TITLE: Clueless AUTHOR: Trifan RATING: NC-17 (just to be safe) CLASSIFICATION: SHA - Story/Humor/Angst SPOILERS: Absolutely none, nadda, zip SUMMARY: Mulder just can't seem to figure out what Scully's problem is. DISCLAIMER: They aren't my characters. They belong to Chris Carter, FOX, and 1013 productions to the best of my knowledge. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX *Knowing then what I know now, I am not sure that I would have done anything differently. Hindsight being what it is, it's the journey that makes the destination worth it all. It's the emotion that makes the song. I know now without a doubt that I am where I should be, that we both are. I have a firm belief that we are all where we need to be in life. That every one of us has a purpose that's not always clear, but always essential. Even in our suffering, there is something to offer and something to gain. Isn't that what it's all about? Maybe things would have...* "Mulder, where are you going?" Her ever-so-slightly annoyed voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Huh?" was all he could manage. "You missed the turn." He muttered something about the investigation under his breath. She wasn't buying it though. The sun was taking on that special dinnertime flavor. It reminded him of barbeques and summer walks. He swung the car around and headed back to the turn that would take them closer to home. A week away from home usually had a tendency to make him feel both invigorated and relaxed. It did just the opposite to his partner. He loved the chase, they both did. But he had nothing waiting for him back at home. His apartment was where he crashed. Hers was where she lived. For some reason, although they both lived alone, her life always seemed so much fuller than his, somehow better rounded. Scully had her mom, she had her brothers and their families. He was alone in the world. Maybe that was the difference. Somehow he doubted that though. Not for the first time in the past two days, he found himself contemplating their relationship. He didn't often do this...it seemed something of a sacrilege to him. What he did realize was that their friendship was the closest thing to a spiritual experience he had ever had in his life. In his mind, she was perfect. Well, not maybe in the classical sense. But to him...even her faults were perfect, if that made any sense. For instance, she could be stubborn. In fact, stubborn was listed somewhere between the "Dana" and the "Katherine" of her name. Dana "Stubborn" Katherine Scully. But that was part of what he loved her for. (had he just thought "love"?) Yeah, but it wasn't love the way he knew most people in the bureau thought it was. He'd heard the hallway murmurs and the water cooler talk. But, there was not a whole lot physical about their relationship. To them both it was something much much deeper. It was born of the deep respect they felt for one another. A respect that had the effect for him of elevating her above all others in his mind. In fact, light years above himself. Maybe that was why he felt so much like an idiot right now. FORREST ROAD, MARYLAND TWO DAYS EARLIER They had been standing in the autopsy bay. He was waiting for Scully to clean up so they could head back to the motel for the night. The Medical Examiner they had been working with over the last few days was pretty generic in Mulder's mind. Not unlike dozens of others they had plugged into the "help" slot of their cases as need be. Stevens sat writing his report. "So," he eased in. "You have been partners with Dana for a while, eh?" (Dana?) The good doctor was trying to make it sound like casual conversation, but Mulder's radar was on instant alert. "Yeah...it's been a few years," he replied after a moment, carefully maintaining that easy tone, his eyes never moving from the view he had of the back of Stevens' head. In that instance, his eyes also took in the blank ring finger of this unknown adversary wannabe. "Is there, I mean...are you two..." Stevens faltered there, not quite knowing how to word things. Mulder stared at him, his slightly amused eyes evaluating. (what the heck, let's have some fun) "No, we're just partners." Stevens released a tense breath. He looked up from his desk then. "Do you think, I mean, would you mind if I asked her to share a drink tonight?" (share a drink? as in sharing straws?) At least Stevens had had the decency to understand that Mulder was the lead dog of this pack. His mind ran the gamut of comebacks as he stared at Stevens. This man was a slightly balding, 30-something, dweeby looking Nicolas Cage type. A geek. Mulder consciously subdued the humor of the situation, consoling himself with the fact that Scully wouldn't go out with this guy. He wasn't her type...not in the least. At times Scully voiced her desire to be a part of mainstream America. But Mulder knew her better than she knew herself. Mainstream had been left behind long ago for the more exciting lifestyle they now shared. Stevens was the epitamy of security - white-picket-fence-dog-in-the-yard-comfort-geeky security. Not Scully's type. So giving him his blessing was easy. Amusing really. Poor soul. (she would never go for that) But she had gone for that. In fact, she'd seemed pleased with the idea. Staring at them then as Scully returned to the room, Mulder was acutely aware of the comfortable atmosphere between them. He realized that the days she'd spent in here or in research had been days spent with Stevens' company. (what just happened?) Somehow Mulder was on the outside looking in, not even having been shown the door. They laughed easily. Worse yet, they shared *a look*. The look spoke of a sharing, something of a bond. Stevens was helping her on with her coat. (what the hell is going on??) Mulder was taken totally by surprise. That's MY job, he wanted to interrupt. Only...he usually didn't help her on with her coat. Did he? Well...maybe he didn't cross a room to do it, but he knew that he'd done it before. Hadn't he? Mulder stifled his impulse to speak, his jaw clenched. He turned and walked out to wait for her in the car. The pack, it would seem, had taken off without him. "Mulder, that was rude. You could've thanked him for his help today. You know, he's been working hard with us this last week," she commented tersely as she got in. (great, now she was defending him) "Seems like you were thanking him enough for both of us." Scully's face dropped in shock at the implication. (bad bad rookie error there, quickly backpedal) "Sorry...I...I didn't mean that Scully. I'm just...tired and this case isn't unraveling the way I thought it should," he whined in the way of explanation. She sighed, slightly exasperated. "Not everything is an X-file Mulder. Sometimes the answers *do* lie in the obvious." "I don't think that's the case here though. We have the bodies of three people of high ranking in the community..." "...who died of natural causes." "...who died under suspicious circumstances." "Mulder, are you suggesting that we missed something in the autopsies?" Her tone held more than a hint of irritation. "Because you are welcome to go over our findings...in fact, redo the autopsies for us. After all, we couldn't possibly know that of which we speak," she dramatized. (Uh oh) Over the last few days, he had noticed that Scully was increasingly irritated with him. He had thought about it when his mind would allow him the freedom from the case they were on. But he was still only vaguely aware that she was feeling left out of the investigation. Mulder paused for a moment. "Where is this coming from?" "Mulder, did it ever occur to you that maybe, just as a professional courtesy, you could ask me what I think happened?" He sighed. He knew where this was going. Apparently she felt it needed to go there though. "Okay Agent Scully, what do you think happened?" he replied with a small amount of ceremony. She chose to ignore his tone. "Sheriff Stokes died of a heart attack. He was pushing 50, and carrying an extra fifty for good measure. Nothing complicated there. "The mayor had an aneurysm burst in his head. Nothing strange about that considering the stress he was under at the time. Stress, I might add that *your* investigation showed evidence of in abundance. "Councilman Maddock had cancer Mulder. Cancer. None of the deaths had anything in common. A bad streak of luck for the town, but not an X-file. What are we doing here?" "What kind of cancer kills a man four hours after it's onset Scully?!" "I did the autopsy Mulder, his internal organs were riddled with it. Specifically his pancreas held the brunt of it. There *is* no cancer that kills that quickly. He had it for months. It just took over to the point that he couldn't ignore it anymore. That's what happened in the last four hours." "Ah...I see. So what you're saying is that this man who jogged six miles every morning for the last fifteen years didn't feel anything different about his body until the day he died?" "No...I am just saying that he had to have ignored whatever it was that he did feel!" She was becoming overtly angry now. She fought to regain some control. "Where's the connection Mulder? I know that you're just *dying* to tell me." He smiled at that, choosing to ignore her anger. "Ahh...well. Between the victims, there were oodles of connections. Their jobs dictated that. But I am suspicious of one connection in particular. "All three of Forrest Road's upstanding political figures were personally involved in trying to remove a blight on their sterling community. A small group of nomadic families from a site a couple of miles out of town. They've been camped there for the last month or so. Apparently the locals aren't taken with their new neighbors." "Nomads?" Scully asked skeptically, her interest piqued in spite of herself. "Apparently. Some modern day Gypsies, if you will." "Mulder, even so, there is no way that they could've caused the deaths of these men." "Pretty big coincidence though, wouldn't you say?" Scully sighed, exasperated. "How could they have caused the deaths of these men Mulder?" "Now that's the $64,000 question, isn't it? I am going over to the campsite to have a talk with the new neighbors, wanna come?" Scully's mood wasn't getting any better. The question implied that he was doing her a favor by asking her. This had pretty much been the theme of the past couple of days. She was given the monotonous details to sort out, he worked the field. She felt he knew it was irritating her, so he was throwing her a bone. She wasn't taking it. "I'll pass." Once again, Mulder felt clueless. Why had his good-natured question fueled the flames? If she'd been feeling left out, he'd given her an in. (okay now what?) They drove on in silence for a moment. Mulder decided to change the subject. "So, you're going out tonight then?" he ventured, trying to sound casual. She eyed him suspiciously. She knew him too well to miss the undercurrent of possesiveness in his demeanor. She contemplated easing his mind, but thought better of it. He was going to have to play more straightforwardly than that if he wanted her to participate. Scully didn't like games. She never played them. "When we're out on assignment, we *do* have a certain amount of time alloted for ourselves." (I am not touching that one Scully) He just nodded. "Maybe I'll just wait for you till morning then," he mumbled sheepishly. After a moment, another idea flowed into his otherwise oblivious spectrum of thought. "Did you want call Skinner and update him?" he brightened, secretly patting himself on the back for the question that was both a deference to her strength and another inclusion of her in their work. (there, another in) "No, you can do that, *I* have a date," she emphasized. In spite of the general tone of the conversation, Mulder was surprised by her answer. He was used to her doing what he needed her to do without comment or complaint. Well, most of the time anyway. It was one of the things that he liked (no, loved) about them. It gave him a strong sense of comfort that she seemed to complement his nature so perfectly. He loved the chase, she loved the details. (didn't she?) Only...tonight, she wasn't Dr Dana Scully, special agent, FBI. She was "Dana", his mind choked out. (well, she could just go out and have her date then - she wouldn't have any fun anyways. Stevens was not her type) Even to himself, Mulder sounded childish. He didn't speak after that. Fox Mulder, schoolboy, suddenly knew his rank in the scheme of things. =========================== The room smelled vaguely of stale cigarette smoke. Although he had requested a non-smoking room, he had a strong feeling that it was only so because the maid had removed the ashtrays, keeping them at the ready to transform this very room into a smoking one if need be. The motel was of the cheap variety that the bean counters at the bureau loved. He didn't mind though. In a way, it was a comfort to him. He felt at home to throw his clothes on the nearest chair and munch on Doritos as he watched television. He glanced over at the clock. Almost midnight. He was laying on the top of the covers. He had stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers when he'd gotten in, but hadn't moved since. He found himself feeling frustrated in his situation with Scully. He was the black sheep of the bureau, the butt of everyone's jokes. He was "Spooky" Mulder, the alien hunting strange man. He lived in the bowels of the Hoover building solving the things of nightmares, the things that no one else seemed to believe in. He seemed to be the only one who could accept the evidence for what it was. They'd sent down Dr. Scully in an effort to rein him back into the fold. They wanted his brilliant mind back in the violent crimes division. Only, he wouldn't go. His mind was hooked by the things he'd found in those files. He saw patterns in the chaos and knew that he could solve what no one else could or would. For that, he'd lost his reputation and credibility. That is, till Scully came along. Here was a beautiful intelligent woman. A medical doctor, specializing in forensic pathology no less, sent downstairs to throw a stick in his spokes. Only, she'd stayed. She had looked beyond the small window of the make-shift reality that normal people create for themselves and had opened her mind to the possibility of the paranormal. She did it honestly and got at answers the hard way. More than that he thought, she believed in him. She allowed him to take her on a journey of the mind and soul. She challenged his beliefs, but she did so honestly. For their years together, she had become Mrs. Spooky. And yet somehow, she had maintained a dignity with authorities at the bureau that he had no patience for. She had not lost anyone's respect. And for that, Mulder was in awe of her. She could maintain poise where his temper prevailed. As his mind wandered, he continued to flick through the channels, alternating between an old Jimmy Stewart film he didn't know the name of, and the discovery channel's interpretation of the Gobi Desert. He was paying attention to neither. He heard a noise and instantly muted the tv. (definately Scully's voice) Through the wall, the sound of voices speaking in a hushed tone reached his ears. (an intimate tone? definately an intimate tone) He couldn't make out what was being said. Her door opened and then shut. Mulder got up off the bed and pressed his ear against the adjoining wall. (what was hell is going on??) He wasn't thinking about the next room, he was thinking about himself. How had he reduced himself to this? Pressing his ear against the wall was not giving Scully nor himself the respect they both deserved. He reached into his bag and pulled on his jogging pants and a sweatshirt, laced his shoes and he was out the door. He needed to get away from there. He didn't want to hear...anything. So he ran. Running soothed him. Staying in shape was just the by-product. He could solve problems while consciously remaining unaware of his surroundings. Often he forgot time and place as his body created a distance for him. He consoled himself in the knowledge of his partner. She was a serious person of high values. Her catholic roots had held firm to her, tangled amidst her own belief system. She just wasn't the casual sex type of person. He knew this with a certainty. The same certainty he had in the stars staying lit in the sky. The real question was in why this was affecting him this way. It was perfectly natural for two people who had worked together for as long as they had to feel a certain kinship. Even love, if you will. Perfectly natural. Some possesiveness even. He worked this over in his mind, trying to figure out what had been bothering Scully. (but the *real* question is what is bothering me) There had always been that part of Scully that he couldn't reach. It puzzled him. On the one hand, he knew her better than anyone. She was the only one he could trust without question. And he held no doubt that she felt the same way. Yet, somehow, in some indescribable way, she was better than him. That knowledge made him acutely aware that she was somehow just out of his reach. Deep down, it was the source of a sore that just wouldn't heal. An hour later, he returned to the motel. From across the lot, he could see her lights were out. That gave him comfort of a sort. No late partying going on in there. But as he approached the building, he happened to notice the blue sedan. And the sticker on the window that said "Douglas County Medical Examiner." He took a cursory look up, fully expecting that someone had snuffed out the stars. ==================== For her part, Scully had had a good time. Patrick was funny, considerate, charming even. He took her to a quiet bar three blocks from the motel. She found the conversation easy, light. They talked about their work. They talked about their families. She was enjoying herself. It felt good to forget the escalating tension with her partner. Patrick was engrossed in telling his story about "the big case". All medical examiners had one. It was the case that they couldn't stop thinking about. It held a magical captivation on their lives. Trouble was, Scully had had so many "big cases". She found herself remembering her innocence in his words, the fascination she'd held for her work when a multiple murder had a macabre charm. Not that she was uninterested in it now, it's just that nothing much truly surprised her anymore. Like Mulder, she found that simple cases just didn't appeal to her. Sometimes, most of the time, there just wasn't a challenge in a simple murder. It horrified her to catch herself thinking that way. Nonetheless, it was the truth. The normal type of case had somehow become, well...mundane. Secretly, she lived for the X-files. Secretly, because she could never tell Mulder just how much she loved finding the extraordinary veiled in the familiar. Deep down she suspected he knew, though it was not something she would ever admit consciously to herself. Science was a passion of hers. Her role in their strange dance was to prove him wrong. He played off of that. They played off of each other. She fought to prove her science. He fought to prove the implausible. And he was right more times than she could count. The truth was, she needed the fix that came with unravelling the mystery where few dared to tread. Secretly, she loved it when he was right. It somehow pushed her to take mind-leaps she had been conditioned not to take. And she loved that exhileration. That's why a man like Patrick, who might have appealed to her then, could never hold her interest now. She was conscious of the role she was playing now in nodding politely and raising her eyebrows in all the right places. She was trying for normalcy and tact. It saddened her in a way. She was past this. No one could hold her interest anymore. No one except Mulder. Mulder challenged all that she was. Her belief system, her logical, rational thought process, every piece of her foundation. With Mulder, nothing was as it seemed. Every time she thought she could predict his mind, she found herself amazed by him all over again. His courage, his strength of conviction, his ability to see in her what no one else could. She had known for quite some time that she was having a love affair with his mind. His eidetic memory, his analytical process...all of it. At times she found herself on the edge of her seat, poised for his next word or action. In her life, she had met no one who showed such remarkable bravery. He feared no one, nothing. His superiors were mere annoyances at best, obstacles at worst. Any cowtowing to the hierarchy of the bureau was chiefly a means to an end for him. She knew with a certainty that the only reason he was with the bureau at all was for the access it afforded him in the world. He had forced her to question her own behavioral motives. He challenged her to push the limits, break the bonds and join him soaring above all that was. Only sometimes, like this trip, he left her behind. She looked up suddenly aware that she had been asked a question. "I'm sorry Patrick, what was that?" "No, look, you're tired, I can see it in your eyes. Let me take you back to the motel." He tried to hide his disappointment. He had stood up to Dana Scully's measuring stick and found himself lacking in her eyes. She knew it and he knew it. There was nothing more to be said. He was someone who could become her friend, but never anything more. As they drove to the motel, the conversation turned to work again. He walked her to the door. She unlocked it and they entered. He held no hopes of anything more than picking up the papers he'd agreed to fax for her. They spoke for a while about their findings. Nothing awkward, yet he felt uncomfortable all the same. She thanked him for the evening and they said their goodbyes. Outside in the night air, he thought about the evening. A lovely lady, some light conversation, a liveable albeit disappointing closure. She was easy to like. He could tell that she had liked him too. Just not in the way he had hoped. He opened the car door and threw the folder she'd given him inside. He stopped and thought about his life a bit. He decided that he would take a walk. He needed the cool air and the clarity of thought. Like anyone after a disappointing ending to a promising evening, he needed to review himself a bit. ================= Mulder spent a restless night. He had battled the demons of confusion only to confront the devil of jealousy. The realization of that had been something of an awakening. Time and again during their partnership, he had tried to get closer to Scully. She had always kindly but firmly established his role in her life. A few times he had even gotten up the courage to try to kiss her, only to have the gesture reduced to one that might pass for a "good friends only" peck on the cheek or forehead. He wasn't sure anymore (had he ever been?) why she stayed with him and his quest. It was obvious that she cared for him, just not in the way his heart needed. He was dumbfounded by the knowledge that some twit like Stevens could go some place that he couldn't. Mulder could unlock the mysteries of the world, but couldn't figure out how to reach the "Dana" part of Scully. When he opened his eyes again, it was morning. He wanted to get a start on the day. He was looking forward to the morning's events. Mulder said a silent prayer of thanks that a certain blue sedan was no longer parked outside. Scully answered the door right away. She looked fresh and ready to tackle the day. "Ready to go?" He glanced around the room looking for confirmation of his suspicions of the night before. But the bed was made. Never would he understand her reasons for making the bed in the mornings at every single motel/hotel/resort/dive that they stayed in. He noted that on this particular morning it didn't seem quite as endearing as it had previously though. No matter how many times he saw Scully, Mulder never ceased to be amazed by her. Here she was, the epitamy of composure, nothing indicating the tension of the evening before. Nothing indicating the night she had spent... (best not to go there, Mulder old chap) He didn't venture any veiled questions about the night before. Things were calm on the Scullyfront and he wasn't about to stir the pot. The gypsy camp was easy enough to find. It's inhabitants gathered as the agents pulled up. Their lives were strung about on ropes laced between the dirty motorhomes. Clothes, pots and various linen were waving lazily in the breeze. The remains of a fire smoked in the middle. Four motorhomes parked in a semi-circle were interchangeable with caravans of days gone by. The inhabitants were all dressed in bright, colorful clothing. Not the Hollywood-style of Gypsywear, but normal, everyday Levis and Strauss wear. Their eyes held a certain suspicion to them. As though they didn't trust anyone outside their group. Even the children carried that suspicion in their faces. Scully ventured the opinion that they seldom mingled with "outsiders". What possessed people to isolate themselves this way? thought Scully briefly. They all gathered curiously, surging forward in unison towards the car. Mulder flashed his badge to the man confronting them as they got out. "Fox Mulder, FBI. And this is Agent Scully, we would like to ask you a few questions." The burly man spoke with a heavy accent. "We have a right to be here." The agents shared a look. Scully stepped in. "We're not disputing that, however, three of the people who did are now dead." She paused for effect. There is something you should know about Scully, she could disagree with him in private, but she was right there with Mulder professionally. It gave him an inner glow. "We would like to ask you a few questions," she continued. "This is NOT my problem. Those men got what they deserved." "And just what was that Mr. Szabados?" Mulder chimed. The man flinched at the use of his name. The sheriff's office had given Mulder the names of three different families in the camp. The Szabados family had seemed to be the head. Mulder had been guessing, the surprised expression told him he hadn't been wrong. Szabados opened his mouth to say something when a voice was heard from the door of the trailer behind him. "You think that my son knows anything?" Everyone turned at the sound of the voice. Making her way down some steps with an awkward gait was apparently the matriarc of the family. They could tell this by the way the family parted to let her through and by the hush that enveloped them as they did. Her clothes were modern, but nothing else about her was. Her ancient eyes looked out at them from too-hollow sockets. Her bleached skin seemed to just hang by sheer will on her face. She was tiny, not more than 5 feet tall. Nonetheless, her presence seemed to command respect. As she approached, Mulder got the distinct feeling that she could read his mind. In fact, he was pretty sure he could feel her cataloguing everything in there, making short little mind-notes on what she found. While it unnerved him, Scully seemed to be unaffected. She spoke first, more quietly, yet with authority. "We were just asking your son if he could tell us anything about a couple of mysterious deaths in the community." "He knows nothing," the old woman said with a certainty. Almost too much of a certainty. "Well then perhaps you could tell us whether you have ever met Bernard Stokes, Alvin Mitchell, or David Maddock." At those names, she just smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile, never reaching her eyes. It looked for all the world like no one in the small gathering was a dentist either. Mulder's turn at bat. "I have a feeling that you know something about their deaths. All three of them were outspoken advocates for your forcible removal from the community. All three of them turned up dead within days of one another." "And you have come here thinking you could prick my conscience? The men were all here. They wanted us to leave, yes. But we weren't going then." "And you are now?" Mulder looked around with his question. They sure didn't seem ready to leave. "Is that a request?" "No, no. Just a question." Mulder was feeling really uneasy now. She paused. "Do you know what it is like? Always an outsider. Always feeling different, like you don't belong. Not having the same belief system as the people surrounding you. Not even thinking in the same way. You find that you are a splinter everywhere you go." Scully glanced over at Mulder then. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly able to relate quite easily to the group. The old woman smiled again. She nodded at him in a knowing way. Again he had the feeling that she knew *exactly* what was going on internally with him. "Do you think what those people did was right?" The question was addressed to Scully. "Certainly not as bad as murder, is it?" The old woman stood her ground. She raised her chin slightly in defiance. "Are you going to arrest me then?" she ventured knowing the answer. "Should we?" Scully challenged. "*Could you* would be the real question, don't you think?" She paused, dissecting them both with her eyes. First Scully, till she could take it no more and shifted her eyes to her partner. Mulder couldn't take his eyes off of the gypsy woman. One croocked finger extended towards them. It looked more like a knarled branch than a human appendage. She continued, "You are like children playing with fire, taking a chance on something you cannot understand. Those men died of natural causes, there is no way to connect any of us." Mulder's eyes were still fixed on the Gypsy woman's when he felt someone tugging at his arm. "Come on Mulder, let's get out of here," Scully almost whispered. As they turned to the car, the old woman cackled "Sleep well tonight FBI agents." Her cackling laughter was the last thing he heard as he closed the car door. Mulder backed the car out and headed back into town. Neither of them said anything for a while. "Scully, did that sound like a threat to you?" "She killed those men Mulder." He looked over at her with raised eyebrows. "What makes you so sure suddenly?" "How else would she know that we thought they'd died of natural causes? The findings aren't public knowledge yet. The only thing I can't figure out is how she did it. I have to go over the autopsies again." "I don't think you're gonna find anything there. I am not sure that what we are looking for can be found in science." Scully opened her mouth to say something, but realized that there was nothing she could say. He was right and she'd had enough experiences with him to know he was. "So then how can we prove it?" she resigned. "I guess that's what we have to figure out," he mumbled thoughtfully. ===================== Once again, Mulder found himself spending a fitful night. His thoughts alternated between Scully and the old Gypsy woman. "Sleep well" she'd said. He knew he wouldn't sleep well. Although he convinced himself that nothing had happened between Stevens and Scully, his own feelings with her remained unresolved. Not long after he fell asleep, he heard the click of the doorknob. "Who's there?" Reaching for his gun on the side table, he heard a gasp. "Mulder, it's just me." "Scully...what are you doing here?" he croaked sleepily. "I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about that old woman's words." He knew what that felt like. Mulder relaxed back against the bed again. He reached for the light. "No, leave it off." In the dark, he felt her hand carefully remove his from the lamp. Was it his imagination? Did her hand linger on his longer than necessary? "What's wrong Scully?" He tried to shake the sleepiness from his mind. "I guess that I am a little unnerved tonight, mind if I crawl in with you?" Mulder didn't say a word as she slipped into the bed beside him. Part of him was trying to reconcile this side of Scully with what he knew of her, grappling with a logic just beyond his grasp. The other side of him was just hoping and wanting to *not* wake up from what had to be a dream. Under the covers, she reached for him. "Scully?" came his heady whisper. "Shh, I have wanted to do this for some time now." She leaned over him and began raining soft kisses on his cheek, trailing them lower, down his neck. Her fingers were lighting sparks across his chest. A certain part of his anatomy jumped into the act, surging with heated desire at the promise of fulfillment. His breath quickened. As he tried to reciprocate by reaching for her, she gently pushed him back down against his pillow. Somewhere his mind was shouting for clarity. Mulder was all but lost in a haze of lust. His entire body was caught up in the ectasy. Thought was all but impossible. Oh, she felt so good. (thisisnothappeningthisisnothappening) "Scully...what...?" He heard his voice as though from a distance. "Shh, love...enjoy" His breath was coming in short gasps now as he felt a wave of pleasure surging as her fingers slipped into the wasteband of his boxers and embraced his desire. He wanted her then more than he'd ever wanted anything in his whole life. (whatsnotrightwhatsnotright) In an instant of sheer will and momentary clarity, he grabbed her hand roughly. ('love'? she called me 'love'!?) He reached for the lamp with his free hand. As the light brightened the room, he looked over at Scully. It was Scully, but somehow it wasn't. She wore a strange mischievous grin. He held her by the forearm. Suddenly she started laughing. Actually, cackling would be more accurate. As Mulder watched in horror, she metamorphized into the old Gypsy woman. He inhaled sharply, threw her hand away and jumped back, up and out of the bed all in one fluid motion, almost falling in the process. As he did so, the old woman disappeared, the blankets crumbling where she'd been, her laughter fading to an echo. Mulder continued to stare incredulously at the place she'd occupied. After a few moments he moved into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. A dream, it had only been a dream. Or a nightmare rather. Or was it? He wasn't so sure. He looked at his face in the mirror for confirmation. He looked back over at the bed. His waning hardon and the rumpled covers were the only evidence that anything had happened. And that was no evidence at all. Mulder doubted he would be able to approach his bed again on this night. Suddenly a muffled cry could be heard coming from next door. Within a few seconds Mulder was throwing his body at Scully's door. When he entered, Scully was in bed sitting up, clutching the blankets to her throat. She wore a look of pure shock on her face. Mulder's eyes skimmed the room. He closed the distance between them in a few strides, putting his gun on her bedside table. "Scully?" He put his hands on her shoulders, moving them up to cup her face, doing a mental inventory of her physical well being. (she is okay, breathe, just breathe) Her eyes were still wide as they searched his frantically. He could see some realization dawn on her. She let out a deep breath. He pulled her to him in a tight embrace. "Bad dream" she choked out, kneeding the back of his t-shirt as if she could absorb him by sheer will. As he held her, he closed his eyes. "Want to talk about it?" he encouraged after her breathing settled a bit. Mulder was unsure as to whether he should share his own experience or not. He didn't even know if he could. "I...you...you said some horrible things," her shocked voice managed. Mulder's hands cupped her face, brushing her hair forward beneath them. He was tempted to say "that's it??", but knew there had to be more to it than that. She looked so small, so young. Seldom, if ever, had she seemed so vulnerable. "I said *nothing*. It was a dream," he soothed. After a pause, she said "I'm not so sure Mulder." He let his hands drop and stared at her a moment, then nodded in understanding. "I mean, at first, it was like you were here in the room with me. You approached the bed and...and you tried to kiss me." Her eyes met his with an understanding lost on him. "But I knew it wasn't you." "How did you know that?" Mulder was trying to decipher where she'd passed and he'd failed in this imaginary test. "You would never have done that Mulder," she replied as though that was self-evident. "It was strange. You were angry, you told me that you had always wanted to work alone, that..." she stopped. "That what?" "That you would be better off without me and that I had only been an albatross around your neck since my return, reminding you of your short-comings. Your voice was the same, yet... somehow... like pure poison." She avoided his face, knowing she was showing him a small window into her private fears. "Then somehow it wasn't you..." Her mind was trying to make sense of the events, struggling for understanding. "It was the old woman." Mulder finished for her. His eyes avoided her own, but the struggle was apparent on his face nonetheless. Scully put the pieces together. "It happened to you too?" He nodded. "What does that mean Mulder?" He could only shake his head. "What...uh, what did I say to you?" she asked when he didn't offer. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "That's not important. Everything's okay, we're okay," he replied earnestly. He wished he possessed her openess. She stared at him for a moment, an understanding passing between them. She knew that whatever had happened, he didn't want to talk about it. Best dropped, Scully thought. The moment having passed, Mulder moved around her and sat down on the other side of the bed. They both knew that neither wanted to be alone at the moment. For a while they just sat side-by-side in silence, looking forward, each reflecting upon their own private hells. He tried to shut out the events of the "dream that wasn't" from his mind. (that was enough to make me celebate.... or impotent.... or both, for a very long time) Mulder felt suddenly very naked in his boxers and t-shirt. He quickly scrambled under the covers, startling Scully. She looked over at him quizically for a moment then decided to let it drop. "None of that really happened, did it?" "Nothing happened but in our minds Scully." He needed to reassure himself almost more than her. They sat on in silence for a while, both still staring straight ahead. "What if that's how she killed those men Scully?" She shook her head slightly. "That just isn't possible." But her tone didn't carry the certainty that the words were meant to. "Modell could do it. We have seen other evidence of psychokenisis. I mean, what if she could do that?" "So why are we still alive then? Shouldn't we, by precedence, be dying here?" (don't know about you Scully, but you could pretty much bury me now) "Maybe not. Maybe she didn't perceive us as a real threat. Maybe she was just looking out for her family in a way. Maybe she was tired of being run out of every town they stopped in. Maybe....this was just some sort of warning." "So she...just willed the deaths of the people she considered to be adversaries? Is that what you're saying?" Mulder shrugged in a way to convey that his was as good an explanation as any. She continued. "If that's true, I don't think we're going to be able to close this case." (no argument from me, don't think I wanna be staring that woman down again) It had happened to them before, in fact many times. Their explanations were a form of closure, but because there was no prosecution or the cataloguing of empirical evidence, the bureau didn't recognize the closure. Their saving grace was that Skinner had given them the liberty of discretion on the X-files. And sometimes it was just best to let some dogs lie sleeping. They both knew this X-file was closed. She sighed, tiring once again. "I need some sleep Mulder. It was just a dream, go back to bed." Mulder wasn't moving, nor was he going to confront her with that fact. Instead he got up and closed the crippled door as best he could, turning off the light. In the dark, he returned to the bed and settled in. Scully seemed to understand his need to be there, but her defences went up all the same. She pulled at the covers, being sure to get her fair share, then turned her back to him. "You start moaning in your sleep and I will shoot you in mine." (no chance of that...no siree bob...none whatsoever) ================ They spent the early hours of the morning tying up some lose ends. It seemed that the Gypsy group had left the area. Neither of them wanted to pursue them. They made the motions of putting their suspects out on the wire--wanted for questioning, but knew that nothing would come of it. Scully signed off on the autopsies and packed their things in the car as Mulder finalized their non-findings with the local law enforcement officials. He joined her as she pulled up in front of the sheriff's office. She got out of the car, expecting that he would need her for something or other inside. Mulder took the keys from Scully's hand and moved into the driver's seat, adjusting the seat to accomodate his long legs. Apparently he didn't need her inside for anything after all. After a moment, she dutifully got into the passenger seat. "You know Mulder, some things just never seem to get resolved." "That's how it's always been with cases Scully, sometimes you win, sometimes you don't." "I wasn't talking about the case Mulder." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Nothing Mulder. Just drive." Mulder wondered about her tone. He continued to think about it as she emersed herself in some science journal. He pulled out onto the highway, heading for home, still totally clueless.