder….”

His face was closer now; she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“Yes?”

His voice was but a breath too, lingering on her skin.

“I…don’t remember…”

She didn’t.

She wasn’t lying.

“Scully?”

She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Mulder, I don’t…remember much about last night. I think I…I tried to forget….”

She heard him sigh, imperceptibly.

“…and I…I think I succeeded….”

Finally, she opened her eyes, gazing into his, finding no condemnation, no disappointment, only concern.

“Why?” he whispered softly, his hands moving to cup her chin. “Why did you want to forget?”

She shook her head. “I want to forget a lot of things,” she replied.

Mulder’s velvet eyes examined her, roamed over every contour of her face, her neck, then returned to her sad, slightly teary, sapphire eyes. “Do you want to forget about what I said, what I did?”

His words robbed her of her own, as she sat there in silence, gazing helplessly at him, unable to speak.

“Do you, Scully?”

She blinked once, then twice, to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. “No…no, Mulder. I don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, palpable, as Mulder digested her words, processing them into something worthy of comprehension. She could see it in his eyes, the warmth, the sudden fire, then cooling again, and the turbulence that followed.

She kept silent, until he felt able to speak.

“Did I…offend you in any way?”

Slowly she nodded, after what seemed like hours of thought. “Yes. You did.”

His eyes closed, his head lowered in shame.

“But I was stubborn. Incredibly stubborn.” Her voice was a whisper, as if she was ashamed herself, to be admitting such a thing to anyone. “You were right about that.”

Mulder moved closer. “What else was I right about?”

Her eyes snapped open.

Dear God.

<You want me,> she heard him say, not in the space between them, but in the space within.

“What else was I right about, Scully?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she whispered, pulling away from him. “I don’t know if either of us was right about anything last night.”

She saw a sudden hunger for answers on Mulder’s face, that same insatiable desire he had when he was close to solving a case, and knew he would not be satisfied with her answer for some time.

Well, he would have to be.

“Scully?” he asked, frowning as she pulled away.

“Let’s go, Mulder. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Mulder continued to frown, his eyes searching hers, probing hers. “When will you want to talk about this?”

Silence.

“You won’t, Scully, and I’ll tell you why. Because you’re scared. You’re so goddamn scared of letting yourself go, letting your feelings out, that you’ll never let anyone see who you really are, what you really feel. And you know what? I’m scared for you. I’m scared you’ll never be the person you really are, with me, with everyone else on this planet, and that scares me because the person you really are is more beautiful, more evil, more light or dark, heaven or hell than the corpse of the woman sitting across from me in this car. The woman inside you deserves to live a full and fulfilling life.”

She gasped. Goddamn him….

“Don’t argue with me, Scully. You know I’m right.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself paralyzed.

Goddamn him for being so spooky. So perceptive.

“You’re scared of this CD, what it made you confront, whatever it was, whatever caused this in the beginning. You’re scared because you know you can no longer push your past to the back of your mind, that you have to deal with these demons yourself to get them out of your head. I don’t know what the hell you did last night after you left, and I sure as hell don’t want to know. Something tells me I wouldn’t like your answer.”

Nearly nodding, she caught herself just in time.

“How do you deal with demons, Scully? Do you push them away or face them head on with a gun in your hand? Do you think if you fill your head with other things, other knowledge, that they’ll go away? They don’t, Scully. They take over.

“You have to talk to someone, to get them out, to tell someone what happened to you years ago to make you this way. I want to be that person, Scully. I think I’m the only one who would understand. I have demons of my own, you know.”

She looked up at him, staring at him in silence.

“I know I’m not perfect. I know I piss you off. I know I frustrate you to no end sometimes. For that, I’m sorry. But you have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, or I’ll keep pissing you off until one or both of us walks out of that office without so much as a goodbye. It could happen, Scully. I see it happening right now.”

He took her hand. “I don’t want that to happen,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

She sighed. “I don’t want that either,” she whispered, caressing his palm. “But sometimes you leave me no choice.”

“Then tell me, goddammit,” he said, turning away from her to face the windshield. “Tell me when I’m a unfeeling bastard. Don’t keep it all in, Scully.”

Was that a tear she saw in his eye?

He blinked, and she saw nothing.

She heard the engine turn, the car spring to life, and the click of changing gears.

“We’re going to be late,” he said, moving the car back onto the street.

Dana said nothing, only watched the profile of his face as he faced the road ahead, his face expressionless, his eyes unreadable, and for one brief second, realized the truth of his words.

She hadn’t talked to him at all. All those years, after Ahab died, after her abduction, after Donnie Pfaster, after Missy’s death, after Ed, after the scene in the hallway, after Antarctica. He’d been willing, but she hadn’t.

Their alienation had not been his fault, but hers alone. She’d built the walls. She’d kept him out.

The thought was mortifying.

Had she lost him completely?

<You have to tell him,> she heard her mother say again.

Dammit.

She had to tell him.

In her own time.

The right time.

It would come.

* * *

Mulder had been right about one thing.

Traffic on the interstate was a bitch and a half.

Already it was 12:30, and according to Mulder’s directions, they were at least forty miles away from the Dorne estate.

They’d never make it in time.

And the silence was killing her.

Mulder hadn’t even bothered to turn up the volume on the radio as a means of distraction. He drove in silence, his eyes focused on the road ahead, muttering the occasional expletive at Sunday afternoon gridlock.

How the hell he was able to sit there, after what they’d said, and not be able to talk to her about anything that was happening, with them, with the case, with this goddamn funeral she’d agreed to attend without knowing why the hell they were going in the first place, was beyond her.

Mulder was usually more thorough with details.

“Tell me why we’re going to this funeral.”

She said it calmly, coolly, in her best detached, scientific manner.

Mulder said nothing.

“Mulder?”

Again, nothing.

“Mulder, I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore me.”

Nothing.

Goddamn him.

“Mulder, come on. I asked you a simple question. The least you could do is answer me.”

He kept his eyes fixed on the road, seemingly oblivious to everything she’d said.

“Dammit, Mulder, don’t play games with me. I want to know why we’re driving an hour out of Washington to go to Ellen Dorne’s funeral. I don’t know what the hell you hope to achieve by doing this.”

Nothing.

“Fine, Mulder. Play it your way.” She sighed, sitting back in the seat.

Why the hell was he so pissed off?

What had she said?

What had she done?

Forget it.

She’d done enough.

* * *

The silence was eating her alive.

She couldn’t take much more of this.

And traffic was slower than ever.

What the hell was going on?

She reached for the radio as a last resort, turning up the volume.

“Bay-ay-ay-ay-ay-bay…”

Seek.

“…when you build the wall arouuunnd you…”

Seek.

“…Jones passes to Almondar; he’s wide open for the shot, with two minutes remaining in the second half. He shoots from the three-point line and it’s GOOD…it’s GOOD, ladies and gentlemen! This game is tied!…”

Seek.

“…And that was ‘March to the Scaffold’ from Berlioz’s ‘Symphonie Fantastique’. Coming up next, we’ve got a little vocal music, Schubert’s well-known song cycle, ‘Winterreise’, with text by Wilhelm Mueller…”

Mulder suddenly turned his head from the road to glare at her.

She met his gaze, unaffected.

“Would you mind turning it back?” he asked, almost inaudibly.

She frowned slightly. “To what?”

“You know to what.”

“No, I don’t know to what.”

“Give me a break, Scully. You know what.”

She said nothing, choosing instead to gauge his reaction.

“The game’s on,” he told her.

She shrugged. “So?”

“So? So maybe I want to listen.”

“It’s almost over, Mulder. You can get the scores later.”

“And you have something better to listen to?”

She clenched her jaw. “Maybe.”

“Schubert’s Winterreise?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you said Schubert was trite. Cliche.”

“That was a long time ago, Mulder.”

“And you’ve suddenly changed your mind?”

“Maybe.”

Mulder cursed, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Scully, you’re acting like a fucking child. The game’s almost over. Just turn it back for a minute.”

She gasped incredulously, her eyes widening. “I’m a child? I’m a child? What about you, Mulder? What about you?”

His jaw tensed, briefly.

“For the past fifteen minutes I’ve tried to get something, anything out of you regarding why the hell we’re traveling all this way for a goddamn funeral, and you’ve done nothing but ignore me the whole time.”

He turned his eyes back to the road.

“Who’s the fucking child here, Mulder?”

Mulder stopped the car.

“Do you want to walk back?” he said, his voice bitter.

She glared at him.

“Fine.” He turned off the radio. “Get comfy, Scully. We’ve still got a long way.”

* * *

They passed an overturned truck several miles down the road, and traffic suddenly began moving again.

Thank God.

“How much further?” she asked Mulder, not really caring who spoke first, who broke down, who said what. She was tired of these games. Tired of riding. Tired of silence. Tired of everything.

Mulder checked his watch. “At least thirty miles.”

She sighed.

“Looks like we won’t make that funeral,” he said, confirming the time on the radio. “We’ll just have to be late.”

“Mulder, why the hell is it so important for you to be at this thing?”

“I want to talk to someone,” he said, passing a car on his right. “Someone who I think is the missing element in this case.”

“And who would that be?” she asked, not really caring.

He glanced at her, briefly, before turning back to the road. “David Dorne.”

She frowned. “Mulder, Tyler’s already questioned him. He was at the crime scene Friday, when we were gathering evidence. I heard everything.”

“Tyler didn’t ask the right questions,” Mulder said, nearly anticipating her response. “I found the tape. It’s bullshit.”

“What’s your point?”

“Tyler only went through the formality of an interrogation,” Mulder explained. “He asked the Senator to come to the crime scene himself, to give them clues as to what may have caused his ex-wife to kill herself. All Dorne gave them was a bunch of smoke and mirrors while he, the quintessential politician, portrayed the perfect image of the grieving ex-husband.”

She said nothing.

“Why would David Dorne, politician and philanderer, grieve over his ex-wife’s death?” Mulder asked her.

“Maybe there was still some love in his heart for her,” she replied. “Maybe he still cared for her, even though he was remarried.”

“Was remarried,” Mulder reminded her. “You forget his current wife, Ellen, had also been found dead that evening, with all his other former lovers.”

“Mulder, that doesn’t hold a drop a water. You don’t know for certain those women were sleeping with Senator Dorne. All you have is a jealous wife’s perception of his relationships with them.”

“Scully, it doesn’t take a scientist to put two and two together here,” he told her. “The evidence might be circumstantial, but the fact remains that all these women are dead. Someone plotted this. Someone knew about this and convinced those women to kill themselves, somehow.”

Dana rolled her eyes.

“David Dorne is the only one in this equation who isn’t dead,” he continued, “and there’s a reason for it, somewhere. We just have to find it.”

She frowned. “Mulder, it’s his wife’s funeral, for God’s sake. You can’t just go barging in and asking him a bunch of questions about this investigation. Have some decency.”

“He won’t take my calls. I’ve been calling his house since last night and I keep getting stonewalled. I’ve tried every way I know to get in touch with him in as short a time as possible, and the longer we wait, the harder it will be to get anything out of him.”

Dana sighed.

“Scully, this case is being buried. You know it and I know it. I’m quite certain by the time Skinner finds out what’s going on and reassigns us or someone else to the case, all the evidence will be destroyed. If we don’t ask him now, we’ll never know what happened to those women.” He glanced at her briefly. “What happened to you.”

She turned to face him, her eyes wide.

“Mulder, you don’t think….” Her voice was a whisper.

Mulder turned toward the road. “I think a lot of things, Scully. But you don’t want to hear any more of my bullshit theories, remember?”

She closed her eyes.

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” he said, letting silence envelop them both again.

* * *

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

Dana stood at the edge of the crowd, listening to the priest’s familiar words.

How many times had she heard those words in her life?

She steeled herself.

This was not the time to think about it.

Out of the corner of her eye she stole a glance at Mulder, whose eyes were fixed not on the priest, not on the casket, but on the Senator and his family.

Goddamn his one-track mind.

An innocent woman had died, was being buried before him in sacred reverence, and all he could think about was this goddamn case. His face showed no sign of sympathy for the woman, for her family, only intensity and hunger for knowledge, for answers, for confirmation of the theories brewing in his brain, and lust for justice served.

Goddamn him.

She turned back to the priest, watching as the coffin slowly lowered into the grave, and lost herself in her own thoughts, of Ahab, of his ashes spilling into the sea.

He’d found Shangri-La.

He’d told her how to find it.

She wanted to find it more than anything.

It was her only unfinished mission.

Oh, if only life could be like that.

<I’ll meet you on the eastern shore.>

It seemed so far away…but maybe it wasn’t…maybe she could find it, sooner than she thought….

She heard Mulder’s voice, in her ear.

“It’s showtime.”

His breath caressed her lobe, sending shivers down her neck.

It’s showtime.

Nodding, Dana followed Mulder, trying to shift her senses back to reality. In truth, she felt like nothing real, only a robot, doing as she was told, coming along for the ride, knowing nothing, only complying.

And there he was, her would-be master, making a beeline for the Senator.

One-track mind.

“Senator Dorne?” Mulder said, approaching him. “I’m Special Agent Fox Mulder. I’m sorry to hear of your loss.”

David Dorne eyed Mulder somewhat cautiously, but nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” he said softly, almost imperceptibly.

Dana frowned.

He looked sincere.

“It’s been quite a shock to all of us,” the Senator continued, “especially given the circumstances of her death.”

Mulder nodded.

“I just can’t believe she would kill herself, just like that,” Dorne said. “She of all people valued the sanctity and beauty of life. Why she would enter into a death pact with those women just…completely floors me.”

Dana saw Mulder’s face tense for a brief second, the subtlety of his expression missed by everyone but herself. She knew his every nuance well enough to know something hadn’t quite registered right with the Senator’s statement.

“A pact, sir?” she asked him.

When Dorne stared at her, blankly, Mulder remembered himself and initiated pleasantries. “Senator Dorne, this is Agent Dana Scully, my partner,” he said, gesturing towards her.

Dana smiled slightly at the Senator, clasping his hand in greeting.

“We think…actually, we’re almost certain,” Dorne said, “that Ellen had some secret pact with these other women to end their lives. We think someone else instigated it, someone outside of their circle of friends, who convinced them to form the pact.”

Dana glanced at Mulder, who was deep in thought.

“That’s as far as we’ve come to finding any answers,” the Senator continued. “All I know is that they’d better find the bastard who did this to all these women. We won’t recover from such a loss for some time.”

“What about your ex-wife, Nora Benton?” Mulder asked him. “Surely you feel some loss with her passing as well.”

Dana held her breath. Mulder was becoming strangely aggressive. He knew the hell better. What was he thinking?

“I feel…some loss,” Dorne replied, “but she was no longer my wife. The love I had for her was only platonic.”

Mulder nodded.

“Are you both assigned to the case?” Dorne asked them.

Dana’s stomach turned.

Shit.

“Yes,” Mulder said, almost too hastily.

Shit.

“We just–came up to offer our condolences and to ask you a few more questions,” Mulder told him. “We’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been obviously detained elsewhere,” Dorne said, his eyes narrowing.

Dana winced.

Dammit.

He was on to them.

<Goddammit, Mulder, don’t do this,> she willed him silently.

Mulder seemed unaffected. “I understand, Senator. I’ve lost several loved ones in the last few years. It’s just that we’ve needed your perspective on a few issues and no one’s been able to reach you by phone or letter.”

Dana nudged him gently, her sign for him to back off.

Back off now.

“Don’t you think that’s odd, Senator, considering how badly you want to see the perpetrator behind bars?”

She nudged him again, more forcefully.

The Senator’s eyes had narrowed to tiny gray slits as he examined Mulder cautiously, carefully. “What was your name again?”

“Mulder. Agent Mulder.”

“Well, Agent Mulder, I don’t think this is the proper time or place for your questions. If you’d like to schedule an appointment with my secretary, I’m sure she’d be glad to schedule you at the earliest convenience–”

Mulder gripped his arm.

“I think we both know that won’t happen, Senator.”

Dana nudged him, hard.

“Watch it, Mulder,” she hissed in his ear.

Her eyes flew around to the circle of mourners, clustering around them.

Holy shit. Not in public.

“I think we both know you know more than you’re telling,” Mulder said to him, lowering his voice as the people encircled them. “You know what happened to those women. You know Nora did something to them. And you did something to Nora, didn’t you? You killed her for killing Ellen. Wife for wife.”

Dana’s eyes widened.

Holy Mother of God.

So that was his theory.

Jesus Christ.

David Dorne wrenched his arm free, pointing at Mulder. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but you are not a part of this investigation,” he hissed. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Dana’s heart stopped.

Goddammit, Mulder….

“How DARE you come to MY house, on MY lawn, and accuse me of murder?” he shouted. “Have you no respect for what’s happened here?”

Mulder frowned.

“My wife is dead, murdered by her own hands, and yet you have the nerve to accuse me of doing the same to another human being? At her own funeral?!”

Several family members reached for him, but Dorne shrugged them off.

“Call security. Tell them to throw this bastard off my property.”

Mulder shook his head. “There’s no need for that, Senator. I’ll show myself out.”

She saw him turn to her.

“Come on, Scully, let’s go.”

Dana watched him walk away, but chose not to follow immediately. Instead she turned to the Senator, hoping to at least recover themselves gracefully.

“I’m sorry, Senator. I apologize for my partner’s behavior. I think you should know that I advised him against this course of action.”

The Senator stared her down, coldly.

“I remember you. You’re the little redhead from the crime scene.” His eyes examined her. “I wonder what Agent Tyler would think of your being here without permission.”

Her stomach turned again.

Shit.

“Perhaps I should call him,” he said, without a trace of emotion. “I’m sure he’d like to know when his agents are out of line.”

Dana felt her insides burning with anger.

Goddamn his cool superiority.

And how the hell did he know her involvement in this case?

Holy shit.

The realization hit her full force.

He knew.

He knew everything.

He was conspiring with Tyler.

He had the whole time.

Suddenly, without warning, her temper flared. “Perhaps you should, Senator. And while you’re at it, perhaps you should call the Justice Department and ask them where the hell they put your wife’s body.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t give me that song and dance, Senator. You yourself requested a closed casket ceremony. There’s nothing in that grave but a hundred pounds of sand.”

Suddenly, the Senator’s cool reserve cracked. Dana saw the sudden, furtive look in his eyes, the same look of a discovered criminal.

She also noted, with great pleasure, the horror-filled looks on the faces of both families.

Fueled by their reaction, she continued, snarling with mad glee.

“I’ve seen where your wife’s body is. Right beside your ex-wife’s. They’re quite happy together in death, if not in life. You might want to ask Agent Tyler about that, why he’s hiding them for you.

“You might also want to ask where Nora’s journals are,” she told him with smug confidence. “Probably where you told Agent Tyler to put them, along with the other evidence to be shelved and destroyed. Evidence implicating you in some way to Nora’s death.”

She heard the mortified gasps of the onlookers, the buzzing and whispering among them.

Good.

At least they’d have something to talk about for the next few days.

Everyone would have something to talk about.

Damn Mulder for not telling her about this.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

“I’ll make that call, Agent Scully,” the Senator said, his voice strained. “And I’ll be sure to let your superiors know of your actions today. Yours and your partner’s. I hope to God they throw the both of you out of the FBI for harassing an innocent man.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guards running toward them.

Time to go.

“You know what I hope, Senator?” she yelled, stepping away from him. “I hope you get to all that evidence before we do.”

Dorne frowned, deep ridges wrinkling his forehead.

“I hope you have enough connections to kick us out before we kick you in that prison cell. How does life plus twenty sound to you, Senator?”

Her face was livid, her blood like fire, pumping through her veins. But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

“Get her off my lawn!” he yelled. “Somebody get her the hell off my lawn!”

“You’re FINISHED, Senator Dorne,” she yelled, walking backwards from him. “You and ALL your chauvinist cronies who think you can sweep your infidelities under the rug with a quick little phone call! I know your game! I’ve seen it all my life, and for once, I’m going to stop this charade and see justice served!”

She left them, all of them, the mourners, the families, the Senator, standing there on the lawn, as she bolted toward the car, running as fast as her three-inch heels would allow.

Damn, that felt good.

God damn, that felt good.

So this was what it was like to be a renegade. A rebel.

Damn, she’d missed it.

She couldn’t go back now.

She could never go back.

She didn’t want to go back.

It didn’t matter anyway. Come tomorrow morning, OPR would have their way with her and Mulder. They’d be tossed out for good.

But first they’d have to make a case against her.

That would take days.

They couldn’t fire her, not if she quit first.

Her heel stabbed a layer of snow.

Shit.

It was stuck.

She knelt to retrieve the shoe, her lungs screaming for air.

Goddamn, that felt incredible.

Everything felt incredible, the snow on her feet, the chill of the air, the fire in her veins, the words she’d yelled back there.

She’d come to her senses.

Her real senses.

What the hell had she been doing all these years?

She’d been dead, as dead as her father and sister and as dead as the woman she’d put to rest ten years ago, the woman she’d discovered last night.

And now she had found herself. Again.

The words echoed through her head, words that were drilled into it since childhood, but different now, more personal.

She welcomed the voice, smiling impulsively.

“I am not here…” she murmured, dislodging her shoe from the snow. “I am not here, for I have risen.”

She rose to her feet.

“I have risen….”

Her voice was a whisper.

And, standing there, barefooted in the snow, Dana Scully found herself laughing.

Laughing.

Louder and louder, laughing hysterically.

Laughing like a child who had just discovered snow.

Laughing like a woman who had just discovered life.

And she couldn’t stop.

Her insides were churning, but she couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever. She needed this. She deserved this, after ten years of repression, of regret.

She would never stop.

“Scully!” she heard Mulder say, his voice distant.

She saw him, standing by the car.

“Scully, what the hell were you doing back there?” he yelled, his face contorted with concern. “Why the hell did you stop?”

Her grin faded.

“What were you laughing about?”

She glared at him. “Finding something,” she retorted. “Something I’d lost.”

“Did you find it?”

She opened the passenger door. “I think I did,” she murmured, lost in thought. “I think I did.”

* * *

Maybe Ahab had been half right about silence being golden.

For the last thirty minutes, she’d been riding in silence, no radio, no conversation, no voices in her head or across from her in the driver’s seat.

Finally, she was able to think clearly, for once. No distractions.

She could finally be herself, with no pretension, no facades, no walls to keep herself hidden. Finally, she was free.

She would say what she wanted, she would do what she wanted, regardless of who she was with, who was impressed, who was offended, who was indifferent.

She was bound by no one.

Maybe she should write a letter to Bethesda, see if someone could reinstate her application for internship. Maybe she’d do that.

Maybe she’d do her residency at a children’s hospital, somewhere in Maryland, close to her mother. Mom had always said she was great with children.

She hadn’t saved Emily, but she could save others.

Many others.

“What did you tell him back there?”

Dana jumped slightly, waking from her thoughts.

“What did you tell him?”

She turned to Mulder.

“Does it matter?”

“I heard you yelling,” he said, glancing quickly at her. “You were practically screaming at Dorne.”

She said nothing, escaping into her head again.

She’d buy a big house. Victorian, maybe, clean it up herself and base her practice from there. Somewhere where a child would feel at home instead of a cold, clinical examination room. She’d have animals painted on the ceiling and Little Golden Books on the table and the Bible Story and puzzles and maybe a dollhouse for the children in the waiting room. She’d even give them prizes for being good patients, a different one each month….

“What did you say to him, Scully?”

She’d make house calls….

“Scully, wake up.” Mulder snapped his fingers in front of her face.

She frowned. “What the hell do you want, Mulder?” Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and let her think?

“What the hell do I want? What the hell’s your problem?”

“What the hell’s my problem? Mulder, I don’t have a problem. I’m just sitting here and I’d like to be alone for a while. Why the hell do you think there’s always something wrong when all I want to do is just sit here and think?!”

Mulder’s jaw tensed slightly, then released.

“What are you thinking, then?”

She frowned. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Now who’s the child, Scully?”

She saw him tense.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

Silence.

“Tell me, Scully–”

“Because you don’t want to hear it,” she replied, interrupting him. “I know you don’t want to hear it.”

“How do you know I don’t?” he asked.

She shook her head, slightly. “You don’t.”

“Well, how will I know I don’t if you won’t tell me? At least let me judge for myself.”

Sighing, she shook her head once more. “No.”

Mulder hit the steering wheel, hard, glaring at her. “Scully, you want to be alone? Then fine. Be alone. Be alone for the rest of your fucking miserable life, for all I care.” He turned back to the road, muttering something under his breath.

They sat there, like that, for several minutes, neither saying a word.

Dana tried to find her vision again, her house and her books and her children, but it was gone. Vanished.

Goddamn him for destroying her dream.

Her many dreams.

Suddenly, she heard music, a soft piano emanating from the speakers.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mulder said. “I’m in the mood for some doom and gloom.”

She looked at the radio. “What are you playing?”

Mulder replied with a sarcastic grin. “Nothing.”

Oh…goddamn him….

“‘Chinaa…all the way to Neeww Yorrrk…

“‘I can feel the dissstance…getting close….’”

Shit.

Holy shit.

The CD.

“‘You’re right next to me…

“‘But I need an airplane…

“‘I can feel the disssstance…as you breathe…’”

She frowned.

“Mulder, turn that thing off right now.”

“Why?”

“It’s evidence.”

“Precisely.” Mulder continued to drive.

“‘Sommmetimes…I think you want me to touch you…

“‘But how can I…when you build a great wall around you…’”

Dammit.

Goddammit.

“You hearing voices yet, Scully?”

What the…?

“No. No, I’m not, Mulder. Just turn it off, okay? I’m really not in the mood for this.”

She’d heard enough of the banshee to last a lifetime.

“Mulder, what the hell are you trying to prove?” she asked him, as the second verse began.

“I’m not trying to prove anything.” Mulder kept his eyes on the road.

“Then why are you playing that damn thing?”

“Maybe I like her music, Scully. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hope you hear voices in your head too.”

Mulder said nothing.

“Well? Have you?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Maybe I’m lucky.”

Sighing, Dana turned away from him, focusing on a barn just off the interstate.

“‘…You’re right next to me…

“‘I think that you can hear me…

“‘Funny how the disstance…learns to grow…”

* * *

“‘….and I hate…and I hate…and I hate…

“‘…and I hate elevator music…

“‘The way we…fight…

“‘The way I’m left here…silent….’”

Dana sighed.

This was ridiculous.

“‘…Ohhhh…these little earthquakes…

“‘Here…we go again…

“‘Ohhhh…these little earthquakes…’”

“‘Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces….’”

She reached for the eject button, but Mulder moved her hand away.

“Mulder, come on. We’ve listened to this for twenty minutes.”

He kept his eye on the road. “Who’s the child, Scully?”

Oh….

“Fuck you, Mulder.”

“‘….We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn…

“‘We laughed in the faces of kings never afraid to burn…

“‘and I hate…and I hate…and I hate…

“‘…and I hate disintegration…

“‘…Watching us wither….’”

And I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate you, Mulder.

I hate you for doing this to me.

“‘…Ohhh…these little earthquakes…

“‘Here…we go again…

“‘Ohhh…these little earthquakes…

“‘…Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces…’”

Why was he doing this to her?

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He didn’t want to listen to the song; he wanted her to hear voices. He was testing her.

What the hell was she to him after all these years, a goddamn guinea pig?

Well, she wouldn’t let him.

She moved toward the eject button again, but Mulder swatted her hand away.

“No, Scully. Not until you start talking.”

She snarled at him.

“‘…give me life…give me pain…give me myself again…

“‘…give me life…give me pain…give me myself again…’”

The words repeated themselves over and over again, in a seemingly infinite pattern.

Louder and louder the chorus intoned, louder and louder they sang, through the speakers and through her head, until Dana finally snapped.

“What the hell are you trying to do to me, Mulder?” she cried, reaching for the button again and being rejected. “Why are you putting me through this?”

Mulder glanced at her. “You hearing voices yet?”

“No! No, dammit, I’m not hearing voices!” she yelled, reaching for the button once more. When he moved her hand away, she reached for the power button.

Again, rejected.

“Goddammit, Mulder, would you turn the damn thing off?!”

Mulder shook his head.

“I’m sick of this woman, Mulder! I’m sick of these songs! I’m sick of everything and I just want some peace, some goddamn fucking peace in my life for just a few minutes!” She gripped his hand. “Is that so much to ask?”

Mulder turned from the road to look at her. “You could always ignore it.”

She frowned.

“Ignore it? How the hell can I ignore it when you’ve got the volume so loud?”

“I’m trying to hear the messages.”

Her snarl widened. “You can’t hear the messages, Mulder; they’re subliminal. You said it yourself.”

“Then how did you hear them?”

“I don’t know,” she yelled, gripping his hand tighter. “I have no fucking idea! But it’s OVER, Mulder, and the only thing I’m concerned about is that I don’t have to worry about them again!”

“If it’s over, Scully, then why are you fighting with me over a goddamn CD?”

Her eyes widened.

“It’s not over, is it?” he said. “You’re still hearing them, aren’t you?”

She said nothing.

“What are they saying?” he wanted to know, gripping her hand. “What are they saying?”

“None of your fucking business, Mulder,” she hissed, reaching for the power button with her other hand.

Somehow, some way, Mulder was able to fend both of them away from the radio.

“So this is what it’s come to,” she yelled. “So this is what you think of me, after all these six goddamn years together! You’ve used me, haven’t you? You’ve used me to get closer to the truth, that goddamn truth you’ve been chasing after your whole life!” She dug her nails into his palm. “My abduction, my cancer, this case, all of it was nothing but a tool for you! A tool for your truth!”

The blare of a horn startled them, and Dana felt the car swerving to the left.

“Goddammit, Mulder, watch where you’re going,” she hissed, digging her nails deeper into his hand.

Mulder groaned in pain, pushing her away from the stereo.

“If that’s what you think of me, Scully, after all the shit we’ve been through together, then fine. That’s just fucking fine. Think what you want. Believe what you want. But it’s not true.”

“Not true? Then tell me the truth, Mulder! Tell me what you really feel about me! Convince me that you haven’t used me to find your answers for you!”

Mulder fell silent.

“I don’t think you can, Mulder. I don’t think you ever could. You probably requested me as some sort of decoy, some dummy that would attempt to debunk and destroy all your theories when all you wanted was some guinea pig to help you along!”

Mulder glared ominously at her.

“You’d better think real carefully about the words that come out of your mouth, Scully,” he warned, “because if I hear one more of your goddamn lies, I’m going to take you back to your apartment and wash your mouth out with Clorox or Pine-Sol or something suitable to clean out all that bullshit.”

She frowned.

“What the hell are you thinking?!” he yelled at her, gripping her hand like a vise. “What the hell is running around in that goddamn head of yours?”

Another horn, another swerve.

“Jesus, Mulder, watch the road or I’ll jump out right now and walk home!” she shouted back. “I’m not putting my life, my future in danger for you anymore!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice dripping venom.

“It means, that I quit. I QUIT.” She said it once more for emphasis. “I am so goddamn sick and tired of putting up with your bullshit, every damn day of my miserable life. I want a regular life, Mulder. I want out.”

Mulder glanced at her, his face unreadable. “You can’t get out, Scully, not now, not ever. You know too much. Everything’s changed for you. For me. For both of us.”

She glared at him.

“You could never leave,” he said, his eyes locking with hers, questioning, challenging them.

She met his glance, question for question, challenge for challenge, and replied with a stubborn lift of her chin.

“I can, and I will, while I still have a choice in the matter. If the Senator makes good on his threats, tomorrow morning neither one of us will have a choice.”

Mulder frowned. “They won’t fire us.”

Her eyes widened.

“You really think that, Mulder, after all that happened today?” Her expression was incredulous.

“They’ve had ample chances before. They never did.”

“Well, maybe they’re tired of your bullshit. Hell, I’m tired of it.” Dana leaned back in the seat. “They will fire us, Mulder, for a list of reasons I’m sure Tyler is drawing up right now as we speak. Voluntary breach of protocol, direct and willful insubordination, disturbing the peace, and most especially, harassing a legislative official on his property for no apparent reason. Doing it at his wife’s funeral won’t earn us any brownie points either.” She gave him a sinister look. “We have broken every rule we can possibly break, and this time they’re keeping score on everything, taking notes, gathering up all kinds of evidence against us to boot us out for good. And while they’re making their plans, I’m making some of my own. I’m saving my ass and getting on with my life before they have an opportunity to hold any of this against me.”

“They won’t fire us,” Mulder interrupted. “Suspension, maybe. Reassignment, possibly. But not termination.”

“This isn’t an X-File, Mulder,” she reminded him, “although you would like to think it is. They won’t look the other way this time. This is not an indulgent triviality to them. This is a headline, a top story, high-profile case, not yours, not mine, but Tyler’s, and he’ll make sure we’re not only terminated, but most likely disgraced for life.”

Suddenly, she saw the sinister look in his eyes, the evil glare, and knew she had gone too far.

Holy hell.

“Indulgent triviality?” he murmured, very softly. “Is that what you think of me? Of this? Of our work?”

She met him, glare for glare. “This is your work, Mulder. It’s never been ours.” She turned back to the window.

“And how the hell do you figure that?” he asked.

“You’ve said it yourself, on a number of occasions. You’ve made no secret of it,” she said flatly, with no trace of emotion. “Maybe I’m sick of being someone’s sidekick, someone’s decoy or dummy, being some tool to the truth. Maybe I just want my own quest, some noble search I can call my own, to better myself and humanity.”

“I never said you were a tool to the truth,” Mulder bit back. “You inferred that on your own.”

“Well, you didn’t do a great job convincing me otherwise when I brought it up before.”

“Then why have you hung around all these years?” he wanted to know. “Tell me, Scully. Tell me why you’ve stayed.”

She froze.

“Go on.” The look in his eyes was intense.

“I don’t know why, Mulder,” she said, fidgeting with her hands in an effort to find something to do, something to occupy them while she thought of how she could get back to the place where she was, to her dreams, her hopes, the life she wanted.

“There were times I wanted to get out so bad, times I was this close from turning in my request for reassignment and walking out of that office for good,” she told him, her voice raising in anger. “You piss me off, Mulder. You are the worst person to work with, all your habits, your peculiarities, your idiosyncrasies.”

“All right, all right, enough,” he yelled, turning the car onto another street. “Can you give me valid reasons without slandering my name from here to eternity?”

“I don’t know if I can, Mulder,” she yelled. “Everything blends together after a while.”

Mulder said nothing, choosing instead to drive in silence.

“Do you know why I stayed on after that first year, Mulder? After we were reassigned back on the Files? Because I felt sorry for you. I couldn’t stand watching you wallow in your own self- pity, beating yourself up for what happened during my abduction and not being able to control it. You needed me there, Mulder, and as much as I would’ve rather stayed at Quantico, I came back to be with you.”

He looked at her, frowning.

“You didn’t want to come back?”

“No.”

“You felt sorry for me?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly the dashboard buckled from the force of Mulder’s fist as he pounded it ferociously.

Shit.

“Goddamn you, Scully. I’m not your charity case.” His voice was a low growl.

“Well, I’m not your guinea pig.” She said it, without thinking.

Christ, he’d taken it the wrong way.

She shivered.

Suddenly the car stopped, and Dana looked outside to familiar surroundings.

Home. She was home.

“So this is it,” Mulder said, flatly. “This is how it ends.”

She frowned.

“How what ends?”

“This. You and me. Us. Everything.” He sighed, grimly. “I wish you’d told me earlier, Scully. Maybe I would’ve found a partner who actually enjoyed working with me, who wouldn’t have made a project out of me.”

Dana felt her insides tighten.

“That’s not fair, Mulder. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s not what you meant? Then what did you mean, Agent Scully?” His voice picked up volume, growing increasingly louder. “You know exactly what you mean. You just told me. You felt sorry for me. Poor little alien boy, running around with his fist to the heavens, chasing after a quest that he hopes will somehow ennoble him, enlighten him to the mysteries of the universe.”

Her voice softened. “No, Mulder, no, that’s not what I meant to say.”

“Well, whatever you didn’t mean to say, you said pretty well.” His voice was bitter.

Dana felt her heart plummet.

“I feel sorry for you too, Scully, in fact more so than you ever have for me. I know your game. I know your number. I’ve known everything about you since day one.”

She frowned. “What…do you mean?”

“I mean, I know who you are. Who you were before you came here. What you wanted, where you wanted to be on the totem pole by this point in your life. It wasn’t too hard to figure out.”

What the…?

Where the hell was this coming from?

“You were just like them. Just like every one of those fresh-faced, ambitious new agents looking for the assignment of a lifetime, the promotions, the honor, the glory. The only problem with your plan was one Fox Mulder.”

She frowned.

“I screwed it up for you. I put a monkey wrench in all your plans for success. I kept you from realizing your dreams, and now look at you. Six years later, you’re burned out, washed out, and flipped out. You’ve never cared about anyone in this game, nor have you cared about the game itself. All you cared about was landing on the prize spaces.”

Dana froze.

“Never mind that you did this to spite your father, to prove to him you could succeed without him.”

Dear God.

He knew.

How the hell did he know so much?

Mom. She must’ve told him something last night, when he came looking for her. Goddamn him….

“Now I don’t know what you’ve cared about for the last six years, but you haven’t been playing the game very well. We haven’t passed Go and we’ve spent our asses in Jail a hell of a lot more than either of us would like. Not to mention the fact that all of our colleagues have hotels on Park Place and Boardwalk while we can barely pay the rent on our shabby little corner lot. Now, if the game’s meant so much to you, why the hell have you hung around for so goddamn long?”

She shuddered, closing her eyes.

“I don’t know, Mulder.”

She felt him grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

“Yes you do, Scully. You know, but you won’t tell me. You know I know too, and you still won’t say it. Just tell me the truth, and spare both of us.”

The tears began welling in her eyes, pooling there, neither flowing nor retreating, but lingering, clouding her vision, as she stared helplessly at Mulder.

He knew.

He knew she knew.

There was nothing more to say.

Even if he wanted her to say it.

Slowly, she drew her breath, and finished it all.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she murmured, getting out of the car. “I’m sure both of us will have more than enough to say tomorrow.”

She heard the other door open, then slam behind her, as she made her way to the front door.

Dammit.

He wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“Don’t shut me out, Scully. Don’t do this again.”

She winced.

“I have to, Mulder. It’s the only way both of us can walk away from this.”

“Walk away from what? Scully, what are you saying?”

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Mulder, it’s over. Everything.” She sighed and opened the door, walking into the building. “I’ve got a life of my own to live, and it’s not too late for me to build some semblance of a normal existence for myself.”

She heard him following her, their footsteps echoing through the hallway.

“Scully, after all you’ve been through, you think you can live a normal life?”

Finally, she faced him. “I think I can.”

She tried to open her door, but found his hand suddenly covering the knob, covering her hand and sending ten million volts into her wrist.

“Is that what you really want, Scully?” Mulder asked her, his voice nearly a caress.

She frowned.

“If that’s what you want, I wish you the best,” Mulder continued, his fingers lightly brushing against her hand. “But I think you would’ve quit long ago if you’d really wanted a normal life. I think you want something else.”

His fingers gripped her hand, and she found herself gasping for air, forced to meet his gaze.

“I think you’re scared to admit you want something else,” he continued, his voice barely audible, “and you’d rather walk away from everything than to risk your heart on claiming what you want.”

Dana felt her throat tighten.

Holy Christ, he was cutting to the chase.

Suddenly, with newfound strength, she opened her door and walked in, closing the door behind her. “Goodbye, Mulder,” she said, pushing the door shut.

The door met with Mulder’s foot and swung wide open, allowing him entry.

“Mulder, please,” she said, exasperated, “just leave. I’m tired of these games.”

“You keep playing them,” Mulder said, walking toward her.

“You keep pestering me,” she whined.

“You keep running away from yourself,” he said, closing the space between them with two large steps. “Running away from the truth.”

“I’m running away from YOU.” Her voice was strained. “Dammit, Mulder, why do you have to be so annoying in order to prove some stupid point?”

“This isn’t some stupid point,” Mulder said. “This is about us. Us, Scully. You and me. For six years you’ve run away from this, and if you do decide to quit, I’m not going to let you run away without giving me the courtesy of at least a few answers.”

She shook her head. “Mulder, I have no answers to give you. This is my life.”

“Yes, but it’s–”

He stopped, and paused mid-sentence.

Recognition and remembrance flashed in Dana’s eyes, as memories from that stilted conversation passed before her.

“We’ve been here before,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Mulder nodded.

Jesus Christ, another circle….

“You were going to say something,” she said, remembering that day in the office, three years ago. “What was it?”

“You know what I meant to say,” Mulder replied, touching her shoulder.

“Do I?” Her voice was a whisper.

Mulder took her hand, his thumb tracing the lines of her palm. “I meant to say that it’s my life too.”

Dana suddenly lost her breath.

“Your life is my life, Scully. I don’t know of any other way to describe it. I can’t even begin to imagine my life without you. I can’t imagine working without you, not having you there to poke holes and laugh at my latest theory. I can’t imagine sitting in that office without the sound of your endless diatribes echoing in my ears.

“I can’t do this without you. Your life is my life. We’re connected, Scully, whether you like it or not, and you can’t just walk away from six years of two lives together without giving me some good reason as to why you’re leaving.”

Her frown faded as she saw the pain, the hurt, in Mulder’s eyes.

“All I want is one good reason.”

One good reason.

Could she think of one?

Every reason, every defense, seemed to fade away as she found herself enveloped by Mulder’s warm gaze.

Goddamn, his look was worth a thousand words. A thousand reasons.

A thousand reasons, thrown out the window.

Shit.

She felt herself jump out of her skin, long before she heard the sound of the phone ringing, anticipating the interruption.

“Your phone’s ringing.” Mulder’s hands never left her arms.

She nodded, instinctively.

“I should…get that.”

Slowly she made her way over to the phone, answering it without a trace of the emotions running rampant inside her. “Scully.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was curt and unforgiving.

“Would you mind explaining to me what the hell you and Agent Mulder were doing at Ellen Dorne’s funeral?” Skinner growled in her ear.

Dana winced.

Trouble was brewing early.

“Sir–” she said, trying to exert control over herself, her voice, the situation at hand, “–Agent Mulder thought it would be best to ask Senator Dorne a few questions involving his wife’s death.”

“Agent Mulder has no authority to be asking anyone questions,” Skinner replied gruffly. “This isn’t his case.”

“Well, he seems to think it is.”

She glanced over at Mulder, who was turning up the volume on the stereo.

Christ, their jobs were on the line, and all he could think about was music?

“I just got a call from Agent Tyler,” Skinner told her. “Both of you are requested in front of OPR first thing in the morning to try and make sense of your actions this weekend. It doesn’t look good.”

Dana closed her eyes, nodding.

“I can’t protect you any more, Scully. I tried. Mulder forced their hand. I suggest you come up with a rock-solid defense for your actions, both of you, and do a lot of praying.”

Again, she nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

She hung up the phone, staring at it for several seconds.

“Did we win the grand prize?” Mulder said dryly, walking over to her.

She said nothing.

“Well?”

His hand rested on her back for only a second, enough to prompt a response from her.

“Skinner wants us in front of OPR at 0700. Tomorrow. Dressed to the nines and hopefully prepared with an ironclad defense against termination.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him frown.

“Tyler called.”

She nodded.

“Son of a bitch.”

Shrugging once, Dana turned to face him. “It’s over, Mulder. We might as well start packing up.”

“Packing up? Hell no.” Mulder held Nora’s journal in his hand. “We’ve still got time to solve this thing.”

“And what difference does that make?” she wanted to know.

“It makes a helluva lot of difference,” Mulder told her. “If we can prove that Dorne killed Nora Benton, and I think we can, then we won’t have to worry about defending ourselves in the morning. We just need a few more details.”

Dana shook her head. “Mulder, we have no details. Your theories are sketchy at best. You have no real evidence linking Nora Benton to the death of Ellen Dorne, much less anything implicating Senator Dorne in any way.”

“You believe he killed her?”

“I believe he was involved,” Dana told him. “To what extent, I don’t know, but I believe he was behind it, somehow.”

“We don’t have time for somehows,” Mulder said. “We’ve only got a few hours.”

“Mulder, if you keep accusing people of murder without hard evidence, you’re going to find yourself out of a job for a very long time.”

“What if I can get hard evidence?”

She frowned. “Good luck.”

“It’s out there. It has to be.”

Dana sighed wearily.

“What about the murder weapon?” Mulder asked. “Nora’s icepick?”

“What about it?”

“Did anyone bag it up at the crime scene?”

“I’m sure they did, but it’s probably missing, along with all the other evidence,” Dana replied. “Mulder, where are you going with this?”

“I’m saying, if we can find that icepick, we might have a chance at linking Dorne to the murder. Especially if his prints are on it.”

“She killed herself, Mulder. They interviewed several neighbors. No one was in the apartment. Besides, even if Dorne’s prints happened to be on the icepick, you still have no conclusive evidence tying Nora to the deaths in the warehouse.”

“All we need is a lead, Scully,” Mulder said. “One lead and OPR might suspend our hearing. They might even let us officially conduct a separate investigation.”

Dana shook her head. “Mulder, listen to yourself. You’re spouting nonsense, foolish wishes, childish hopes. We need to face reality.”

“I am facing reality,” he argued. “I’m trying to keep our jobs here. I don’t see you doing anything to help.”

She frowned.

“Maybe I don’t want my job anymore, Mulder.”

“You’ve said as much,” he remarked sarcastically, walking away from her with Nora’s journal in his hands. “But, as I said before, you still owe me one good reason.”

One good reason.

Dammit.

“I’ve got plenty of good reasons, Mulder, but you don’t have time to hear them all if you’re going to solve this case.”

“I just need one, Scully.” He sat down on the couch.

She stood, frozen, her mind whirling in a mindless mass of random thoughts. Her life was flashing before her eyes, the last six years a blur.

She was too tired to argue with him.

Her eyes widened in revelation.

Maybe that was all he needed to hear.

“I’m exhausted, Mulder,” she finally said, sitting down beside him. “Mentally, physically, psychologically, I’m exhausted. I’ve been running around for six damn years with you, chasing these figments of your imagination, and never once have I stopped to take time for myself. My life’s been in one endless circle and I find myself looking into the mirror, looking at a stranger, a shell of the person I once was. A person I wanted to be.”

She saw a frown etch across his forehead, his eyes full of questions.

He wanted answers. Well, he would have them, regardless of how much they would hurt. One good reason was all he wanted. This was reason enough.

“I did some thinking last night,” she told him. “Actually, I did a lot of thinking last night, this morning. I realized that I have been remiss in my obligations to myself, to my soul, for almost seven years of my life, and based on the evidence, based on all I’ve seen and experienced, I think I need to find myself again, to nurture myself, to do things that will reward me, enrich me, edify me.

“I want to be a doctor. I want to save lives. I’m tired of examining corpses, determining cause of death, time of death. I’m just tired of death. I want to live. I want to feel life again. I want to help people. I think–actually, I know– it was what I was called to do.”

“Scully…” Mulder murmured, interrupting her, “you’ve saved more lives than you can possibly imagine, right where you’ve been. You’ve made a difference.”

“But you don’t understand,” she argued, facing the window. “This is not what I was meant to do, to be. Ahab knew what I was supposed to do. He spent the last of his years a bitter man because of my choice.”

“And you think that by doing what your father wanted you to do, years and years ago, you’ll finally have his approval?” Mulder shook his head. “You can’t bring him back, Scully, no matter how much you try to make things right.”

She felt the tears forming again, and wiped them away quickly, before he could see them.

“You can’t go back,” Mulder whispered softly.

Finally, she was able to face him. “I may not be able to go back, but I can go forward,” she said, her voice shaky. “I can become what I should’ve been all these years and at least try to find some peace inside me.”

Mulder frowned again. “There is no peace, Scully. Not in this life. You said it yourself.”

“Maybe not, but it won’t stop me from trying to find some resolution, some sort of closure,” she murmured, almost to herself.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently caressing the soft skin there.

“You found your demons,” Mulder said softly.

She nodded.

“They won’t leave you alone.”

“No.” Dana fought back another wave of tears.

“Scully, listen to me. You can’t escape your demons by quitting this job and taking a different one. They won’t go away that easily.” His hand moved closer, up her shoulder, to the soft skin on the side of her neck. “You have to face them.”

Dana kept her head down, unable to look at him.

“I’m a man with my own demons,” he whispered softly, almost tenderly, in her ear. “I’ve had my share of pain, of hurt, of suffering, of disapproval from parents and family. I’ve lost as much as you have, if not more so, and sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the fight, the endless struggle, to have even a little piece of the answers I’ve been searching for all my life.”

She looked at him, her eyes full of questions.

“You know what keeps me going, Scully?” He moved closer to her. “The thought that someday I’ll be with my sister and all of this will be explained. I don’t even care about the whys or the wherefores of these cases. It’s just something to keep me busy.

“You keep me going, too,” he said softly, cupping her chin with his hand. “Just knowing that I have someone to bounce these crazy theories off of in the morning, knowing I’m not alone on this godforsaken planet keeps me in the loop, searching for answers that never seem to come.

“You’re a part of my journey, Scully, and I can’t imagine going down this road without you. Regardless of what happens to us, to the Files, I want you to walk down that road with me.”

Dana felt the tears pooling again, and did nothing to hide them this time.

“Forget the Bureau. Forget our jobs. All that matters to me is this.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “Us.”

Us.

Dana watched, helplessly, as Mulder’s lips grazed her forehead, robbing her of all breath.

“Can you walk away from us, Scully?”

His question was a whisper, caressing the delicate shell of her ear.

<…Someone’s knocking on my kitchen door…>

She frowned.

What the hell…?

<…Leave the wood…outside…what…>

What was right.

What the hell was she hearing?

Her ears followed the sound, to the stereo.

Shit.

Mulder was playing the CD.

Before she could argue, she found a finger on her lips, sealing them shut.

“Shhh…” Mulder’s voice was calming, soothing. “I asked you a question, Scully.”

A question.

Which one?

There were so many questions….

‘Don’t stop now what you’re doing…what you’re doing my ugly one….’

Her eyes widened as she heard the familiar music, a tender music-box ballad.

Jesus Christ.

Her consciousness began to swim with memories of last night…of the dream she’d had….

<Don’t stop, Mulder….don’t stop….>

“Scully?”

She opened her eyes.

“Scully, what is it?”

She swallowed, her throat incredibly dry.

‘You’re already in there…I’ll be wearing your tattoo… you’re already in there….’

“Scully?”

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

No luck.

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

‘I’m already in…circles and circles and circles again…’

She gasped.

More circles.

More goddamn endless circles.

Circles of years and truth and lies and dreams….

“Scully…?”

Yes….

“Scully, answer me. Are you all right?”

Her eyes fluttered shut, the images replaying themselves in her mind.

<Don’t stop, Mulder….yes….>

‘The girl’s in circles and circles and circles again…’

<Yes, melt my blouse with your breath…just like that…>

“Scully!”

“Scully, answer me!” He began to shake her. “Snap out of it!”

<Don’t think…no time to think….>

“Scully!”

“Scully!”

‘…Someone’s knocking on my kitchen door…’

“Scully, wake up!”

<No…can’t…wake up….>

‘…You can go now…you can go now…you can go now…you can go now….’

<No…don’t go…stay…here…>

‘You’re already in there…I’ll be wearing your tattoo…’

“Scully, dammit, wake up now! What the hell is wrong with you?”

‘Thought I was over the bridge now…over the bridge now…’

“Scully!”

‘I’m already in…circles and circles and circles again…’

‘Got to stop spinning…’

“I want you in….” she whispered aloud, lost in her head.

Suddenly, the rocking subsided.

Mulder….?

Her eyes opened.

Holy Mother of God.

He’d heard her.

“Scully?” Mulder’s face was anxious.

Dazed, she cast a half-lidded glance at him.

“Scully, are you all right? What happened to you?”

She said nothing, gazing blankly into his eyes.

The dream was taking over.

“What did you mean by that, Scully?”

Out of their own accord, her arms glided upward, encircling his neck, and, breathless, her mouth whispered the words again, against all her conscious reason.

“I want you in, Mulder. Here.”

Frowning, he searched her eyes, probing them for answers. “Want me where?”

Her cheek brushed against his, slowly.

“Here,” she whispered in his ear, her voice a caress.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she running away? Why wasn’t she putting up walls?

And why the hell was she pulling him closer to her, embracing him, feeling him, filling her nostrils with his scent?

Holy shit, what was she doing?

She felt his lips murmur against her neck.

“Scully….”

His voice was rough, his breath ragged, against her jawline.

“I hope you’re sane enough to know what you’re doing,” she heard him whisper gruffly.

She closed her eyes again, welcoming the dream.

“Scully….?”

Her eyes were closed, thousands of images were flooding her senses, and still she could feel her lips inching across his stubbled cheek, resting just above his chin.

And his breath, that beautiful sweet breath, covered her lips in ragged sighs as he trembled, fighting to remain perfectly still.

She felt that too, and shivered.

“Mulder….”

It was a request, a plea from the very depths of her soul as her breath began to join, to blend, with his.

They were here, not so long ago.

Another circle.

Another of many in her life.

‘Circles and circles and circles again….’

Opening her eyes, she found herself gazing into warm velvet, soft, sensual to her eyes, their breath moving in tandem, meeting in the fraction of an inch between them.

He had such beautiful eyes….

“Scully?” he whispered, his eyes asking what his mouth could not.

“Break the circle, Mulder,” she murmured in reply. “Break it.”

For the briefest of seconds, she watched him frown, his eyes filled with questions, but then, suddenly, she felt him reach for her, embracing her, his eyes filled with nothing but desire in granting her only wish.

“May the circle be broken, Scully,” he whispered, as his mouth closed the distance between them, descending on hers in one brief, blinding movement.

White heat penetrated her, with a force ten million tons of Armageddon as their lips melted into one, joining, blending and binding them to one another.

Hungrily, ravenously, their mouths moved together, joining over and over into one flesh, as if each could somehow find sustenance in the other, in lips, in mouths, in teeth clicking together by accident, in probing velvet tongues reaching to touch the souls within.

She felt his arms envelop her completely, clutching her desperately to him, holding her captive under his mouth, that beautiful warm, wet mouth kissing her face, her neck, tasting her essence.

This was where she wanted to be, where she should’ve been all these years. All these years of stubborn pride, of secret desire, of wishes and dreams untold, unconfessed, unrealized until now, in the maelstrom of their own madness.

And it was such a beautiful madness….

“Mulder,” she gasped, when his lips found the pulse at the base of her neck. “Mulder….”

She heard him groan a reply, his tongue encircling the delicate hollow.

Beautiful….

“Mulder….”

And then his lips were on hers again, bringing new life to her mouth, his tongue penetrating the space within, dueling with hers in a battle not for control, not for mastery, but for more pleasure, for more gratification.

Downward she fell, downward and backward her senses told her she was falling, until she was supine on the couch, with Mulder above her, fitting himself to her, her lips once again finding life in his.

His hands were everywhere, all over her, curled around her waist, splayed across her back, circling her hip, caressing her thigh, outlining the curve of her breast, cherishing every part of her he could reach, his lips worshiping what his hands could not.

She was liquid, warm, thick honey spreading over the couch, her body heavy with the sticky sweetness as she granted him every part of her, unbuttoning her blouse slightly to allow him still more access to the secrets she’d held captive for so long.

There was no need to set sail for Shangri-La with pleasures such as these in her own port, with Mulder’s lips working miracles on and around the swell of her breasts.

“So beautiful, Scully…”

Her body shivered, her ear tingling from his whispered words.

“Everything…so beautiful…”

Another shiver, this time from the cool air resting on her skin as Mulder removed her blouse completely, throwing it on the floor.

Yes….

Yes, she wanted this.

She’d wanted this for so long….

Her hips arched upward, grinding softly against his, asking him for more.

She felt him groan against her breast, his hips answering, moving in response against her.

Yes….

Her skirt slid down her legs without so much as a sound.

Yes….

Her fingers worked with his tie, loosening the knot, moving to the buttons of his shirt, while she felt his fingers working clumsily, brushing against her flesh while he fidgeted with the hooks of her brassiere.

Please….

And then release, as the lacy garment gave way, crumpling into a heap on top of his shirt.

She heard his groan of victory, witnessed the triumphant grin on his face, and then saw no more. She could only feel, and sense, and respond with a sudden gasp as his mouth was lost to her eyes and found again at the center of her breast.

“Mulder….” she moaned in delirium, her fingers grasping his hair, holding him captive, every nerve on fire as his lips and tongue circled her nipple, sucking it greedily, kissing it reverently, marking it with his scent, his stubbled cheek, as his possession, his property.

She heard herself calling for more, begging for more than his lips or his tongue, but something more satisfying, something to ease the ache deep within her, and was barely aware of his hands on her legs, easing her stockings down them, coaxing the satin material of her panties down one thigh, then another.

Her hands flailed toward his pants, reaching for them, but he shooed them away, choosing instead to divest himself of his remaining clothing.

Then he returned to her, covering her with himself, a blanket of hard, muscled flesh, warming her from the coolness of the winter evening, his lips once again blending with hers in a tender kiss.

His hands were everywhere again, discovering the secrets which had previously been hidden to him…the gentle curve of her back, the flatness of her stomach, the swell of her hips. Slowly, tenderly, he began to caress the softness of her thighs, spreading them to venture between.

“Mulder….”

She cooed his name over and over, caressing it between her lips, sighing as his touch became more insistent, fluttering gently across the swollen, satin flesh there.

Yes….

Oh, God, he was there, he was finally there, inside the heart of her, his fingers caressing her honey walls, circling round and round again, harvesting her essence for the fruits of her arousal.

This was how it was supposed to be, how it should’ve been all these years with and without it, beautiful, sacred, reverent, not some half-drunk, frantic groping after midnight in a hotel room like….

An image darted across her mind.

Dale.

Goddammit.

“Scully?”

Her eyes opened.

No….

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

She frowned.

He must’ve heard her, felt her tense at the thought, the slightest nuance of….

“Are you all right?”

His hands retreated from between her thighs, moving upward to caress her forehead, his touch velvet…soothing, comforting, wiping the image away.

Slowly, she nodded.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

She nodded again.

Mulder’s face moved within inches of hers, his expression pained with concern. “I don’t believe you.”

She winced, closing her eyes.

Of course not.

“Another demon?”

Her eyes fluttered open, gazing at him.

“You could say that.”

Another image flitted across her consciousness, dancing through her brain like that goddamn lambada.

No….

No….never….

She felt Mulder’s arms around her, absorbing the shivers that suddenly racked her body, and then his lips…warm, soft, sweet salvation.

“Scully, I’d give the world to get rid of your demons.” His breath was warm against her cheek.

She sighed, clinging to him tightly.

“Just stay here, Mulder.”

His lips claimed hers again, briefly, softly, as he breathed a reply against her mouth.

“I’ll stay if you will.”

She frowned, unsure of his meaning.

“Stay, Scully,” he pleaded without sound, only with whispered kisses as his lips brushed, trembling, against hers. “Please stay.”

* * *

<….Hair is gray and the fires are burning so many dreams on the shelf you say I wanted you to be proud of me I always wanted that myself….>

Gray….gray….everything was gray….

So gray….

Gray room, gray walls, gray furnishings….everything was so gray….

Quick cursory examination….nothing out of the ordinary in the living room…hair and fiber samples? Sure….sure, I’ll do your bozo work, Tyler, and while I’m at it, let me ram an icepick in your brain for being such a fucking asshole, bringing me out here for no other reason than to pick lint off the carpet….

….external exam reveals four wounds, one on each wrist and one across the throat….apparently self-inflicted, given the depth and penetration of the wound….not enough to have severed the jugular or carotid….cause of death appears to be one singular stab wound, penetrating the cranium and temporal lobe….

….‘You did something to Nora, didn’t you? You killed her for killing Ellen. Wife for wife.’….

….undetermined at present whether or not this wound was self-inflicted; however, given the other physical evidence, it is my opinion that this wound was rendered in a manner similar to the others….tox screen should determine whether or not this death was induced by any drug-related means….

….‘Subliminal messages, Scully. Recorded separately and added into the songs….’

….‘I hope you have enough connections to kick us out before we kick you in that prison cell. How does life plus twenty sound to you, Senator?’….

<There’s something believing in her voice again…>

….‘You and ALL your chauvinist cronies who think you can sweep your infidelities under the rug with a quick little phone call….’

….‘and for once, I’m going to stop this charade and see justice served….’

Open my eyes….

<Don’t be afraid to open your eyes….>

Dana was only faintly aware of the red-gold light filtering through the blinds.

Sunset.

Holy shit.

Where had the time gone?

<Don’t be afraid to open your eyes….>

She winced.

Her brain was screaming.

Goddammit, more voices.

When would they ever stop?

<…Maybe she’s right…>

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly bringing her back to life.

She’d been dreaming. Again.

Christ, where had the time gone?

And how had she ended up in her bed?

Her back prickled, the hairs raising, as Dana became slowly aware of a growing warmth there, with long arms wrapped around her torso, even longer legs entwined with hers.

Mulder.

Holy Christ, Mulder.

Naked.

Both of them.

How the hell…?

“Mmmmm….” she heard him moan in his sleep, his face blissful, innocent, almost boyish, as he slept, unawares.

She remained still, wrapped in Mulder’s embrace, as her brain slowly came to life, the voices quieting to a lull, as she scrambled to find an explanation.

What the hell had happened?

She remembered only bits and pieces…the funeral, the Senator, her sudden outburst, their argument in the car, the drive in silence, another argument, Mulder in her apartment, another argument, and then….

A sudden shiver paralyzed her thoughts, much like the myriad tremors which had racked her body only hours ago right here, in Mulder’s arms.

She remembered.

Sweet Mother Mary, she remembered.

Her half-lidded eyes fluttered open, then shut, as her body reminded her of the pleasures of languid release, welcomed, embraced willingly after six years of frustration, repression….

“Mmmmm….”

She felt him stir, shifting his weight forward, his hand gliding down her abdomen, possessing her.

Dana sighed.

Mulder may not have gotten rid of her demons, but he’d sure done a hell of a job making her forget about them.

In fact, she’d like to forget again, if she could find it in her heart to wake him up.

“Shculleee…” she heard him murmur, his voice garbled.

Like a girl, her heart leapt with some unexplained, irrational giddiness.

He was dreaming about her.

“Luvvvyoushcullee….”

Smiling slightly, she snuggled closer to him, welcoming the darkness.

* * *

<….Icicle icicle where are you going I have a hiding place when spring marches in will you keep watch for me I hear them calling….>

“Scully.”

<….Gonna laaaaayyy downnnnnn….>

“Scully, wake up.”

What…?

“Scully.”

She felt a push, against her shoulder, and as if by instinct, her eyes snapped open, her body springing to sudden life.

Mulder chuckled softly in her ear. “Not used to having strange naked men wake you up in the night, are you?”

She blinked, focusing her eyes on the sight of him lying next to her, his fingers straying absentmindedly through her hair, and murmured a reply.

“You’re naked. And you’re strange. Yeah, it’ll take some time to get used to you.”

He grinned, rolling her over to face him.

“I’ll take that as an invitation for a repeat performance,” he said, his hands roaming the length of her.

“Oh, you’re definitely invited back,” she bantered, grinning impishly. “Just don’t wear out your welcome.”

She felt his lips on her neck, moving lower to claim first one breast, then another.

“Oh, but I intend to do just that,” he mumbled against her breasts, punctuating the end of his sentence with a flick of his tongue. “I intend to wear lots of things out.”

“You promise?” she asked liltingly.

“I promise.” His lips moved lower to her navel.

Dana moaned, arching her back to allow him greater access, curling her fingers in his hair.

“I dreamed about you tonight.”

His statement was sudden, unexpected, in between nibbles of flesh.

“You did.”

“Mhm.” His tongue flicked across her inner thigh.

“What did you dream about?”

“Us,” he mumbled, burying his nose between her thighs, nudging them apart.

Dana helped him, gladly spreading them in obedience to his request.

“What ‘us’ did you dream about?” she prompted him, moaning when his tongue found her clit, licking it greedily like a starving man in dire need of sustenance.

“Don’t interrupt, Scully,” he said, his voice garbled. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

She gasped, sharply, when his teeth began nibbling the soft flesh, rolling it around in his mouth until it became engorged, pulsating and hardening into an erect little nub.

“You talk,” he muttered, his tongue moving lower.

“Ahhhh, Mulder….” she groaned, clutching his head as if she could push his tongue deeper inside her with just the slightest pressure.

Talk? How the hell could she talk at a time like this?

“What did you dream about?” he asked, lapping and sucking the juices coating her thighs.

“Um….”

Christ, it was hard to think, let alone talk, with his tongue where he’d been only hours earlier, joining her to him, making them one.

“Go ahead.”

His tongue returned to her clit, sucking softly as his fingers penetrated her.

“Ohhh…Jesus, Mulder…”

She ground against his mouth, against his fingers, squirming in mad delight.

“I won’t wait much longer,” he remarked, moving them deeper within her.

She grunted harshly, wildly, in agreement, pulling him up the length of her.

Mulder groaned as she gripped him, guiding him inside her. “Patience never was one of our virtues, was it, Scully?” he rasped, holding himself just within her.

Slowly, sweetly, Dana shook her head, wrapping her legs around him.

Mulder thrust deeply, once, stilling within her, as he held her expectant gaze. “To hell with virtue,” he grunted harshly. “Let’s be damned.”

* * *

They clung to each other afterwards, their sweat-soaked bodies trembling in a fulfilled unison.

“What did you dream about?” he asked her, holding her tightly to him.

She frowned. “What?”

“You heard me.” His hands traveled along her spine, resting just below her shoulders.

Sighing, she traced the outline of his jaw with her fingers, reveling in the sensation of stubble against satin flesh.

Typical of Mulder to rain on his own parade.

“I heard you moaning in your sleep, Scully. Something about the case, right before I woke you up. Something about a hiding place and icicles.”

She held her breath, looking away.

“Scully. Hello.” Mulder cupped her chin, turning her face back to him.

Sighing again, she met his gaze, her lip quivering slightly in remembrance. “I heard them again.”

“The voices?”

She nodded.

“Actually, they were songs. I heard songs in my head.”

“The songs on the CD.”

“Among others.” Dana shivered slightly.

Mulder responded quickly, covering them with the bedspread. “Better?”

She nodded again, gratefully.

“Keep going.” He wrapped his arms around her, absorbing her chill into his own body.

“All those songs on that video you’d brought to my mother’s house…I heard them too. I fell asleep listening to the music while it was playing and…I had dreams all night about the songs.” She shivered again, not from the cold, but from the memories she was being forced to relive.

“Actually,” she continued, “the songs made dreams for me.”

Mulder’s lips grazed her cheek.

“Tell me about them,” he whispered, drawing her closer to him.

She frowned. “Mulder…”

“Relax, Scully. I’m not asking for a confessional. Just tell me a little about them. Say whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“To be honest, Mulder, I’m not comfortable with any of it.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, his lips barely touching hers. “But it’s the only way you’re going to get these voices, these songs, whatever you want to call them, out of your head and out of your life.”

Another kiss.

“Remember, it’s my life too.”

She nodded.

“I know, Mulder.” Sighing, she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the lingering scent of sex and sweat.

He held her there in silence for several minutes, the only sound their slightly labored breathing and the sound of her still-racing heart.

When she was ready, when some fragment of a sentence had formed in her brain, she began in a faint murmur, whispering her secret into his waiting ears.

“I saw a gray room…I don’t know where it came from… something in a song, maybe. It was fuzzy at first, but I eventually recognized it.” She paused. “Nora’s apartment.”

Mulder nodded.

“I was back at the crime scene. It was Friday,” she continued, closing her eyes to remember with greater detail. “I remember feeling frustrated, mad at Tyler for taking me away from my vacation.”

“Go on.” Mulder swept a wayward strand of hair from her shoulder.

“Then I heard another song…the one about the hiding place and icicles.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve dreamed about it over and over and I can’t figure out how it fits into the rest of the dream.”

“Keep talking,” Mulder told her. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sighing, Dana paused for a minute before continuing.

“It jumped somehow…the dream. I was examining Nora’s body. There was no time…no time to do much more than an external exam,” she told him, “which doesn’t make sense either. I remember doing a complete internal exam on Friday…Saturday… whenever the hell I did it…”

“You’re remembering the important details,” Mulder explained. “Your brain’s streamlining, processing the information in some digestible form so that you’ll be able to better understand the past few days.”

She chuckled, once, softly, but loudly enough to raise his curiosity.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling slightly. “I never thought you’d end up being the logical one.”

Mulder grinned. “I get in people’s heads. It’s what I do.”

She matched him, grin for grin. “I’ll say.”

“You’re still the logical one, Scully,” he remarked, tousling her hair. “I haven’t been logical or rational enough in our six years to usurp your title out from under you.”

“Good thing you remember your place.”

Her grin was sly, secretive, as Mulder prompted her to continue with a slap on the rear.

“Keep talking, Scully. I want to get in your head.”

His lips were warm, soft, brushing against her earlobe.

“Among other things,” he murmured in her ear, “so hurry up.”

Mmmmm…

She’d hurry up all right.

“There were all kinds of songs,” she told him, nuzzling his earlobe. “I can’t remember them, and I wouldn’t even know which ones they were, but they had something to do with the case, with Nora.” She shrugged. “The dream was telling me something…something important. It was as if we had all the pieces right in front of us, all the evidence to solve this case. I just wish I could tie it all together.”

“Maybe you can,” Mulder said.

“How?”

“Maybe you’re missing the one element that could help you figure out what the songs were trying to tell you in your dream.”

She frowned. “What would that be?”

“The crime scene.”

Slowly, she pulled away to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“Scully, your subconscious is tying specific lyrics from the songs you’ve heard directly to the case, and I wouldn’t chalk it up to coincidence. I have a theory, and you might laugh, but I believe those songs are carrying some sort of message, some deeper significance, possibly in connection with the subliminal messages on that CD.”

Her frown deepened.

“The only way to connect the dots is to go to the source of the messages, the root of the problem, where all this originated,” he told her, waiting for her response.

Slowly, Dana began to nod in understanding, but suddenly shook her head.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“I don’t have access to the crime scene.”

“Neither do I.” Mulder grinned. “When has it stopped us before?”

Dana gave him a wary look.

“Come on, Scully, they’re done with the place. If Tyler’s covering up evidence, he’s not going back for more. No one even cares at this point what happens to that apartment. Besides, we’re probably going to be fired tomorrow for a helluva lot worse than this.”

He took her hand.

“Do it for me, Scully. For us. Even if we find nothing, even if nothing triggers your memory, we’ll at least go in front of OPR in the morning knowing we did all we could. Besides,” he said as his other hand roamed appreciatively across her body, “I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our unnatural lives together, wherever the hell we end up.”

She sighed, murmuring as his hand sought out and claimed a nipple.

“Mulder, it’s times like these that I wish you weren’t so goddamn persuasive.”

* * *

“Here it is, Apartment 4B. Our infamous crime scene,” Dana said, looking down the hallway.

Mulder pointed to the massive amount of crime tape plastered over the door and grinned. “Gee, you think?”

She glared at him.

“Hurry up, Mulder. This place gives me the willies.”

Mulder continued to grin as he picked the lock. “Agent Scully gets the willies and admits it aloud to her partner.”

She frowned.

“Looks like your demons are already leaving town, Scully,” he remarked, opening the door with a cavalier gesture.

When she balked, he looked at her, signaling for her to enter.

“Ladies first.”

Scully shook her head, her voice oozing sarcasm as she gestured for him to enter first. “Protect me, lover man.”

The apartment was bare, stripped of everything except the bare necessities. Even the carpet was missing.

“Talk about cleaning house,” Mulder remarked, surveying the living room with a grin. “I bet they made out like bandits in the yard sale.”

Looking around the room, Dana sighed wearily. “Now that we’re here, would you enlighten me as to what I’m supposed to be looking for?”

“I don’t know. That’s your department.” Mulder began examining the walls.

“My department? This is your theory, which got us both out of a nice warm bed. Would you mind explaining to me what I’m supposed to remember?”

Mulder shrugged. “Details of the crime scene you may have forgotten at the time, anything that happened before your personal involvement with this case. It’s a start.” He walked into the bedroom.

“Mulder, I’ve told you all I remember. There’s nothing more. The only thing that would trigger any memories at all would be the CD, and I’m not going to play that thing in this apartment. Who knows what demons I might pick up.”

“You might pick up Nora Benton,” was Mulder’s insightful reply.

Dana shivered.

“Hey Scully, who do you think decorated this place?”

She said nothing, tuning him out.

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

Sighing, she shouted towards the bedroom.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

Mulder seemed unaffected.

“A: Edgar Allan Poe. B: Morticia Addams. C: Stephen King. Think carefully, Scully. You could be the next millionaire.”

“Mulder, would you shut up and let me concentrate?”

What the hell was he trying to do?

“Relax, Scully, just trying to lighten the mood. This place gives me the willies too.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Lighten it later, after we’re gone,” she told him, searching the room for any mental clues. “I need quiet.”

What was in the corner there?

Slowly she approached the object, hidden in the shadows.

The stereo.

Nora’s stereo.

“You find anything?”

She turned toward the bedroom, where Mulder was standing.

“I don’t know,” she replied, turning back to the object in question.

“Sounds like a yes.” Mulder approached her. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just a stereo.”

“Just a stereo?” Mulder knelt in the corner, examining it. “In a bare apartment, stripped to practically nothing but the walls?”

She shrugged.

“It’s a stereo, Mulder. Big deal.”

Mulder picked it up, examining the outside. “You’re not looking hard enough.”

She glared at him. “Then tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for. Frankly, Mulder, I could care less. This is your idea. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’d like at least two hours’ sleep before we have to report before OPR.”

“Do you want to know what happened to you?”

Dana fell silent.

“Do you want to know what that dream means?”

Her eyes widened.

“Then keep looking.”

She sighed, kneeling beside him.

At least one good thing would come out of their termination; no more hairbrained, crackpot theories to debunk and destroy.

“Why did they leave behind a stereo, Scully?” Mulder asked her, opening up the CD tray and finding it empty.

“I don’t know.” Dana began looking around the room. “Did you find anything in the bedroom?”

“Nothing, not even a mattress. Clean as a whistle.”

“Maybe they were looking for something,” Dana mused aloud. “Something that required a stereo.”

Instantly they responded in unison.

“The CD.”

Of course…that was it.

“There’s no other explanation, Scully. They’re looking for that CD.” Mulder’s eyes glinted with understanding. “It’s the one piece of evidence they haven’t been able to locate, to destroy. They must think Nora hid it somewhere, just before she died, and they’re still looking for it. That would explain the massive amount of tape on the front door. They keep having to seal off the crime scene.”

Dana frowned.

“Even if that were true, Mulder, even if they were looking for the CD, that still doesn’t explain why the stereo is here. The disk doesn’t require any special equipment to be played. Why would they need to keep this particular stereo in the apartment?”

“Maybe it’s not a normal stereo.” Mulder began fiddling with the buttons.

She frowned.

“Mulder, explain.”

“Think about it, Scully. Maybe this stereo’s been tampered with. Maybe it operates on some super-high frequency that enables the subliminal messages to be heard.”

“Or maybe they believe the CD needs this particular stereo in order to be played,” Dana chimed in, interrupting him before he could elaborate on his newest idea. “Mulder, no common radio can pick up any high-frequency signal. Even if they were to have modified the receiver, which is highly unlikely, you forget that in order to play a compact disk, the radio has to be turned off.”

“Still coloring inside the lines, Scully.” Mulder shook his head. “I thought I might have rubbed off on you.”

“Mulder, it would take a lot of rubbing to get me to think like you,” she replied, gasping as Mulder grabbed her by the waist.

“I’m game if you are,” he murmured in her ear.

Smiling, Dana pushed him away.

“Later, Romeo. Right now we have to figure out why they want that CD, why they keep looking for it.”

Mulder grinned. “Sure you don’t want me to rub you?”

She saw the look in his eyes, the hint of mischief glinting in them, and smiled secretively, fighting like hell to ignore the sudden rush of arousal.

Her heart began pounding, not from Mulder’s attempt at seduction, but from a sound, soft, faint, moving down the hallway.

Mulder heard it too, and looked at her.

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed.

Nodding, he rose to his feet, moving toward the door.

“No…don’t close it. Whoever it is, they’ll see you.” Dana pulled him away.

“Scully, we have to close the door.”

“No. We’ll find another way out.” She began moving toward the window in the bedroom.

The footsteps grew louder, stopping at the front door.

Shit.

“You got a Plan B yet, Scully?” Mulder whispered as he fought with the window.

She shook her head, closing the bedroom door.

“That window is Plan B,” she whispered back, shushing him as the footsteps grew nearer.

Someone was here.

The question was, who?

She leaned her ear to the door, hearing voices.

* * *

“Great,” one voice said in frustration, shuffling his feet across the floor. “Someone’s been here.”

“Maybe it was your new friend,” the other voice said, slightly higher, rougher than the first.

Dana motioned for Mulder to join her at the door.

Mulder listened to their conversation, frowning. “I know that voice,” he said.

“Who?”

“I heard it on the CD, after Byers isolated the messages,” he told her. “You know it too.”

“Who is it?”

“Two guesses,” Mulder whispered. “Both of them right.”

Tyler and Dorne….dammit.

This couldn’t be happening.

They were trapped.

“What do you think they’ll do if they find us here?” she asked him, her face mere inches from his.

“Besides killing us?”

Her throat went dry.

“I don’t know, Scully. I’m fresh out of ideas.” Mulder moved to the window again, tugging in vain.

* * *

“…Do you think they found it?” the Senator asked.

“Found it?” Tyler paced the floor, his footsteps heavy. “I think they have it. I can’t prove it, but I will. Tomorrow morning they’re as good as fired. After they’re out of the Bureau, I’ll file criminal charges against them for tampering with a crime scene, B and E, withholding evidence, and obstruction of justice, the least of which will get us a search warrant.”

Dana winced.

This wasn’t good.

“Mulder, they know,” she whispered. “They know we have the CD.”

Mulder nodded, moving again to the window.

* * *

“Half the evidence is gone,” Tyler told the Senator. “As in disappeared. Not destroyed.”

“They took it?” Dorne yelled, enraged.

“I’ve got footage on tape from Headquarters. It’s all there. He took her journals, she took Nora and did an unauthorized autopsy on her. I plan on showing it tomorrow morning for the grand finale.”

Holy shit.

She’d forgotten about the cameras.

Christ, their asses were as good as fired, if they lived through this.

* * *

“…Don’t worry, David,” Tyler said. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Nothing better happen to me, dammit!” Dorne shouted. “You said you would take care of it. What the hell have you been doing, sitting on your ass all weekend?”

“Look, we didn’t plan on this happening so fast–”

“So fast?! Goddammit, Brandon, didn’t you think someone would start nosing around? None of this was by the book; you told me so on Friday, after all hell broke loose. I trusted you, dammit.”

“Everything will be fine in the morning,” Tyler said reassuringly. “We’ll get that warrant and search both their places for the disk and everything else. They’ll be lucky if they ever see the light of day when we’re through with them.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about those agents,” Dorne yelled. “Someone else is going to start raising questions. Someone in that meeting will eventually put two and two together and launch another investigation after the fact, and where will that leave us? Right back where we began. I will not be implicated in this murder, do you understand me?”

“David–”

“I trusted you to take care of this. After all I’ve done for you, after all the strings I’ve pulled to get you where you are, this is the thanks I get?!”

“We’ll take care of it, I promise.” Tyler sounded desperate. “Even if someone launches an investigation, they have nothing without the evidence. NOTHING, David.”

“You say that now, but who knows what else is out there, floating around? That jackass Mulder could’ve put everything on the Net by now.”

“It still won’t jeopardize the patent.”

Dana gasped.

So that was what he wanted.

“The plot thickens,” Mulder whispered in her ear, nudging her closer. “Relax, Scully, you just might get your answers after all.”

“Even if I get that goddamn patent,” Dorne yelled, “I still have to deal with authorities if they catch wind of anything else. That disk was special. Different from the others. If they find out what was on that disk, if they hear my voice in those songs, I’m a dead man.”

“So you killed Nora. So what. She killed Ellen with that damn music anyway.”

“Ellen didn’t deserve to die.”

“Ask Nora that. You left her for Ellen.”

Dana turned to Mulder.

“He did this?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Mulder nodded. “Tit for tat, Scully. Nora killed Ellen with her CD, he killed Nora with one of his own. I think it’s safe to say he pirated her therapy and used it for his own ends. Nora knew what he was doing. That’s why she fought so hard to get her affairs in order. She knew it was only a matter of time before he was going to try to kill her. It just happened sooner than anyone expected.”

She paled.

“Nora couldn’t even change her will in time to keep him from getting everything,” Mulder told her.

Dana frowned. “Her will?”

“Full estate, transferred to her beloved David. Including her patent.”

Jesus.

Dana’s mind began to reel.

“You mean…I was listening to…?”

“Dorne’s CD,” Mulder said, finishing her sentence. “He would’ve killed you too, if you hadn’t stopped it in time.” He sighed. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, before you laughed at my so-called ‘bullshit’ theory.”

She shook her head, completely amazed.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she whispered, her lips grazing his cheek.

“Save your apologies, Scully.” Mulder smiled slightly at her. “I want to relish every word when we’re out of this.”

* * *

“…Whose side are you on anyway?” Dorne’s voice was low, threatening.

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Tyler replied. “I’m merely stating the facts.”

“You said she deserved to die,” Dorne reminded him. “Or was that after you found out about the patent?”

“I’m not saying anything!” Tyler’s voice began to rise. “I’m saying that I don’t blame Nora for lashing out against you.”

“What about her killing all those women in what was supposed to be group therapy? Did they deserve to die too? Did Ellen deserve to die?”

“No one deserves to die,” Tyler said, attempting to reason with the Senator. “No one has the right to take a life.”

“You’re preaching to the wrong man,” Dorne yelled. “You should’ve thought about that before you agreed to be a part of this.” He laughed. “I should’ve known you’d only be in it for the money.”

Tyler said nothing.

“You heartless little bastard. I got you in the Bureau. I got you your little promotions. I made you out of sympathy for your poor dead mother, and look how you repay your own family. I ought to have you fired too.”

“Oh my God…Mulder…”

Mulder listened intently, whispering in her ear.

“It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

“David, just relax…please…”

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do!” Dorne yelled to his. “This is MY life. MY deal. I call the shots around here. If you want out, you get out. But it’ll cost you.”

And then silence, for several seconds.

Dammit, where was a peephole when she needed one? If only she could see what they were doing….

“No, David…don’t….”

“You wanted to see what the big deal was,” Dorne said, walking over to the corner. “You’ve got your chance.”

Dammit, she wished she could see something. Anything.

“What are they doing, Mulder?”

“Hell if I know.” Mulder tried peeking through the door hinge, to no avail.

And then music.

Familiar music.

Jesus Christ, no…

“Cover your ears, Scully,” Mulder said, his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t want to hear this.”

‘You know you’re gonna lie to you…

‘In your own way….’

Dana heard a groan emanating through the door.

Tyler….

Jesus Christ, he was doing it.

Dorne was actually doing it.

“Don’t listen, Scully,” Mulder growled, covering her ears to protect her.

She shrugged him off. “I’m fine, Mulder,” she hissed, glaring at him. “Dammit, I’m fine.”

“I’m not taking any chances this time,” he said, reaching for her again.

“Dammit, Mulder!” she yelled. “I’m fine, I tell you!”

“Quiet! Do you want them to find us?”

“…Did you hear something?”

“Hear what?”

“Someone yelling. Through that door.”

“I can’t hear anything with this goddamn music blaring in my ears,” Tyler complained. “Enough’s enough, David. Turn it off.”

“No. You wanted to hear it, you got your wish. Now sit down and listen, dammit, or I’ll put a bullet right through your ears.”

“Mulder, he’s armed.”

Mulder nodded. “We have to get out of here.”

“What about Tyler?”

“Tyler can take care of himself.” Mulder’s eyes hardened. “Let him learn his lesson.”

Dana glared at him. “May I remind you that Tyler is still a federal agent, as are we? It’s our duty to assist a fellow agent in an emergency situation.”

“Come morning, we won’t be anything,” Mulder reminded her. “We both know our jobs are gone the minute we step in front of OPR. He did this to us, Scully. He deserves whatever he gets for lying about those women, covering up those murders.”

“Well, you can leave. I’m calling for backup.”

Mulder stared at her, amazed.

“Scully, after all that’s happened, after all the shit you’ve been through, you want to help him?”

“It’s not a question of choice. It’s a question of duty. Duty we still have, until they take our badges.” She frowned. “Besides, we’re not going anywhere. That window’s stuck.”

“I’ll break it if I have to,” he muttered, glancing outside. “I’m not letting you stay here, not with that music.”

“Mulder…” she hissed.

“That music is deadly, Scully. It killed Nora Benton. It almost killed you. Something in those messages promotes a negative subconscious reaction, resulting in delusions, dementia, and eventual death. If you’re exposed to it again, it will kill you.” He moved to the window.

“I don’t care. Tyler’s in trouble. It is our duty to help him to safety. If I go crazy, if it kills me, fine. I’ll take that risk.”

“You’d die for Tyler.” Mulder frowned.

“Yes.” Her voice was strained.

“Why?”

She moved toward Mulder. “If we save his life, he might drop the incident with OPR.”

“If everyone finds us here, Scully, it’s over. Everything. They’ll want to know why we were here, how we were able to apprehend Dorne. Tyler won’t defend us; he’ll be trying to save his own ass from a jail cell. If you call for backup, you can kiss our collective asses goodbye.”

“Mulder, our asses are as good as gone, however you look at it,” she whispered. “What have we got to lose?”

He stopped, staring at her.

“Each other,” he murmured, tugging again at the window.

* * *

“…I know I heard something.”

“It’s probably just a mouse,” Tyler said. “Nora wasn’t the most immaculate housekeeper.”

“Mice don’t speak English,” Dorne growled. “And you’d better shut up.”

* * *

“Mulder, he’s coming this way.”

Mulder said nothing, tugging on the window with little success.

“You know Scully, this window’s as bad as you are,” he remarked, grunting as he pulled again on the window. “Neither of you budge an inch.”

Dana glared at him, drawing her weapon.

“You keep talking, Mulder, and neither one of us will be budging at all.” She stood still, her heart pounding as she aimed at the door.

The footsteps stopped, just outside.

Dana held her breath, watching the handle move only a fraction of an inch, resisting the motion.

Locked.

The shadows filtered through the crack in the bottom of the door, stilling themselves for only a second, then retreating, the footsteps moving away, back toward the corner of the room.

Thank God.

She lowered her weapon slowly, returning it to her holster.

“I’m calling Skinner,” she hissed. “We need backup.”

* * *

“…This is terrible news.” Skinner’s voice was grim.

Dana sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Where’s Dorne?”

“In the living room. He’s armed. With what, I don’t know. We haven’t been able to observe anything from here.” She paused for a moment. “There is a possibility that he may be inflicting some torturous device on Agent Tyler, but we can’t be certain.”

“What kind of torture?”

She took a deep breath.

“Music, sir.”

“Music?! What the hell…?!”

Frowning, Dana interrupted him, trying to keep her voice as low as possible.

“I can’t explain right now. There’s no time. Agent Mulder has a theory, though. A theory which so far has proven to be accurate.”

“What theory is this?”

She sighed. “Just trust me, sir. We’ll explain later. Just send someone over as soon as possible.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for what seemed like an eternity.

“Stay right there. Don’t move from that bedroom unless he fires. We’ll be right over.”

Dana breathed a sigh of relief.

“And Scully?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do when this is over, both of you. I hope you’re prepared.”

She sighed wearily.

“I understand, sir.”

Frowning, she returned the phone to her coat pocket.

“What’d he say?” Mulder moved closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak, and suddenly found it very dry.

“He’s coming.”

She watched Mulder’s response, his lip twitching slightly.

“Raise the white flag, Scully. It’s all over.”

* * *

She’d had the strength of his beliefs, the strength of his faith, all these years, and now, when it mattered the most, when everything was falling down around them, she now had the strength of his embrace, holding her tightly to him.

“Whatever happens, Scully, I’m not going to let you go,” he murmured in her ear. “I haven’t had you long enough to share you with anyone, least of all the Grim Reaper.”

She sighed softly.

“We’ll get through this, without the Files, without our jobs,” he murmured against her ear. “I’ll get those demons out of your head with a pickaxe and a crowbar if I have to.”

Smiling, she rested her head against him.

“Do you think we can live a normal life, Mulder?” she murmured softly, staring into space. “After all we’ve seen and experienced, do you think it’s possible?”

“Define normal.” Mulder’s voice was gentle, tender, his voice a caress in her ear.

“You know what I mean.” She wrapped her arms more tightly around his waist.

Mulder chuckled. “I doubt either of us have ever lived a normal life, Scully.” He grinned. “Even before we met.”

Her smile returned. “I think you’re right.”

She felt herself pulled more tightly to him.

“What will you do, Scully?” he asked her. “When all’s said and done and we’re out of the Bureau, what will you do for a living?”

“Exactly what I wanted to do, long ago,” she murmured. “With a few minor adjustments.”

“What’s that?”

She sighed. “Be a doctor.”

“But you are a doctor.”

Smiling, she looked up at him. “Smart ass.”

“Guilty as charged.” Mulder grinned at her. “So spill the beans already.”

She pulled away from him, only for a moment.

“Do you remember when I said I wanted to save lives, to cheat death?”

Mulder nodded.

“How better to cheat death than to help children live longer lives?” she asked him, smiling slightly at his appreciative look.

“She was so young, Mulder. So little.” Her eyes began clouding with tears at the sudden memory of Emily. “She never had a chance to live.”

Dana felt his arms enclose around her again.

“I would’ve given anything to give her that life.”

His hands caressed her gently, sending feather-light chills up and down her body.

“There was nothing you could do,” he said softly, continuing to hold her.

“I know.” She sighed. “But there is something I can do now. I can save other children. I can help them, Mulder. I know I can.”

Mulder’s hands brushed across her neck.

“It’s what Emily would’ve wanted.”

She felt his lips, soft on her forehead.

“I think you’d make a great doctor, Scully. Especially with children.”

She pulled him closer, enjoying the brief silence that settled between them.

“What about you, Mulder?” she asked. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder replied. “I never thought I’d have to do anything different. I guess I just assumed I’d live in that basement for the rest of my life, poring over the files, searching the skies for any sign of my sister.”

“No other plans?”

“No other plans.” He smiled. “I love what I do.”

Dana smiled.

“You’ll have to do something,” she murmured. “I could support both of us, but I don’t think you’d be happy spending the rest of your life as a couch potato.”

He chuckled. “What can you see me doing?”

“I see you doing the same thing you’re doing now, only without Bureau resources,” she told him. “You don’t have to give up searching the skies.”

“You wouldn’t mind having a crackpot for a lifetime partner?” he asked, grinning.

Her smile widened, her eyes luminous.

“Is that a proposal, Mulder?”

“It might be.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

“Who says I need a ring?”

“I say you need a ring.” She gave him a mocking glare.

Mulder laughed softly, murmuring a reply against her lips. “Will you take a raincheck on the ring?”

She nodded.

“Then consider this an unofficial proposal, a declaration of intent, etcetera, etcetera.” His mouth descended upon hers, kissing her softly.

* * *

They heard the shot suddenly, and then another, before either of them could react.

“Mulder–” she gasped, pulling herself out of his arms. “Was that–”

Mulder nodded, drawing his weapon. “Halftime’s over.”

Instinct took over, and the door flew open, the knob falling lifeless to the floor as Mulder kicked through the lock.

“Federal agent!” Mulder yelled, aiming his weapon at Dorne. “Don’t move!”

Dorne froze suddenly, his eyes wide.

“Drop your weapon.” Mulder’s voice was commanding. “Now.”

The Senator did as he was told, slowly lowering his gun to the floor.

Dana knelt beside Tyler, feeling for a pulse.

“How is he, Scully?”

She shook her head.

Mulder’s eyes never left Dorne. “How does it feel to finally be caught, Senator?”

Dorne said nothing.

“You might have been able to cover up Nora’s death, but you can’t cover up this one.” He moved closer to the Senator. “You’re going to jail, Senator Dorne, not only for the murder of a federal agent, but for the murder of Nora Benton.”

Dorne frowned. “You have nothing on me. You have nothing linking me to Nora’s death. All you have is a few scraps of paper, circumstantial evidence at best.”

“Would you consider this circumstantial?” Mulder retrieved the CD from his pocket.

Dorne’s frown deepened.

“I heard the messages, Senator. I know you encoded them into the songs. You stole Nora’s therapy and perverted it, twisted it into an evil means to an end. Nora’s end.”

Dorne said nothing.

“You knew you’d get her patent if you killed her before she changed her will,” Mulder said, his voice raising. “You had no idea she knew of your plans and was plotting a counterstrike against you.”

Dorne glared at Mulder. “How do you know all this?” he yelled, his eyes wide. “Where the hell did you get this information?”

“From the journals and the evidence you and Agent Tyler conspired to destroy.” Mulder followed the Senator as he backed toward the wall.

“You can’t prove a word of what you’ve said,” Dorne shouted feverishly, his expression crazed. “I’d like to see you convince a jury that a couple of songs killed my wife.”

“Both wives,” Mulder reminded him.

Dorne reached for the CD, wildly, but Mulder threw it out of his reach, on the floor toward the stereo.

“Even if I can’t prove you killed Nora with your subliminal messages, Senator,” Mulder continued, “I can still get your ass behind bars for killing Agent Tyler.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Dorne threatened. “In a few hours you’ll be out of a job.”

Dana saw a frown etch deep ridges in Mulder’s forehead.

Dorne had hit a sore spot.

<Dammit, Mulder, don’t lose it,> she thought to herself, hoping he could read her mind.

Dorne spoke again, his voice filled with venom.

“At least I can go to jail with the satisfaction of knowing your ‘illustrious’ career–” he spat sarcastically, “–is finished.”

“Are you insulting me, Senator?” Mulder wanted to know.

Dana frowned.

<Don’t lose it, Mulder.>

Dorne nodded. “Someone needs to put you in your place.”

Dana watched Mulder fight to hold himself in check.

Spooky Mulder did not like to be reminded of his place.

Rising, Dana moved over to him, murmuring in his ear. “Don’t do it, Mulder. Don’t play his game. He’s just trying to bait you, to upset you.”

“Yeah, and he’s doing a good job of it.” Mulder glared at his target.

The Senator smiled as he watched their exchange with great interest. “I was wondering when your little partner was going to join the party,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

Mulder frowned. “She’s been trying to leave your goddamn party, but you won’t stop the music. You just keep her dancing round and round.”

“And what do you mean by that, Agent Mulder?” Dorne grinned devilishly.

“Mulder…” she warned, holding him back with the slightest pressure on his arm.

The last thing they needed was for Dorne to know what had happened to her.

“It’s all right, Scully,” Mulder said, moving closer to Dorne. “It’s over now.”

Dana watched him gesture to her, with a secret look that only she could translate.

Dorne should be restrained.

“Hands behind your back, Senator,” she said, walking behind him.

“By all means,” Dorne said softly, almost sensually. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be held captive by a pretty redhead.”

Dana’s eyes widened.

What the hell….?

“Hands behind your back, Senator,” she repeated, more forcefully.

The Senator frowned slightly, his voice soft.

“I’m disappointed, Agent Scully. I thought you would have been more receptive.”

She frowned. “Your smooth talk might have worked on Nora Benton, but it won’t work on me. Now put your hands behind your back and cooperate or I’ll be forced to do it myself.”

His reply was instantaneous.

“You promise?” he said, almost eagerly.

Suddenly, quickly, Mulder closed the distance between them and slammed his weapon against Dorne’s temple. “I ought to shoot you right here and now, you bastard. Don’t you know when to quit?”

The Senator gasped, his eyes wide.

“Cuff him, Scully. Do it.”

Dana reached for her handcuffs, and realized the worst with a sinking feeling.

She’d forgotten them.

She must’ve left them at the apartment. She did. She left them at the apartment, thinking she wouldn’t need them.

Holy hell.

“What are you waiting for?” Mulder asked. “Do it.”

She sighed.

“Lend me yours, Mulder,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I seem to have misplaced mine.”

Senator Dorne laughed. “Misplaced your handcuffs? Agent Scully, again you disappoint me.”

Mulder glared at the Senator, his lips curling into a snarl.

“Shut up, Dorne.” He reached for his own set, glancing away for only the briefest of seconds.

And then it happened, too fast, too quickly for even a federal agent to react in time, to avoid the inevitable consequence of a moment’s distraction.

Without warning, without any hint of future action, Dorne had somehow found a way to shove her around in front of him, his arm wrapped around her neck like a vise.

Jesus, holy Christ….how had he done it?

She saw Mulder react, his body twitching into action one second too late, taking a step forward, his weapon trembling in his hand.

“Dorne, you bastard,” she heard him say, his voice breaking. “Let her go.”

She could see the fear in Mulder’s eyes, the pain, the tortured worry which had replaced the velvet love from mere hours before.

She wanted to see that velvet love again. Not this. Christ, not this….

“You heard me, Dorne,” he said again, more forcefully. “Let her go.”

Let her go.

Yes, let her go.

Christ, someone needed to let go…of all of this…. all the fear and pain and worry and regret and….

“No.”

No?

What was that?

Yes. Yes, let her go. Let her go….

“No.”

The voice came from behind her, grumbling in her ear.

Dorne.

Goddamn him….

“Drop the gun, Agent Mulder,” growled Dorne. “Drop it or I’ll crush her lovely little neck.”

She felt his other hand wrap around her waist, gripping her holster.

Shit.

He had taken her weapon.

Now she felt her weapon, steel against cranium, for the second time in mere hours.

Dear God…

Silently, she began reciting the Pater Noster, praying for a miracle.

“Drop the gun,” Dorne threatened, pressing the gun into her skull. “I mean it.”

Slowly, gently, Mulder lowered his weapon toward the floor, his face contorted with worry.

Christ, she couldn’t live with that look. She might as well take a bullet in the brain.

Her eyes closed, rejecting the image.

“Slide it over.” Dorne’s free arm snaked around her arms and torso, holding Dana against him. “Slowly.”

Dana watched the gun move, almost of its own will, towards the Senator, resting right at her feet.

“You won’t escape, Dorne.” Mulder stood, taking one step toward them.

Dana gasped when she felt the barrel of the gun press even further to her head.

“Stay back,” Dorne warned him, “or I’ll shoot her. I swear I will.”

Mulder’s eyes widened slightly, only a fraction of an inch, but enough for Dana to discern the subtlety of his reaction.

Mulder knew Dorne meant business.

Slowly she watched him retreat, her brain screaming in protest across the room.

<No, Mulder. Don’t do this. Be a man, goddammit, be a man and fucking take him down, even if it means taking me down with him. Put him away.>

“Go. Over there.” Dorne gestured to the corner where Agent Tyler lay, crumpled on the floor. “Pick up the disc on the floor and play it.”

The disc…oh God no….

Her eyes widened in tandem with Mulder’s.

Jesus, he looked terrified. At least to her. To any normal observer, any stranger, he looked calm and collected, indomitable, with no external clues to the turmoil within. But she knew. She knew what he was thinking. She knew he knew what was about to happen.

She knew neither of them wanted it to happen, least of all herself.

The thought was completely mortifying.

“Do it!” Dorne yelled, pressing the gun still further into her flesh.

Dana winced in pain, struggling to free herself from his grip.

Where the hell was Skinner?

She watched Mulder nod slowly, taking the CD and inserting it gently into the player.

“You said Agent Scully’s been dancing to my music. Am I correct?” Dorne yelled.

Mulder barely nodded in reply.

“What did you mean by that?” Dorne wanted to know.

Mulder’s jaw tensed suddenly.

“I think you already know, Senator,” Mulder replied. “You don’t even need to ask.”

Dorne smiled slightly, his eyes glinting with a hint of something feral.

“Then let’s turn up the volume,” he said, pulling Dana more tightly to him. “Play the disc, Agent Mulder.”

She gasped. No….

Mulder’s eyes locked with hers, questioning, pleading.

“Play it!”

Dorne rammed the gun into her temple, speaking softly in Dana’s ear.

“I heard about your little emergency, Agent Scully. How about a demonstration?”

* * *

The music began again, as it had only days before, the wailing guitars and the drums in triple meter.

The waltz of death.

She struggled in Dorne’s grip, vainly.

Let her go, Dorne.

‘She’s addicted to nicotine patches

‘She’s afraid of the light in the dark

‘6:58 are you sure where my spark is

‘Here. Here. Here.’

Dana winced.

Holy Christ, not again. Not again….

“It works, doesn’t it, Agent Scully?” Dorne hissed in her ear.

She struggled against him.

“Is that what you said to Nora when you killed her?” Mulder yelled, rising from the floor. “Were those your final words to her?”

Dana’s throat jerked convulsively when she felt Dorne tighten his grip around her larynx.

Jesus, she was choking….

“You’d better watch your words, Agent Mulder,” Dorne growled, squeezing her throat. “Your partner’s next breath depends on them.”

She saw Mulder frown, his look pure venom.

“Dorne, you son of a….”

His grip tightened.

“I told you, watch your mouth,” Dorne said, breathing heavily in Dana’s ear as she gasped for even the smallest breath. “Unless you want her to die.”

Dana gasped frantically, her lungs burning. God, she’d say something, if she could just get enough of a breath….

Please don’t let it end like this.

‘…Say you don’t want it again and again

‘but you don’t…don’t really mean it…’

Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, his grip lessened on her throat.

Thank God.

“She will die, you know,” Dorne said, “unless you help her.”

What the hell…?

She watched Mulder frown, a look of complete puzzlement washing over him slowly, permeating his brain through the silence between them.

“How can I help her?” he finally said, his voice soft.

Dorne began caressing her cheek with the barrel of her own weapon, moving it in slow circles next to her skin. “You help her by helping me.”

Help Dorne? No….

“How?”

“Help me out of here. Call off the cops. Let this all go, and I’ll make sure you keep your pathetic little job for the rest of your life.”

Mulder’s frown deepened. “What, so you can play your mind game with some other unwitting victim? You’re going to jail, Senator. The only help you need is waiting with a straitjacket and a padded cell, maybe even to your own music. I’m sure that’s the only way you and everyone else on the planet will ever hear it again.”

She felt Dorne jerk swiftly, suddenly, in response.

Holy hell.

“Really?” Dorne growled. “I’m sure your partner thanks you for your assistance.”

He hit her with the barrel of the gun.

* * *

‘If the divine master plan is perfection

‘Maybe next I’ll give Judas a try…’

She welcomed the blackness, barely hearing Mulder’s voice as she nodded slowly into the netherworld.

* * *

“Goddamn you, you bastard,” Mulder yelled, lunging toward Dorne.

“Watch your mouth, Mulder, or I’ll hit her again,” Dorne said, aiming the gun at him.

Mulder’s eyes widened as he took several steps back, his hands in the air.

“How would you like to see her go?” Dorne wanted to know. “It’s all up to you.”

Mulder frowned.

“I could choke her, but that wouldn’t be too pretty. I’d hate to see her suffer needlessly. One bullet here–” he pointed the gun at her head, “–would be a merciful death indeed. Or we can turn up the music and give her weapon back to her so she can finish the job on her own. Which will it be?”

He said nothing, his eyes fixed on Dana, who was fighting to stay conscious.

“I never saw Nora die, but I hear it was beautiful,” Dorne told him. “She just took the icepick and rammed it right through her pretty little head. Did it all herself.”

“You did it to her, you son of a bitch,” Mulder yelled. “You made her do it with that music, with those messages.”

“And I’d still like to see you prove that in a court of law,” Dorne replied, holding Dana’s wobbly head against his chest. “I think you and I should negotiate.”

Mulder shook his head. “Never.”

“Fine.” Dorne finally released her, watching her crumple on the floor. “You can watch her die.”

* * *

Dana’s brain was screaming, her senses fighting to stay awake, to fight the darkness that threatened to envelop her. If it weren’t for that goddamn music and the voices singing in her head, she’d have been out by now.

For once, she could thank the voices.

<Crucify!> they yelled in unison, marching toward her, their leader suddenly clear in her mind as he led the army nearer.

Dorne.

Oh God….

* * *

She felt hands on her face, soft, soothing hands she knew personally, intimately in every sensation.

“Scully.”

His voice was strained, painful, but welcome to her ears, her senses.

Hold them back, Mulder. Hold them all back.

“Scully, wake up,” she heard him plead.

Hold them back. Help me fight them….

“Scully?”

Fight them….

“Forget it, Agent Mulder. She can’t hear you.”

<Crucify!>

<Physician, heal thyself!>

<You’re someone I used to know, a long time ago, but not who you’re supposed to be.>

Who am I supposed to be, Mom?

<Crucify!>

<Physician, heal thyself!>

Who am I supposed to be…?

No….this isn’t you, Ed….

But I can’t go back….

<There’s your truth, Mulder. Nothing but circles. Circles and circles and circles again…>

<‘Got to stop spinning….’>

Oh…kiss me…yes….melt my blouse with your breath… just like that…just do it do it do me Mulder and make me forget…help me remember…

Yes….

Yes, please….

<Don’t leave…I want you to come….>

Oh, yes, Mulder, yes….

YESSSSS….

No…no, Dale….

No…no…don’t…want….

Didn’t….

Did….

Ohhhhh…..

<What’s the matter, Dana? Is the good doctor bereft of words for once in her life?>

Goddamn you, Dale Dawson…get out of my head….

Dad…?

Aye, aye, sir…

Dad….

Yes, I know… I know….

<You’ve let the leaks in, and now you’re sinking.>

Help me Dad…help me remember who I was…who I am….

I’m sorry, Dad…please forgive me….

So sorry….

Yes….

<I’ll meet the both of you on the eastern shore.>

Shangri-La….

I see it….

I found it…help me ashore, Dad. I’m here….

“Scully!”

Here….

“Scully, dammit, answer me!”

She heard them all, both armies battling in her head, and stood still, awaiting her capture.

She was tired of fighting. Tired of waiting. But she’d be damned if she’d let them get to her first.

Slowly her tortured eyes began to open, resting on the metal object mere inches away.

Hers?….Mulder’s?….Dorne’s?….Whose was it? Oh hell. It didn’t matter anyway…it would do….anything would do at this point….

Her fingers extended toward the weapon, feathering weakly around the barrel.

“Scully?” she heard a voice say just above her, wavering and trembling with emotion.

<Take it,> another voice said inside her.

Yes….take it….

“Scully! What the hell are you doing?”

Take it….

“Don’t move!” she heard another voice say.

Too many voices….

“I won’t let you do this.”

“I’m not doing anything, Agent Mulder. She’s doing it all herself.”

“You think that’ll save your ass in court?”

She heard footsteps, moving slowly toward the door.

“You’ll have to find me first.”

The footsteps began to fade.

“Scully….”

Voices and silence and new music ringing in her ears….

<Crucify!>

“Scully, don’t…”

<Physician, heal thyself!>

Yes….heal thyself….so easy….

She rolled over on her back, dragging the weapon to rest at the base of her temple.

Heal thyself….

Two gunshots cracked open her eardrums, deafening her brain.

Without a word of protest, Dana welcomed the swirling seafoam, the golden shores of Shangri-La.

It is finished.

–––––

The room was silent, blessedly silent, save for one word repeated over and over again by the man above Dana’s body.

“Scully.”

She felt the weapon yanked from her hand, her body being shaken gently.

“Scully, wake up. It’s me. Scully, it’s me.”

Her eyes opened slowly, coming to focus on the handsome, worried face looking down at her.

Mulder.

“Scully.” His brow was tortured, worried. “Scully, look at me.”

She blinked, feeling his hands underneath her neck, cradling it gently.

“It’s me. Scully, it’s me. Look at me. You’re okay. Everything’s all right.”

She felt herself trying to nod, to speak, but her strength was nowhere to be found. So she listened.

“He’s gone.”

Who was gone?

“I got him, Scully. I switched CDs on the bastard. Nora’s nagging underneath all that wailing was enough to drive him mad.”

Him….?

What happened? Where was she?

“He shot me, here — ” Mulder pointed to his shoulder, “but not before I was able to get one in with Tyler’s weapon.”

What….?

“Too bad I couldn’t find an icepick to ram in the bastard’s head.”

What the….?

“Dead?” she whispered softly, her lips barely able to move.

Mulder nodded.

“And I’m….?”

Mulder shook his head. “There may be a number of dead bodies in this room, Scully, but none of them are yours.” He smiled, grimly.

She couldn’t believe it. Surely this was some sort of pre-mortem hallucination, the last fighting chance of a conscious brain before giving up its treasured contents to the soul- saturated ether. Her body was limp, completely lifeless around her, as if her soul had become trapped within it.

She thought she had pulled the trigger. Hadn’t she….?

“Scully?”

She reached for him, weakly, and found herself in the warmth of his arms.

Mulder responded, gathering her even closer to him, his lip trembling with worry. “You scared me, Scully.”

She sighed.

“You scared the shit out of me. I really thought this… this time….”

Dana tried to shake her head, but found whispering required less energy.

“No.”

And then she found her voice, her own voice, returning to her with the strength that the others had sapped from her.

She hadn’t pulled the trigger.

Mulder had saved her, just in time.

Dana breathed slowly, gently, filling her lungs with fresh air, relishing the moment of knowledge, the moment of new life.

“Not this time, Mulder,” she murmured against his cheek. “Not ever.”

Her strength was her own again, allowing her to cling tightly to Mulder without any help from him. She would need that strength now to say what she wanted to say, what she should’ve said years ago.

“I love you,” she whispered, her own voice trembling and foreign to her ears, “too much…to leave you….”

He shivered, absorbing her into him.

“….not until I…have to….” she finished with the last of her breath.

Suddenly she felt something against her temple, not a weapon or an aged face, but something warm and wet, trailing down both their cheeks.

Mulder was crying.

–––––

Postlude

TITLE: The Amos Absolution: Postlude (1/1)
AUTHOR: Bidie McCucholl
ARCHIVE: Gossamer, OK. Spookys, OK. Ephemeral, OK. Anywhere else, please ask first.
CATEGORY: S, XRA
RATING: NC-17 for sexual situations
SPOILERS: The Amos Absolution
KEYWORDS: MSR, UST, Scullyangst

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of everything that has happened, Scully finds the sudden and abundant fruits which come from the cleansing of her heart and mind.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own ‘em, but maybe now they’ll be at peace — along with me, now that this series is finally done. Don’t sue me, please; I was just having fun with them for a while. I’ll put them back in the closet, right where they belong.

AUTHOR’S NOTES:

This is my last story for a while (perhaps even forever), so again, I thank all of you who have enjoyed my work for the last two years. Double thanks to the Beloveds and my friends, who have supported me throughout this crazy time in my life. I love you all. 🙂

* * *

“So this is the culprit.”

Assistant Director Skinner held the compact disc up to the light, eyeing it noncommittally.

“Frankly, Agent Mulder, I have a very hard time believing a simple compact disc killed fifteen people,” he said, moving the disc back and forth between his fingers in the light.

“Everything is documented, right there in the report,” Mulder said, nodding toward the folder on Skinner’s desk. “I had the disc examined by two separate sources, both of which found subliminal messages embedded in the CD. If you read further,” he continued, “you’ll find that the voice was isolated from the music and proven to be that of Senator Dorne, his swan song, so to speak.”

Skinner said nothing.

“We haven’t located the original disc that Nora Benton used in the warehouse,” Scully continued, “but it seems to be of little consequence at this point.”

“Seeing as how they’re all dead,” Skinner said matter-of-factly, placing the disc gingerly on the desk.

For the briefest of moments, Dana saw something wash across Skinner’s face, something pained, regretful.

“I should have seen this coming,” Skinner told them, his voice somewhat softer. “Agent Tyler had developed somewhat of a reputation over the past few months — not pursuing leads on a crucial case, fouling investigations, missing valuable evidence which could have implicated several suspects easily. I had no idea he was involved with Dorne to this extent.”

“No one could have known, sir,” Mulder told him. “Not until it was too late.”

Skinner remained silent for a few moments, obviously deep in thought.

Dana’s eyes darted to Mulder, who was eyeing her warmly. It could only be translated as a prelude to something far more entertaining than submitting a final report to their superior.

She grinned inwardly, her skin flushing from the sudden rush of arousal as their eyes conversed, flirted, danced.

Lately she’d gotten to know that look very well.

“And your condition, Agent Scully?” Skinner suddenly asked.

Clearing her throat, she responded, tearing her eyes away.

“Fine, sir,” she said, forcing her voice up about an octave from its sudden — and quite unprofessional — sexual timbre. She could still feel Mulder’s eyes on her, those damn velvet eyes….

“Barrow Psychiatric kept her under observation for a couple of days,” Mulder said, finishing her sentence, “and after extensive testing, they were hard pressed to find anything medically amiss with Agent Scully, with the exception of abnormal adrenaline levels and post-traumatic stress. Even that was quite a reach, at their own admission.”

Skinner eyed him skeptically.

“Nothing at all?”

“No, sir.”

Skinner frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we,” Mulder said.

Dana watched Mulder’s eyes linger on her again, turning her blood to molten lava. Jesus Christ, how did he do it…?

“In your report,” Skinner continued, “you both acknowledge that Agent Scully’s condition at the time of Senator Dorne’s death was due in part or in whole to the subliminal messages on the CD which was being played. Obviously these messages had some sort of long-term impact on her physical and mental state, given the events from her 911 call leading up to the scene in Nora Benton’s apartment.” He paused.

“I want answers here, Agent Mulder. I want to know why a team of medical professionals was unable to accurately diagnose and evaluate Agent Scully.”

Mulder shrugged. “We aren’t certain of the cause or effect of the messages,” he replied, “but we know that since the death of Senator Dorne, Agent Scully’s condition is by all accounts back to normal.” He pointed to the CD. “It may have something to do with the fact that Nora’s alternative therapy may have cleansed Agent Scully of her own personal demons.”

“So this case — this disc — is nothing more than some new-age exorcism?” Skinner asked, his voice disbelieving.

“It would appear that way, sir.”

Dana felt Mulder’s eyes on her again, and felt herself growing even warmer, her skin prickling with sudden desire.

This was taking too damn long.

“Agent Scully, I cannot reinstate you to full status again unless you’ve fully recovered,” Skinner told her, “and without real answers, I’m afraid I have no choice but to tell you to go home and take some time off.”

Her eyes glanced at Mulder again, and she fought the urge to ask if Mulder could go with her.

Swallowing, she bit her tongue and replied.

“Sir, I assure you that I’m completely recovered.”

Skinner eyed her suspiciously.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“This isn’t a game, Agent. You’ve got real work to do and I don’t want a repeat of everything that happened two weeks ago. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, sir.”

Skinner thought for a minute, then returned the CD to its protective cover, sliding it into the folder. “There are still a number of holes in this report,” he told them, “not to mention the effects these messages had on the victims. I’m willing to overlook them, though, this time only, if you both promise me you’ll do your best to get me some answers by the end of this month.”

They nodded.

“Agent Scully, I’m recommending you get another psychiatrist and at least two days of counseling a week until we can get to the bottom of what caused this.”

“Yes sir,” she said, though she didn’t agree at all.

No one was getting anything else out of her, not at this point. Everything her mind had wanted to say had already been said, received loud and clear, and understood.

There was nothing more to find.

“Agent Mulder, you keep a close watch on her,” he said, “and tell me immediately if anything happens.”

Mulder nodded. “I will, sir.”

Dana’s heart tripled in meter when his eyes promised her just how much he would do that.

For once, Mulder was obeying Skinner. And for good reason.

* * *

On Skinner’s recommendation, they had taken a short leave of absence to get a head start on those answers.

They hadn’t gotten far.

Dana smiled secretively, throwing the bed covers off her sweat- soaked body as Mulder began licking the perspiration just below her breasts.

“We’re terrible, you realize,” she murmured, sighing when he began to suck lightly.

“Terrible,” Mulder said, his voice muffled as he moved lower down, to her navel.

“All this time off and we’ve done nothing but gratify our own carnal appetites.” She sighed again.

Mulder nodded, moving still lower. “We deserve to be fired.”

“Hear, hear,” she agreed, moaning as his nose brushed against her clit.

Mulder grinned. “Here?” he moaned, licking the sensitive nub.

She found herself giggling and moaning simultaneously, unable to control her reaction.

“Mulder, that was quite possibly the worst pun I’ve ever heard.” She giggled again.

“Get used to it. They get worse,” he mumbled, rolling the hard flesh around in his mouth.

She moaned loudly, arching her hips toward him.

“Mmm, I think I could get used to this,” she found herself saying seductively, enjoying this minor miracle.

She’d never imagined she’d ever have him between her thighs in anything other than her mind. But now that her mind was free again….

Suddenly he stopped.

“Mulder–?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Scully.” Mulder grinned as he walked from the bed to the nearby dresser.

She frowned.

Couldn’t it wait?

Sitting up in the bed, she eyed Mulder cautiously. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” she said, watching him return to the bed with a sealed white envelope.

He handed it to her, grinning. “While you were in the hospital, I figured I’d get you a little something. It’s not much, but I thought it would make up for all the hell I put you through with this case.”

Her frown deepened.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow, but seeing as how Skinner’s given us some extra leave, now’s as good a time as any.”

She eyed him even more intently. “Mulder, is this–”

“Just open it, Scully.”

His grin was large and innocent, almost boyish.

Dana humored him, opening the envelope without budging her eyes from his.

“You might want to look in the envelope, now that you’ve opened it,” he prompted gently, helping her extract the contents.

Dana gasped when she saw two first class tickets.

Nonstop to Bermuda.

“Oh my God, Mulder….” Her eyes began to cloud over.

He’d remembered.

“After what happened in that apartment, after everything you’d had to deal with, I thought you might finally like to take that vacation.” His hand reached over to brush through her tousled hair.

Dana could barely see him for the rush of tears blurring her vision. “Mulder, this….this….”

“Goes beyond a casual fling.” He grinned. “I know.”

She wiped her eyes with her wrist so she could gaze at him, her eyes large and luminous.

“Hey, it was either that or a ring,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I didn’t want to rush it.”

She could barely speak a word except his name…that beautiful last name….

“Thank you, Mulder.” She blinked another wave of tears away.

“Don’t thank me, Scully. Thank Nora for getting both our heads out of our asses.”

She laughed softly, grinning like a child as Mulder kissed her reverently.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m fine?”

Mulder pulled away from her mouth, frowning at the sudden change in conversation. “The doctors said you were,” he said. “Why?”

“Do you think I’m healed?”

It was a stupid question, utterly pointless and irrelevant, but she asked it anyway. There were always those doubts, lingering at the back of her mind….

Mulder took her hand, brushing his lips against her palms before replying. “Maybe the point was not to heal, but to reveal.”

She frowned slightly.

“Reveal what?”

“Reveal you, Scully. The real you, in all your glory and damnation.”

She thought for a moment. Maybe….

“I don’t know why you tried so hard to keep it hidden,” he told her. “You’re much more intriguing now than you were two weeks ago, in many ways.”

She smiled as his hands reached around her and claimed for himself the secrets she’d most wanted to reveal to him for so long.

“What about you?” she whispered against his lips.

“What about me?”

“Why didn’t the songs affect you?”

Mulder shrugged. “Maybe I’m not afraid to show the real me,” he said, his lips brushing against hers mid-sentence.

“As long as you don’t show all of you.”

Her hands snaked between his thighs, eliciting a deep groan from him.

“There are some things best kept between us,” she murmured suggestively, her voice soft as velvet.

Mulder chuckled, pressing her beneath him lengthwise across the bed. “That, Agent Scully, is a secret I definitely intend to keep right here.”

He joined them together, sealing the promise.

* * *

THE END

* * *

(finally — it’s all over!)

(please leave feedback at [email protected], if you feel inspired.) 🙂

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