ENSKY by viXen Archive: Yes to Gossamer. Everyone else please ask me first. Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a string of mutilation cases in Northern Arizona while Scully deals with a mystery closer to home. Classification: X, MSR, a bit of A Rating: R for violence and language (two NC-17 chapters will be clearly marked) Spoilers: FTF, Triangle, Milagro, some Season 6 mythology eps Timeline: Season 6. Takes place after Milagro. Disclaimer: Chris Carter has the distinct pleasure of owning Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and the rest of the XF gang. All other characters herein are mine. Thanks: To the ladies whose beta-ing and butt-kicking I can't live without -- CO, JS, KL, MCA, CS and JM. Because of them, this bird will fly. Author's Notes: At the end. ********************** ENSKY (1/11) by viXen Northern Arizona University campus Flagstaff, Arizona January 30, 1999 11:35pm MST Gina Wallace couldn't believe her luck. She shook her head, her long blonde hair brushing against her shoulders. As she walked along the busy street, hoping the snow would hold off until she got home, she wondered what heinous act she had committed to deserve such punishment. Her morning had gone fine. Once the clock struck three p.m., however, her day spiraled into Hell. Five minutes after arriving at her job, her boss called her into his office and blindsided her with the dreaded "we've been forced to cut back, we hate to lose you" speech. He let her work her shift so she could finish out the pay period and get her bonus, but it did little to ease the blow. As if that wasn't enough, she arrived at her favorite hangout to drown her sorrows in a pitcher of beer, and was treated to the sight of her ex-boyfriend, Carlos, hanging all over a buxom brunette whose IQ was smaller than her bra size. She sighed, the chilly night air bringing her breath alive in a thin fog. Her gaze fell upon a soda can and she kicked it with all her might. She sent the aluminum can sailing across the street, only to have the wind whip it up into its brisk arms and toss it back at her. The can smacked into her shin. "The perfect end to a perfect day," she sneered. If her car had bothered to start, she wouldn't even be on this stupid road kicking cans. For the first time in three years, Gina was grateful for living less than a mile from campus. For all the loud stereos, rowdy neighbors and general drunken debauchery ensuing at her apartment complex, it was convenient. The pine trees had begun their nightly dance, swaying and bending as the cool breeze whistled through their branches. A shiver ran up her spine as the breeze reached down to her and whirled her hair around her face like tangled ropes of gold. She pulled her jacket closed in the front and hunched over. Sometimes the wind in Flagstaff was so cold, it cut like a knife. Gina wandered away from the road and headed toward the Life Sciences building on campus. She yanked on the front door, relieved to find it unlocked so late at night. Most of the lights were out but she knew the layout of the building like the back of her hand, having used the shortcut too many times to count. The building smelled of formaldehyde but she was relieved to get out of the bitter wind. As she walked past the empty classrooms, Gina hoped her roommate would be home. It was Jennie who had found out about Carlos cheating on her with that bitch Allison. It wasn't long before Allison got screwed by Carlos. No pun intended, she thought with a wicked grin. He'd dumped Allison for some other bimbo in less than a month. What goes around, comes around, her mom always used to say. Eyeing the glass cases adorning the walls of the Life Sciences building, Gina found her favorite: a display of various species of butterflies. She hated science, taking only the absolute minimum required for her degree, but the butterfly display fascinated her. She marveled at the beauty of the tiny creatures. Some of them rather plain from the outside, but when turned over, they revealed the most vivid colors she had ever seen. She assumed the dull outside of the wings were a camouflage, a means of survival. To protect its secret from those who would seek to destroy it. A chill traveled the length of Gina's spine, though no wind entered the building. She could feel eyes upon her but she knew the building had to be unoccupied. She whirled around, looked to the shadows on her left. "Who's there? Jen, is that you?" she asked shakily, praying it was her best friend trying to playfully scare the bejeezus out of her. The shadow moved. Gina gasped as the figure, draped in a dark hooded cape, emerged into the dim light. It took two steps forward, stopped, the faint glow from a distant hallway light streaking the figure's face with light and shadows. Gina sighed, relieved to see a familiar face. She opened her mouth but never had a chance to utter a greeting. Like a jaguar pouncing on its prey, the figure hit Gina, knocking her to the ground. The figure's face changed before her eyes, once a face Gina knew, but as she stared at it, the human features melted away to reveal a mass of rotted flesh and fragmented skull. The Grim Reaper. The hideous creature was coming to take her to Hell. Just like her brother used to tell her. She tried to scream but the sound was choked off by a forceful hand pushing on her throat. She heard something snap, tried to take a breath. Nothing. Mouth agape and eyes wide, Gina Wallace realized her life was as shattered as her airway. She seizured in the figure's arms like a fish valiantly trying to flip-flop its way back to water. The heels of her shoes slammed into the tile, echoing ominously off the walls of the deserted building. Finally, mercifully, Gina's eyes glazed over in eternal sleep. The figure closed its victim's eyelids, then extracted an arrowhead from beneath its cape. All was quiet, except for the soft 'snick' as the arrowhead sliced through young, taut skin. Before long, a melodic whisper cut through the darkness: I saw, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O'er East and West its beam impended; And day, with all its hours of light, Was slowly sinking out of sight, While, opposite, the scale of night Silently with the stars ascended. <<<<<>>>>> J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC March 12, 1999 4:25pm EDT Dana Scully couldn't believe her luck. She shook her head, her bobbed red hair nipping at her neck. As she saved the file on her laptop, she wondered what saintly act she had committed to deserve such bliss. For the first time in months, she had a full two-day weekend. Two whole days without aliens, without frozen tundras, without conspiracies, without paperwork, without Mulder. Her nose twitched as she thought about the last one. Without Mulder. When was the last time she could say she was Without Mulder? Her life had been split into two distinct time periods: Before Mulder and With Mulder. She started to pack her briefcase, putting in file folders she had no intention of reviewing over the weekend. Her gaze left the briefcase and drifted to her partner's desk. They had been working for weeks trying to rebuild the X-Files. After Spender and Diana had worked for months trying to destroy them. Despite Mulder's adamance, Scully didn't buy Diana's loyalty to the X- Files. She doubted the woman knew what 'loyalty' meant. She knew Diana didn't have a clue what 'honesty' meant. Or 'class,' for that matter... Scully shook her head. I'm so exhausted, she thought, that I'm letting Diana Fowley take up more than two seconds of my time. She didn't chastise herself too much, though; it had been nearly two hours since she had last thought about Philip Padgett. Or the hand pushing into her chest, slippery fingers gripping her beating heart... "Damnit," she mumbled as she slammed the briefcase shut. Sleep deprivation was catching up with her, letting her mind wander like a child on a playground. Between the dreams of holding her own beating heart in her hand, and the hundred-hour work weeks, she was physically and mentally drained. That was why she had been looking forward to her complete weekend. It was time to deal and heal, as her father used to say. Deal with the emotional scars while giving the physical ones time to heal. She had no plans other than to not think about disembodied hearts. Or the X-Files. Or Mulder. There it was again; her mind insisted on throwing in the Mulder Factor. It hadn't escaped her that neither her nor Mulder had broached the subject of Antarctica, or what had happened immediately before. No comments or observations about their 'adventure,' not even a snappy innuendo from Mulder about seeing her naked in that... that gooey sarcophagus. Not one word, not even a hint that the events had ever occurred. She'd thought about bringing it up, but never found the right words. How could she ask Mulder if he had really intended on kissing her or if it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing? Did he want to cross that line or was it the only thing he could think of to make her stay? It seemed the only time he could express affection was when 1) she was leaving him, or 2) he was drugged to the gills. A morphine-induced declaration of love wasn't what she had in mind, and considering he never reiterated it... Scully shook her head again, trying to clear the entire mental conversation from her mind. She gathered the few remaining files on her desk and put them in a neat pile on the desk blotter. She wanted to wait until Mulder returned from his meeting with Skinner to wish him a good weekend. She wanted to wait, but the urge to flee the office was too strong. She couldn't wait to get home and dig into her weekend supplies: potato chips, diet soda and a few quarts of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. Scully grabbed her briefcase and coat, opened the office door, and barely missed colliding with her partner, whose face was buried in a file folder. "Oh, sorry," she said as she put a hand on his arm. He raised his head and met her gaze, the look on his face immediately sending up a red flag in her mind. Something was wrong. "Mulder, what is it?" He waved her off with her a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Nothing. Just going over what Skinner said." "That bad?" "Isn't it always?" She waited for him to elaborate but he offered nothing, instead nodding to her briefcase. "You heading home?" "Yeah, I thought I'd start the weekend early," she said, finally shifting her gaze from his face to his hands. She could see photos peeking out from inside the file folder, presumably from the case he was consulting on for VCS. Maybe that's what has him in a funk, she thought. She never understood where Mulder went in his mind when he worked on profiles, and it was something she hoped she never had to understand. He became a different person, a different being, when he was in profiler mode. It scared her, worried her, but she knew it was nothing she could help. Mulder went to that dark place, that hellish state of mind that only he could endure, and she had to step back and let him do his job. From the look in his eyes, he was heading to that place now. She pointed to the folder. "Is this your consult?" "Yeah, part of it. Just autopsy photos." She nodded as an uncomfortable silence ensued. It was as if he was waiting for her to either say something or leave. She chose both. "Well, I'll leave you to your work. See you Monday." She took three steps before being lured back. "Actually, you won't," he replied. "These mutilation cases have taken a strange turn. I fly out tonight for Arizona. Have a good weekend, Scully." He disappeared into the office, leaving the door open. Curiosity and willful ignorance waged a war in her head. As usual, curiosity won. She followed him into the office to find him at his desk, spreading photos across its cluttered surface. "Sounds like it could be ritualistic killings if it involves mutilation," Scully offered. He shrugged but kept his eyes on the photos. She didn't know what possessed her, but she pressed further. "Who has the case now?" "Rookie named Taylor," Mulder said, finally meeting her gaze. "Fresh out of the Academy and just assigned to the Phoenix field office two months ago. Phoenix is backlogged with militia group trouble in southern Arizona and Taylor's all they could spare." His eyes went back to the photos. "They requested both you and I but I told them you weren't available." Anger rose in her chest like a cobra readying itself to strike. One reddish-brown eyebrow arched painfully high and her lips pursed, waiting for him to continue. Mulder chose that moment to look at her. He realized immediately what his words had done. "I know how much you were looking forward to a full weekend. You've been putting in ridiculous hours since..." He paused, added a sigh. "I can handle this alone, Scully. You need a break. You deserve one." And it should be my choice when to take it, Scully mentally screamed at him. How dare he decide whether or not she was needed on a case? And why tell her about the case in the first place if he had no intention of having her participate? She wanted to turn and leave but this was one mystery she refused to have clouding her weekend. "Scully, if you wouldn't mind, could you take a look at these before you go?" He approached her with a stack of photos in his hand. She swallowed a sarcastic remark upon seeing his face. Very faintly, in the depths of his sad eyes, she could see a flicker of excitement. It was barely perceptible to her, and completely imperceptible to the casual observer, but it was there. She knew that look all too well. He was no longer looking at the consult as a regular VCS case, but as an X-File. Scully put down her briefcase and turned her attention to the photos. The first was a head-and-shoulders shot of a female body. Scully noted the complexion of the woman had once been flawless and probably a creamy peach color, but was now blued and dulled with death. Severe bruising painted the throat with sickly purple blotches. On the chest, just above the breastbone, the number 1151 was carved with delicate precision. From the lack of blood surrounding the incisions, Scully ascertained the cuts were most likely made posthumously. "This is the first victim," he said. "Gina Wallace, age twenty- five, graduate student in communications. Smart, popular, a bright future. She was found in a campus science building the morning of January 30." Scully nodded as Mulder handed her one photo after another. "Next was April Mazur two weeks later, followed the next week by Allison Bittner. And just six days ago was Carol Huber. All victims died in the same manner: their windpipes were crushed like aluminum cans. The Phoenix office got the call the day after Mazur's body was found." "So Taylor's been there for two weeks?" Mulder nodded. "I just got a call on my cell phone an hour ago from him. They found a fifth victim this afternoon. They haven't done the autopsy yet but it looks like the body is in the same shape as the others." Scully studied the photos, noting that although the numbers on each woman were different, their style and perfection didn't vary. She mentally catalogued the numbers on the other three victims: 1156, 1140 and 1145. She pointed to the carvings. "They have any idea what these numbers are for?" He shook his head. "Nothing definite. It points to a possible cataloguing of sorts, rather than a spur-of-the-moment killing." "Which ties in with ritualistic murder." "Possibly." "But you think there's more." He shrugged as he took the photos from her hand and returned to his desk. That was her cue to leave, but Scully couldn't help herself. "Any connections between the four women?" "Two, but they don't tell us much," he replied as he gathered another pile of photos from his desk. "All four women attended Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, and all four were said to have dated one Carlos Maderas, an associate professor of architecture at NAU." "I'd say that last one tells us quite a bit. Is he in custody?" "They brought him in today. He had been questioned several times but because witnesses placed him at a local hangout at the times of each of the other murders, they didn't arrest him. This last one happened early this morning, and Maderas claimed to be alone at his apartment, fast asleep." Scully absorbed the information while continuing to survey the photos. "So all five of these women were girlfriends?" "Former girlfriends," Mulder corrected. "All five were lovers he had dumped, rather unceremoniously I might add. Two of the women caught him the throes of passion with another woman. Another two found out through friends that he had been fooling around on them. He's been known to have a fiery temper and according to the roommate of one of the victims, he likes it rough, sexually speaking." Scully caught a hint of a leer in Mulder's eyes as he approached her with another stack of photos. "Many of the victims had begun to bad-mouth Maderas around the campus, trying to sully his Casanova image. Shouting matches between him and two of his ex-girlfriends were witnessed on several occasions. I admit, Maderas would make the perfect suspect. However, I don't think he's our man." "Why?" Scully knew her partner was onto something, but as usual, he was drawing it out for dramatic effect. "He has an air-tight alibi." "Even air-tight alibis can be faked. Maderas has the motive and the means. Why are you still going to Arizona?" Mulder handed Scully the new photos. "Before I went home last night, I asked the lab blow up the numbers carved on Huber's chest. Tell me what you see." Scully eyed her partner for a moment, then took the photos and studied them carefully, her gaze sweeping each photo slowly and deliberately. "I can't be certain since these are enlargements, but it looks like the cuts were made by a razor or thin knife." Mulder nodded. "What else?" She pursed her lips and looked at the photos again, honing in on the precision of the cuts themselves. Something about the angle... A tiny gasp escaped her lips. "These were made by a left-handed person." She pointed to the photo. "Look at the angle. It would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to angle the knife like that and get as precise and straight a cut as this if the person were right-handed." "You get the gold star for today, Agent Scully." He took the photos from her hand. "So the killer is left-handed. What's so special about that?" She paused, trying to read Mulder's thoughts. "Let me guess. Maderas is right-handed." "You could say that." "Mulder, did you ever stop to think that Maderas could be ambidextrous?" A smile crept into the corners of her partner's mouth. "Maybe he was at one time, Scully, but not now. Five years ago, Carlos Maderas lost three fingers from his left hand to frostbite. He was left with only his ring finger, his pinkie and severe nerve damage. His left hand is basically useless." Other than an involuntary twitch of one eyebrow, Scully's expression remained neutral. She grabbed her briefcase on her way to the door. She stopped just inside the doorway but kept her back to Mulder. "What time does our flight leave?" "What?" "You heard me. What time does our flight leave?" "Scully, you don't have to go. You should take the time for yourself." She turned on her heel and bored through him with her eyes. "You're right. I should take the time off. I have a long weekend and permission from Skinner to take it. However, I figured you could use my help on this case, unless..." "Seven-thirty flight," he blurted. "Meet me back here at six." She proceeded out of the office and down the hallway. Interesting, she thought. He had requisitioned two plane tickets. He wanted her to go on the case but was afraid to ask her to give up her weekend. She wasn't sure if she should thank him or punch him. She knew which one she wanted to do the most. Scully sighed as she boarded the elevator to the parking garage. So much for her weekend with Ben & Jerry. END PART 1 ********************** ENSKY (2/11) by viXen Pinetop Inn Flagstaff, Arizona March 12, 1999 10:45pm MST "Don't blame me for the accommodations," Mulder said as he pulled the rental car into a parking space. The motel of choice was the Pinetop Inn, a U-shaped building with the facade of a log cabin, complete with a fake chimney over each room. The room numbers were carved in the heavy wood doors, and the lights next to each door looked like old-fashioned oil lamps. "Actually," Scully said as she eyed the building, "I think it's charming, in a Daniel Boone sort of way. How did you find this place?" "Taylor was already here. I thought it would be better if we all stayed at the same hotel." "I'm going to get our room keys," he said abruptly, unfolding his tall form from the driver's seat. "I'll meet you in Taylor's room." "I'll go with you..." He cut her off. "No, I can handle it. Taylor can brief you on the case until I get there. He's in room five." Scully watched her partner walk toward the hotel's office, his gait quick and determined. Her lips pulled into a thin, sad smile as she saw the bitter symbolism of the scene: he physically fled her presence almost as quickly as he fled it emotionally. He'd feigned exhaustion on the plane ride, sleeping the entire five hours to Phoenix. The puddle-jumper flight from Phoenix barely got up in the air before landing in Flagstaff, but Mulder managed a few more minutes of shut-eye. The short car ride to the hotel was driven in silence. Since they left D.C., he refused to look her in the eye, as if doing so would result in his body turning into a pillar of salt. Something was wrong, and her instincts told her it had nothing to do with the case. Unfortunately, instincts did little to provide her with answers. Snow flurries kissed her face and hair as she briskly walked to Room Five. She raised a hand to knock when the door abruptly opened, revealing a man clad in a charcoal gray suit pants and a badly wrinkled white dress shirt. His conservatively striped tie was undone and hung limply around his neck. "You must be Agent Scully." The man extended a hand and Scully took it, shaking firmly. "Dean Taylor, Phoenix field office. It's good to meet you." He looked over her shoulder. "Is Agent Mulder with you?" "He's handling our check-in," she said as she stepped into the room. "I was hoping you could catch me up to speed on the case in the meantime." He gestured to one of the hardwood chairs in the room and Scully took him up on the offer after shedding her trenchcoat. She opened the file on her lap, then looked at Taylor, taking in his appearance. Pale, smooth skin complemented an attractive boyish face, a smattering of freckles surrounding a small button nose adding to the impression that he looked no older than sixteen. His dishwater blonde hair was cut well above his collar in the back, and shaved close on the sides. Dark brown, deep-set eyes swept over her form as she returned the gesture. "Not much for me to say," he said with a shrug. "This case looked open and shut. It _felt_ open and shut. I'm sure that's why my SAC sent me out here, because everyone knew Carlos Maderas was the right guy. You'll know what I mean when you meet Maderas. He oozes guilt." "He hasn't been released?" "No, not yet. I... uh..." He paused, digging his heel in the carpet, looking like a teenage boy who'd been caught sneaking back in the house after curfew. "I told Ryan... Ian Ryan, he's the lead detective on this case and has been since the first murder. Anyway, I told him about what Agent Mulder found and I talked him into waiting until we had definitive proof from the M.E before releasing Maderas. I just don't want to give up on the idea that Maderas is guilty." "According to your report, Mr. Maderas seems to be quite an interesting character." Taylor snuffed. "The guy's a grade-A creep. I wouldn't advise you questioning him alone." His eyes widened at her raised eyebrow. "No offense, really. I know you're an excellent interrogator from studying some of the cases you and Agent Mulder have solved. I just meant that Maderas is crude. He thinks he's Don Juan but he's just primordial slime with a Castellian accent." Scully's jaw dropped slightly, not from the frank comments about Maderas but from something else Taylor said. "You've studied X- File cases?" "Yeah, while I was at the Academy. You and Agent Mulder have quite a reputation, as I'm sure you know. But no one can dispute your solve rate. Reputation or not, you two must be doing something right. I figured I could learn a thing or two." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "Guess I was wrong. Agent Mulder took one look at the evidence and found the blaring inconsistency I missed." "I think you're being a bit hard on yourself, Agent Taylor." "Dean." "Dean," she continued, "observations like this come only with experience. Even I missed the angle of the cuts until Mulder encouraged me take a closer look at the pictures. I know first- hand that a textbook and a few case studies cannot prepare you for many of the things you'll see in the field." "Especially the fields you and Agent Mulder explore?" A tight smile stretched her lips. "Especially those fields." Taylor returned the smile, then leaned forward in his chair. "That's why I'm glad you two agreed to take this case. There's something about it...I don't know. It really bugs me." "What do you mean?" "The crushed necks on the victims. According to the M.E., there are no secondary contusions to the throat. One fatal blow crushed everything in the throat area." "I read that in the autopsy reports, but there must be some mistake. Perhaps a contusion so embedded that it looks like part of the same injury." Taylor shrugged. "Maybe, but I saw this latest victim and it sure looks like one forceful blow. The bruises are about the size and shape of a person's open palm." Scully remained unconvinced. "That's not possible. It had to take more than the pressure of a person's hand to thoroughly crush not only the cartilage of the trachea, but the vertebral column and spinal cord as well. It takes over thirty pounds of pressure to crush just the trachea alone, and it would take four or five times that to do the damage I'm seeing in these pictures." She shook her head. "There must be hidden injuries, probably made with a blunt object or repeated hits by someone's fist or the heel of their shoe, that occurred prior to the fatal blow." "Well, you can take that up with Dr. Francis tomorrow. The autopsy is scheduled for eight a.m. I called her when Agent Mulder said you would be accompanying him. She wants you to do the autopsy, as long as she can observe." Scully nodded. "I don't see a problem with that." "She was dying to do the autopsy herself, but she can't," Taylor said with a boyish grin. "She's eight months pregnant. She said she can barely reach the autopsy table anymore because of her stomach. I've seen her and it's true. Her stomach is out to..." A knock interrupted Taylor and he sprang to his feet to answer it, swinging the door open quickly. "Agent Mulder, so glad to finally meet you." He shook Mulder's hand vigorously, like a fan meeting his favorite celebrity. "Agent Scully and I were just going over the autopsy arrangements for tomorrow." He motioned the senior agent into the room and gave him his chair, choosing to stand. "Good," Mulder said, giving a slight nod to his partner. "Scully can handle that while you and I head to the latest scene. I'd also like to see the other three scenes, if possible." "I was hoping you would say that," Taylor replied, not bothering to hide his excitement. "I've been wanting to see you in action ever since I read your monograph, you know, the one that was used in the Propps case. I've studied so many of your cases at the Academy I feel like I know you already." Scully hid a smile at Mulder's reaction to the younger agent's fawning. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Mulder was a master at hiding his emotions but his bewilderment was obvious in his wide eyes and stunned expression. She was happy to see someone showing Mulder some respect. Others tended to overlook his incredible profiling ability in lieu of his "Spooky" reputation. He deserved a little professional ego stroking as much as the next person. At this point, she wouldn't mind watching his head swell a bit. An egotistical Mulder was easier to handle than a depressed one. She took pity on Mulder, breaking the awkward silence. "Agent Taylor... Dean, why don't you take it from the top, when you joined the investigation." Taylor grabbed a notebook from his back pocket. "I've got pages and pages of notes here. Are you sure you want everything? It could take a while." "Give us everything," Mulder said. "Don't leave anything out. It's already past my bedtime so what's a few more hours?" Taylor smiled and opened his notebook. <<<<<>>>>> Pinetop Inn March 13 12:45am "That was nice of you to compliment his work," Scully said after they left Taylor's room. Mulder shrugged. "He did his job, Scully. His initial investigation was thorough and he picked up on details that the local forensic people missed. He couldn't be expected to pick up on the angle of the cuts when the M.E. even missed it." "Still, I think your praise helped boost his spirits. It's obvious he idolizes you." "Poor kid is delusional." "Why? Because he sees you as a brilliant profiler? Because he sees you have a gift?" "Oh, is _that_ what it's called?" Humor. This is good, Scully thought as they walked to their rooms. It was self-deprecating humor but that was normal for Mulder. Talking about the case, added with Taylor hanging on his every word, helped bring the old Mulder out of hiding. His armor was cracking, and a hairline fracture was all she needed to get to the bottom of what was bothering him. "You have an amazing gift, Mulder. One that every agent in Violent Crimes secretly wants to have." "Awhh, Scully," he said with a half-hearted leer, "flattery will get you everywhere." I sure hope so, she thought. As they arrived at their rooms, she decided it was time to put pressure on that hairline fracture. "Mulder, I've been wanting to talk to you..." "Scully," he interrupted, slipping his key in the door, "it's late. You need some rest. You have an autopsy to do in a few hours." She could hear the crack in his armor shore itself up, the steel barrier once again intact and impenetrable. "The autopsy is in _seven_ hours. That's plenty of time..." "No, you need your rest. You look tired. I know those dark circles under your eyes aren't meant to be a fashion statement." "I'm fine..." "Somehow I don't believe that." He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Get some sleep." Scully refused to let him win. "Why do you always walk away, Mulder?" He looked at her, his eyes dim. "I don't know. Maybe you should try it some time." She stared at the '12' carved in the solid wood, barely aware that he had shut the door in her face. She moved to the window and through a broken slat in the blinds, she saw him disappear into the bathroom. She pressed her ear against the glass and heard the faint hissing of the shower. "Bastard," she grumbled to herself. This had to stop. Whatever depressing, brooding bug had crawled up Mulder's ass was destroying their relationship. They had to talk. She thought about going to the hotel office, getting the key to his room, and confronting him in the bathroom. He'd certainly be a captive audience then, wouldn't he? Maybe she'd steal the towels so he'd have to talk to her. She let out a harsh bark of laughter. Very mature approach, she thought as she opened the door to her room. Not that any approach would work. Prying open a clam with a plastic fork would be easier than prying Mulder's feelings out of him tonight. Tomorrow, however, was another day. She headed for the bathroom, intent on a hot, relaxing shower. Mulder was right on one count: she was tired and needed a good night's sleep. "Whatever that is," she sighed as she let the hot streams of water caress her body. <<<<<>>>>> Pinetop Inn 7:15am Restless didn't begin to describe Scully's slumber. Between Mulder's behavior, the case and the incessant howling of what she assumed were coyotes, she only managed a few hours' sleep, though she was glad her dreams did not include any disembodied organs. She woke once and went to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a coyote. The only creatures she found were a trio of raccoons expertly raiding the trash bin in the parking lot. She watched the raccoons, silently cheering them on when they found a McDonald's bag filled with French fries and a half-eaten Big Mac. The nature show continued for nearly an hour, until a car pulling into the parking lot scared away the entertaining scavengers. The rest of the night was spent staring at the ceiling, praying for a restful sleep that never came. She rose about six, took a long shower, and poured over the autopsy reports while sipping on the tasteless coffee courtesy of the mini-coffeemaker in her room. Satisfied she knew the reports inside and out, she left her room and knocked on her partner's door. After her third set of harsh raps on the door, she conceded he wasn't in his room. She looked to the parking lot but found their rented Crown Victoria in the same parking spot. Now where did he go, she wondered as she went back to her room. She retrieved the reports and her black bag, then went to Taylor's room, hoping Mulder was already there. She knocked on the door and it opened slowly. "Oh, good morning, Agent Scully," Taylor said as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Sorry, I overslept. I was up until four going over the notes I took last night." "You haven't seen Mulder this morning, have you?" "Yeah," he said as he produced a key ring from his pocket. "He dropped off these off and asked me to give them to you. I guess they're for the rental car." Scully's eyebrow arched. "Did he say where he was going?" "No. He just said he'd meet me at Detective Ryan's office at eight." Scully gave Taylor a nod and a curt "See you later," then walked to the car, giving one last look at Mulder's door. Once she was out of Taylor's earshot, she let out a long sigh through pursed lips. It was going to be a long day. END PART 2 ********************** ENSKY (3/11) by viXen Coconino County Medical Examiner's Office Flagstaff, Arizona March 13, 1999 7:45am Scully found the Coconino County building without a problem. The Medical Examiner's office took up the basement floor of the Public Health wing of the building, which she also found easily. Finding the medical examiner, however, proved to be a challenge. Her first stop was to check in at the main part of the office, letting them know who she was and that the body needed to be prepared immediately. The cheerful woman at the front desk informed her that Dr. Linda Francis had yet to check in, and she would have to wait. Before Scully's anger reached full boiling point, a thin, in walked a sandy-haired man with the brightest green eyes and longest legs she'd ever seen. She hated to stereotype, but this guy's height screamed 'college basketball star.' "Dr. Scully, I'm Joe Kortkamp, Dr. Francis' assistant." He extended an enormous hand, which Scully shook as firmly as she could, considering her entire hand wasn't much larger than his palm. "I'd be happy to show you around." "Thank you, I'd appreciate that." She followed him through the office and down a corridor, and he pointed out the suite where she would be performing the autopsy. "Kortkamp. That was the signature on the first two autopsies." "Guilty as charged. It's just Dr. Francis and me here doing the autopsies. I'm her P.A. She wasn't available for the first two." "What are your thoughts about this newest one, compared to the others?" "Carbon copy of the other victims. Pretty, young female, age twenty to twenty-six. Bruising is in the same place on the throat, mutilations are in the same place on the chest." He stopped in front of a door marked 'Changing Area.' "I've finished with the external photographs of the body, as well as an initial sweep for trace evidence. Just like the others, I couldn't get a fingerprint, not even a partial." He pointed to the door. "While you're scrubbing up, I'll take the film for processing. Any test you order will have a Priority One slapped on it in the lab." "Thank you," she replied, her neck feeling the pain of having to look up to meet the man's grass-green gaze. "Will you be observing as well?" "Unfortunately not. We had two bodies come in last night, the result of a fight downtown. There are two teenage males waiting for me to discover who shot whom first." "Good luck." "You, too. Dr. Francis should be here any minute, if she's not here already. She may have slipped in the back. I'll let you get changed." She gave him a quick nod good-bye and slipped into the changing room. "I'm in here, Joe," a disembodied voice called from behind an area cordoned off by a shower curtain. "It's not Joe," Scully called out. A head peeked out from behind the curtain, long raven-black hair fanning around a plump, pleasant face. "Oh, you must be Agent... uh, Dr. Scully." "Dana is fine. And you must be Dr. Francis." "Linda," she said as her head slipped behind the curtain again. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Dean Taylor told me all about you. He thinks you and your partner walk on water." "He's too kind." She paused to step behind another curtain and began stripping out of her clothes. "I'm anxious to see one of these bodies in person. I have a feeling the photos aren't doing them justice." A hiccup of high-pitched laughter filled the room. "No, they certainly aren't. I've never seen anything like it. This is a small town, yes, but we've seen our share of bizarre murder cases. This one, though, takes the prize." "I met your P.A. on the way in and he told me the external exam is done." "Good. I told him to take as many photos as he could of the neck area, from every angle he could get the camera to take. To be honest, though, the injuries look exactly like the others." Scully stepped out from behind the curtain and got her full first view of Linda Francis. Taylor was right. Francis' scrub top was stretched painfully tight over her protruding stomach. Her long hair now pulled back into a bun, loosely held in place by barrettes, her face free of makeup. She had the healthy glow usually associated with being pregnant. The woman was the picture of impending motherhood. Francis waved her to follow. "We scrub up over here." She walked through the other door in the room, which lead to an area occupied by two steel sinks, a rack of towels and several shelves filled with latex glove boxes, surgical masks and booties. "You performed the last two autopsies, but not the first two?" The M.E. patted her stomach. "Yes. The first one, I was stuck at a symposium down in Tucson, at the University of Arizona Medical School. The second victim came in just hours after I'd been through a bout of false labor. I was flat on my back for two days, doctor's orders." Francis flipped on the faucet and continued. "Technically, I shouldn't have done either of the last two autopsies. My doctor ordered me to desk work, no autopsies or long periods where I'm on my feet. I didn't tell him this, but there was no way in Hell I was going to miss doing those two autopsies. Even if they had to prop me up, I was doing them myself." "You're due soon, I hear." "Thank God," Francis laughed. "My official due date isn't for three weeks, but since it's my first, my doctor said to expect an early surprise, which will be good for my husband." She chuckled at Scully's raised eyebrow. "See, we didn't know the sex of the baby, and didn't want to, but my husband peeked at my last ultrasound. I told him if he slipped and blurted it out, I would do a Y-cut on him, only I'd start a lot lower than his chest." Smiling politely, Scully tried to think of something to steer the conversation back to the autopsy, but Francis continued. "He's been so good, hasn't said a word. I think he'll be more relieved to have this baby born than I will. I really didn't think we'd have kids. It wasn't something we wanted ten, even five years ago. But something happened. I guess it was the proverbial biological clock. I'm thirty-nine, Steve's forty-two. We're not getting any younger, so last year we decided to give parenthood a try." She stopped, looking in Scully's eyes. "I'm sorry, I've been hogging the conversation. What about you, Dana? Married? Children?" "No to both. My job isn't exactly conducive to either." Looking at the door, she prayed for Mulder, or anyone for that matter, to materialize and save her from the conversation. "That's what I used to think. Then I thought, 'Hey, if other women can do this, why can't I?' For all of the pain and discomfort and changes to my life, I have to say that being pregnant has been an amazing experience." "I'll take your word for it." How could she make this woman shut up? "You're still young, Dana. You still have years left. Contrary to what most of the talk shows would have you believe, there _are_ some good men still left in this world. Even with a busy schedule, all of this is possible. Even if it takes you a few more years, I think it's worth it. Motherhood is something every woman should experience, no matter what age..." "I'm not able to have children." Scully's breath caught after she spoke, surprised not only by what she said but by the voice in which it was delivered. Cold, harsh, unattached. A voice she barely recognized as her own. She would never experience what the woman standing before her was enthusiastically touting and anxiously awaiting: the arrival of her first child. An opaque silence filled the room, its presence threatening to suffocate both women. Scully's gaze remained on her hands as she moved the towel over them, the movement automatic and robotically executed. Francis cleared her throat. "I... uh... I haven't seen my feet in three months, but apparently I'm still able to get one in my mouth." The corners of Scully's mouth curled into a sad smile. "Dana, I'm so sorry. That was very insensitive of me..." Scully straightened her spine and waved off the apology with a hand. "You don't have to apologize, Linda. I shouldn't have blurted that out. Let's just forget about it." "Deal," Francis breathed, relief returning the color to her face. "The suite is this way, through here." She pointed to a windowed door. They entered the autopsy suite, finding the body prepped, ready for their surgical intrusion. All thoughts of babies fled as Scully's eyes settled on the body. In all her years as a forensic pathologist, Dana Scully had never seen a throat crushed as badly as the one before her. The entire neck region was flattened to the thickness of her wrist. As she moved closer, the deep purplish-red markings came into view. They looked almost cartoonish, like a child had used the victim's neck as a canvas for a finger-painting project. She set her bag on a nearby metal tray, and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She reached for the neck, pressing down lightly on the side. A bowl of oatmeal, liquid with patches of thick, doughy lumps. "See what I mean?" Francis said. "Looks exactly like the others, at least the two I saw. Joe did the first two and he said the same thing, they match the others. You know, I trust Joe implicitly. He's the best assistant I've ever had. He does many of the autopsies that come through this office, and he always, _always_, does a first-rate job. But this... I hate to say it, but when I started the autopsy on the third victim, I was convinced he had missed something and that I was going to find it. But I didn't." "What about the injuries to the vertebral column?" "You mean, do I think it's multiple injuries? I'd love to think that, but the evidence just isn't there. This is one forceful injury. One blow. As far as I can tell, there was no use of an external object to help add force." "But Linda, you and I both know that's not possible. A person can't press down on someone's throat and completely destroy everything inside. There had to be something, a baseball bat, a pipe, something forced down on this woman's neck to cause this destruction." "I know, Dana, but I'll be damned if I can find it. The angle and shape of the injury matches the size of a human palm. A smaller- than-average hand, but a hand nonetheless. If a pipe or baseball bat had been used, there would be severe bruising in a cylindrical shape. Plus, a swing from a bat or some other object would have created one point of impact, then offshoots that took a lesser impact of the blow. The force of this blow started on the throat, or within a few inches of it." Though every instinct in her body told her otherwise, Scully found herself wanting to believe Linda Francis. The shape was the palm of a human hand, a right hand. She could see the angle the hand was at, where the thumb and fingers were situated on the neck before pressing down, bones crushing, cartilage disintegrating under the pressure. The wheezing of the woman's last breaths as she realized her only means of getting air to her lungs had been destroyed. The widening of her eyes as she pleaded with her killer to spare her life. Or to spare her dignity and kill her now, save her the minutes of panic and seizing as her brain and body fought a valiant yet undignified fight to stay alive. Francis' voice shattered the image. "Shall we get started?" Before making the Y incision, Scully had one more thing she wanted to do. She eyed the '1142' sliced into the corpse's skin. The cuts were in a nearly perfect line across, starting just below the hollow of the clavicle. Francis must have sensed her hesitation. "The other victims appeared to have the same types of cuts. The '1' is almost identical to the others. Considering the depth and thinness of the cut, my bet's on an Exacto knife, though it was probably dull near the end." "I noticed that," Scully replied as she used the scalpel to pull back a section of the cut. "The first number is a cleaner cut than the last. It looks like the killer had to force the blade to make the last part of the two." Using the scalpel and her fingers, Scully separated the skin on each of the cuts, examining the depth and angle of each number. When she pried apart the last straight part of the '2,' she found more than a deep wound. "Linda, hand me some tweezers, would you?" Without taking her eyes from the cut, she held her hand out and waited until she felt the cool metal of the tweezers. "What? What did you find?" "Part of the murder weapon, I believe." Scully pulled the tweezers from the cut, and caught between the pincers was a triangular sliver of metal, silver in color and just centimeters in diameter. Francis held out a plastic evidence bag and once Scully dropped the metal sliver in, she sealed it. The coroner walked to a wall phone and punched a series of numbers, spoke quickly into the phone and left the bag near the door before returning to Scully's side. "It's still not much to go on," Scully said as she began the Y incision on the corpse, "but at least we'll be able to determine what type of blade was used." "At this point, any clue in this case is damn near a miracle." Francis nodded to the body. "OK, Dana, let's see what other magic you can perform." <<<<<>>>>> Coconino County Medical Examiner's Office 10:25am Despite the discovery of the blade fragment she had found, Scully was disappointed. She was hoping for a more solid lead but the remainder of the autopsy proved uneventful. Once she was satisfied they had done all they could, she left Linda Francis in the autopsy suite with Kortkamp and too many unanswered questions. Releasing her hair from its barrette prison, she headed to the changing room and shed the bloody scrubs. She was about to pull on her shirt when her cell phone beckoned from inside her jacket pocket. She sneered at the jacket, but fished out the phone anyway. "Scully." "How's the autopsy going?" "It's done," she replied, happy to hear Mulder's voice. "Found two interesting items. Inside one of the cuts was a small fragment of a blade. The M.E. is having it messengered to the medical center down in Tucson for analysis. And there was a hand print on the neck, a right hand. Neither gives us much to go on." "At least you found something. That's better than Taylor and I did." "So what's next?" "Looks like we have to release the charming Mr. Maderas from custody. Would you care to join me in witnessing it?" "Wouldn't miss it for the world." A thin film of sarcasm coated her words. "We're across the street in the precinct office. Are you almost done there?" "I'm changing as we speak. I can be there in fifteen." Scully pulled the phone from her ear, ready to hit the 'off' button, when she heard Mulder's voice. "Scully, you still there?" "Yeah." "Did you talk to Skinner today?" Scully's brow crinkled. "No. Did you?" "No," he said quickly. "Not since yesterday. He mentioned he might be calling." "For what? To check up on us?" She waited for a response but was met with silence. "If he does call, do you want me to give him a message?" A pregnant pause, then, "Tell him he's right." "Right about what, Mul..." Her voice trailed off when she heard the disconnecting click. END PART 3 ********************** ENSKY (4/11) by viXen Flagstaff Police Department March 13, 1999 10:45am "...but we don't have a choice. We have nothing to hold him on." Scully listened to the unfamiliar baritone voice as she approached the office. Upon seeing her badge, a uniformed officer at the front desk had directed to a corner office toward the back of the building. The door was open and she could see Mulder and Taylor, their backs to her, talking to someone seated at a desk. She cleared her throat. Mulder turned to face her, his small smile greeting her. He seemed almost relieved to see her. "Detective Ted Ryan, this is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully." The man behind the desk rose from his chair and extended a hand. As she shook his hand, she took in his appearance. He had the same ex-Marine hard-body look Skinner had, only he wore no glasses and had a thinning yet still intact head of brown hair. His eyes, deep-set and the color of milk chocolate, screamed his weariness and desperation to find the killer. "Good to meet you, Agent Scully. I was hoping for better news from you." "I was hoping to bring you better news. The fragment is a start, albeit an obscure one. However, it's not enough to hold the suspect in custody." "Damn," Ryan mumbled. "I thought we had this one all wrapped up." "So did I," Taylor said, not bothering to hide his frustration. "I say we release Maderas, but put a tail on him..." He paused as the phone on the desk buzzed to life. Ryan grabbed it on the second ring. "Ryan... no, Katie... no, I haven't changed my mind... you are not going to an out-of-town concert with people I've never met before... I can't discuss this right now, honey, I've got people in my office... Katherine Ann, we will discuss this later. Good-bye." He slammed the phone down and ran a hand over his face. "Teenagers." Scully's lips stretched into a small smile as she remembered the first rock concert she wanted to attend. Ahab had been receptive to the idea, even giving her a more lenient curfew. Until he found out the concert was three towns and forty miles away. Scully eyed a framed photo on Ryan's desk. Three young women, two blondes and one brunette, stared back at her, their resemblance to each other not evident save their sharp Roman noses, like their father. Ryan followed her line of sight. "That's them. The source of my pride and many of my headaches. Katie's still in high school, Ashley just started at the U of A down in Tucson. My oldest, Libby, is a student up here at NAU. Astronomy major. I always said she had her head in the clouds. Now she really does." He chuckled to himself. "I tried to talk her into skipping classes until we caught this killer but she refused. Stubborn as her old man." "All the more reason for us to trip up Maderas," Taylor said. "Maybe Agents Mulder and Scully will have more luck with the questioning." "I thought you were releasing him," Scully directed to Ryan. "We are, but Taylor thought it would be a good idea to have you two keep him company while we process the paperwork." He shot a conspiratorial smile at the younger agent. "A witness came forward this morning and gave us a little more to work with," Taylor explained. "This witness said he saw Maderas in a shouting match with the latest victim less than six hours before her murder." Scully looked at Taylor, then Ryan. "That should be enough to get a judge to hold Maderas." "Already tried it," Ryan said. "The witness admitted to having five beers that night, and no food. He left the establishment and saw Maderas and a woman shouting at each other in the parking lot. When we showed him a picture of Stacy Nerini, he couldn't be sure that she was the woman he saw with Maderas." Scully nodded. "So you want us to see if we can trip up Maderas with this new information." "You got it." "What about his lawyer?" Mulder asked. "I would think Maderas would want one present when we question him." "Guess we forgot to mention that," Ryan said with a laugh. "See, Maderas has made it quite clear that he hates lawyers. Can't stand them, has an obvious hatred for the one his girlfriend hired for him. Every time the guy tells Maderas to shut up, he sings like a bird. The only problem is, he hasn't sung a single note that will help us." Ryan grabbed a file folder on his way to the door. "Interrogation room's down the hall, first door on the left. Agent Taylor and I will be in the bullpen praying." <<<<<>>>>> Flagstaff County Jail 11:10am Scully sat in one of the chairs surrounding a faux-wood table in the closet of an interrogation room. She could hear Maderas's approach, a smooth tenor voice shouting a thick string of words that Scully deduced were in Spanish. She flipped to the last page of Maderas' booking report, skimmed it quickly before closing the file folder and moving to stand next to Mulder. "Ten bucks says he's not reciting Bible verses," Mulder said as he slipped off his suit jacket and put it across a chairback. Maderas was still yelling, but had changed to English to continue his rant. His pronunciation was flawless, though Scully detected a heavy Spanish accent. According to his file, Maderas was born and raised in Spain, but moved to the U.S. in 1989. The thin smile melted from her lips as the door opened. Upon getting her first glimpse of Carlos Maderas, she clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. The man was an Adonis. There was no other word to describe him. Dark olive skin, thick jet-black hair and a perfectly chiseled face. With her view of his profile, she couldn't see eye color but she was positive they would be dark and dangerous. She could, however, see the long eyelashes fanning his cheekbones as he blinked, which seemed to happen more frequently as his voice rose. His left hand was in his pocket, so she couldn't see the disfigurement, probably a normal gesture on his part since the frostbite accident. The fingers on his right hand were long and elegant, his fingernails smooth and meticulously shaped. A light blue dress shirt hugged the well-defined muscles on his arms and chest, and beige linen dress pants accented his small waist and long legs. Antonio Banderas, she thought. No, Antonio Banderas with the body of a god. "Maybe I'm wrong, Scully, but it might be difficult to question the suspect with your tongue hanging out like that." She turned to her partner and gave him a look that could sear paint off a building before turning her attention back to Maderas, who was still complaining, oblivious to the agents in the room. "Why are you taking me here?" Maderas spat at the guard. "I was told I was being released. I will not stand for this!" "Then sit down," the guard snapped, his horn-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. "Until your paperwork is complete, you're still a resident of our fine establishment. In the meantime, there are some nice people who want to talk to you. I'll be right outside." The guard saluted the agents before making a quick exit. "I cannot believe this," Maderas huffed, still unaware of the agents standing behind him. He let loose with another string of profanities in his native tongue until Mulder interrupted him. "We're over here, Mr. Maderas, and we don't comprende Espanol." Maderas turned on his heel, shock widening his eyes. His features softened when his gaze settled on Scully. "And who might 'we' be?" "I'm Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Fox Mulder." She flashed her badge. "We have just a few clarifications we would like to make regarding your statement. If you would take a seat, we'll proceed." Maderas continued to eye Scully, his gaze sweeping her entire body like a slow caress. She fought a shiver, acutely aware that Maderas was, in all likelihood, mentally undressing her. She was used to men leering; her partner was a frequent offender. But a Mulder leer was non-threatening, even amusing at times. The look in Maderas's eyes was more intense. Predatory. "What clarifications could you possibly need?" the suspect said, his gaze firmly planted on Scully's lips. "I made my statement and cooperated fully." "And we appreciate that," Mulder replied, "but there seems to be a few discrepancies and we'd like to clear them up before you leave." Maderas finally shifted his gaze to Mulder. He gave the agent a quick once-over and Scully saw the beginning of a sneer on Maderas's lips. "Sir, I have answered all questions. I see no need to repeat myself." His eyes found Scully's again. "You are an FBI agent?" His question surprised her but she kept her cool. "Is that a problem?" "No, no. I just did not know the FBI was so, how you say, progressive. I assumed the agents were all men. To allow such a beautiful, petite woman to carry a gun and a badge..." "Mr. Maderas," Scully interrupted curtly, "we have just a few questions, but we would be happy to wait for your attorney to arrive..." Maderas gave a short laugh. "Why, so I can pay him an outrageous fee to have him tell me what common sense provides? Lawyers are a waste of time and money. I have no need for them. I have nothing to hide." His expression softened. "If the lady wants to ask me questions, how can I say no?" He made a gentlemanly bow at the waist, then approached the nearest chair. Mulder leaned into her, his breath feathering her ear. "Detective Ryan failed to mention we would be needing barf bags for this interview." Scully bit the inside of her bottom lip as she took a seat at the table. Taylor wasn't kidding when he said Maderas was charming to the point of being obnoxious. "You do realize that if you are charged," Scully said, "you will need a lawyer to defend you in court." "I will not be charged because I did not murder anyone." His gaze pierced Scully, a mocha laser beam violating her body everywhere it touched. "There is a line from an American movie I saw many years ago: 'I am a lover, not a fighter.' That is me. That is Carlos Maderas." "God bless America," Mulder deadpanned before Scully could answer. He remained standing, leaning against the wall behind Scully's chair. She could tell from his stance he had no patience for their suspect. "Mr. Maderas, what was your relationship to the latest victim, Stacy Nerini?" Maderas replied without taking his eyes off of Scully. "I answered that question already, if you have read my statement. I dated Stacy for a few weeks last year, when I first arrived at NAU. It did not work out and we went our separate ways. I have not spoken to her in quite a while." "Really?" Scully commented. "We have a statement from a witness who said they saw you the night of the murder speaking with Ms. Nerini in the parking lot of a local restaurant. The conversation got quite heated." "That was Natasha, not Stacy." "Natasha?" Scully prompted. "Natasha Daley. I dated her a few months ago." "The witness claims it was Stacy Nerini," said Mulder. "The witness is mistaken. I have not seen Stacy for at least a month." Scully raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you haven't dated Ms. Nerini since last year." "Yes, but she came to me about a month ago." He paused and let out a sigh. "It is an old conversation, one that many of the women I have been with insist on pursuing. You see, I am attracted to a certain type of woman. Beautiful, passionate, aggressive." Maderas leaned forward, his eyes slowly skating over the contours and curves of Scully's face. "Women filled with fire so hot, I burn myself when I touch their skin. And as the fire of one dies down, I seek the fire of another. It is who I am, and some women do not understand that. They do not know when to, how you say, let go." Mulder cleared his throat. "So your last conversation with Ms. Nerini did not end on good terms?" "No, it did not, but that does not mean I killed her." Like a magnet, his gaze found Scully. "I reserve my passion for the bedroom, not for murder." Scully heard a faint snort from behind her chair. She had to agree with her partner's assessment. She was waiting for Maderas to whip out a sword so he could slice a 'Z' in the table top. He was the epitome of the Latin lover stereotype. The guy should be a professor of acting, not architecture. She gave the suspect her best apathetic look. "Can Ms. Daley corroborate your version of events in the parking lot?" "I'm sure she can since she was there." Mulder stepped forward and leaned on the table, his hand just inches from Scully's elbow. "We will need the names of all the women you have dated in the past year." "I have already done that, sir." Scully flipped to a page in the police report. "I see a very short list of women here." He shrugged. "I gave the detective all of the names I could remember." He turned to Scully and smiled. "I am terrible with names, you understand. I have, how you say, racked my brain trying to remember." She kept her expression neutral. "I suggest you try harder, Mr. Maderas. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the only connection between the five victims is you. The remaining women could be in danger." "It is an unfortunate situation, but what would you expect me to do? I can only remember so many things, so many names." He gestured with a flourish of his hand. "I cannot help that some women are more memorable than others." Scully bit the inside of her lip so hard, she drew blood. Carlos Maderas might not be guilty of murder, but he _was_ guilty of being one of the most chauvinistic pigs she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. And she'd met many, from med school to the Bureau. She was itching to put a bullet between his beautiful eyes but she knew he wasn't worth wasting ammunition. "I think we have all the information we need." Grabbing the file folder, Scully walked to the door, her gait quick but smooth. Before opening the door, she turned back and pinned Maderas with an icy gaze. "Mr. Maderas, do you know what it's like to choke on your own blood?" She paused, hiding a smile when she saw his eyes widen. "Those five women did. Their throats were crushed to the consistency of raw hamburger. Their airways were pierced by the bones and cartilage in their necks. They died a slow, violent death, their breath literally taken away, replaced with blood and tissue." She paused again, taking a breath to steady her anger. "Tell me, _Carlos_, how many of the dead women's names did you remember?" Maderas swallowed, visibly shaken for the first time in the interview. "I...I remembered two of them. Carol and Stacy. The others, I had forgotten until the detective told me." "Think you'll ever forget their names again?" Scully didn't wait for a reply. She calmly opened the door and left the room without another word. She kept walking, and Mulder caught up with her several feet down the hallway. Looking at him, she shook her head, disbelief rendering her speechless. "What, you did not, how you say, swoon over his suave Latin charm?" Mulder teased in a pathetic excuse for a Spanish accent. She forced a snort of bitter laughter. They continued down the hall and into the bullpen area of the department. Taylor was seated at a nearby desk, scribbling in his notebook. He looked up as they approached. "So, what did you think of Senor Maderas?" Mulder forced a smile. "I don't know about Agent Scully, but I seem to have a thin layer of smarm stuck to my skin." Taylor laughed. "Yeah, he had the same effect on everyone here. From the dour looks on your faces, my guess is he didn't say anything we could use." He looked at Scully, concern softening his expression. "He laid it on thick, didn't he?" "It was quite a performance," she nodded, finally finding her voice. "I doubt DeNiro could have done better. And no, he didn't reveal anything new. According to him, the woman in the parking lot was not Stacy Nerini. Should be easy enough to verify." She paused, shook her head. "I just can't believe any woman in her right mind would fall for that... that act." "Apparently several have." Taylor flipped through his notebook. "According to one witness, Maderas has been with a dozen or more women since he joined the NAU staff little over a year ago." "My faith in my gender has taken a sudden decline," Scully said with a sigh. "What bothers me more than his complete lack of regard for women is that he has no outward appearance of mourning. Five of his former girlfriends are dead, and he's thinks this is a game." "Maybe he gets, you know, excited when he's in dangerous situations," Taylor offered. "Can't get more dangerous than having people around you getting murdered." Mulder shook his head. "I think it's a defense mechanism. Make a game of it, and that's all it is: a game. It's not reality. That way, he doesn't have to deal with the fact that five people in his life are now dead." Scully nodded, realizing the truth in his words. She started to respond but stopped when she got a good look at Mulder's face. His eyes had narrowed and he was chewing on his bottom lip. She knew what that meant. "Even after that interview, you still think he's innocent." A statement, not a question. He met her gaze. "No, I doubt Mr. Maderas is innocent, and hasn't been for a very long time. However, I don't think he's the murderer." Scully's full attention focused on her partner. "Mulder, you heard how he treats women. They are objects to him, things to be conquered." "But he doesn't see it that way. In his mind, he is worshipping these women. You forget, he was raised in a different culture. Europeans have a more romantic outlook on how a man treats a woman." She quirked an eyebrow. "Romantic? He can't even remember their names and you say he's a romantic?" "Look at the story of Don Juan, Scully. Love 'em and leave 'em. Give them one night of ecstasy, one night of unbridled passion to last them a lifetime. To him, that is the ultimate gift a man could give a woman. Names are not important, only the memories of the experience." "Don Juan is a folk tale." "Most folk tales are based in fact." Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw Taylor watching them with awe. She broke eye contact with Mulder and turned her attention to the younger agent, giving him a look that demanded an explanation. Taylor obliged. "Is this how you two always work?" "Why?" she replied cautiously. "No reason. Just curious." Taylor shrugged and lowered his head, but not before Scully was able to catch his smile. She gave Mulder a cursory glance and a raised eyebrow, and he returned the gesture with a smirk and smiling eyes. He was amused that Taylor was amused. "Where's Detective Ryan?" she asked, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. Taylor closed his notebook and headed for the door. "He had to take off for a few minutes. There's only one homicide detective for Flagstaff, and he's it. He said he'll meet us at The Saw Mill for lunch. It's a college dive, right across the street from the campus. His daughter, Libby, works there." Scully lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't that where the witness saw Maderas with his mystery woman?" "Yeah, it's Maderas's favorite nighttime haunt. Ryan's daughter works days. He said he talked to her about it, but all she could give was second-hand accounts of what the other employees saw. She'd seen Maderas in there a few times during the day, but she didn't wait on him." Mulder and Scully followed Taylor out of the office, keeping a few paces behind him. Scully caught up to her partner, well aware that the proverbial wheels in Mulder's head were turning at full speed. "What are you thinking?" She kept her voice down. Mulder shrugged. "The daughter. Might be a good idea to talk to her without Dad around." "You think she knows something she hasn't told her dad? I would think she would be more open with him than with complete strangers." "Maybe, maybe not. If anything, we can get a look at Senor Charming's favorite party place." "Can't wait," she said flatly. She hated The Saw Mill already. END PART 4 ********************** ENSKY (5/11) by viXen The Saw Mill Flagstaff March 13 12:00pm "Anyone else have the urge to sing Monty Python's 'Lumberjack Song'?" Scully ignored her partner's comment, as well as Taylor's encouragements of laughter, as they approached the entrance to the Saw Mill. As she had expected, it had the facade of a log cabin, much like their hotel. Only their hotel didn't have an exactly-to-scale old- fashioned log flume erected next to it. The flume was nearly a football field in length and looked like a giant metal water slide starting deep in the woods behind the restaurant and extending down to the parking lot. Like the surroundings, the building housing the Saw Mill had its oddities. Enormous tree trunks jutted out from the sides of the restaurant, looking as if the logs had strayed from the flume and pierced the walls on their way down. Sawdust crunched under their feet as they entered the restaurant. The decor inside was predictable, considering what they encountered outside. Though the whole sawmill design was overdone, Scully figured it was a hit with the college crowd because of the hand-painted banner hanging over the bar area: 'Over 100 types of beer from twelve different countries! No one does beer like the Saw Mill!' Scully gave the restaurant a visual once-over, then focused on the waitress approaching them: a tall, painfully thin creature, the adjective 'willowy' created just for her. Pale skin stretched tight over an expressionless face, mousy-brown straight hair tied back, a few strands escaping to sit limply across her narrow shoulders. She wore appropriate clothing for the restaurant: a blue and white flannel shirt over a white t-shirt, faded blue jeans and brown hiking boots. The woman's taupe eyes blinked methodically. "Hi, welcome to the Saw Mill. Smoking or non-smoking?" "Non-smoking, please," Scully answered, suddenly realizing who the waitress was. The woman turned quickly and headed toward the back of the restaurant, expecting them to follow her. They did, and were seated at a table near the bar. "Today's special is Smokin' Joe's Millburger," their waitress said with well-rehearsed precision and a bored tone. "It's a quarter-pound lean beef burger smothered in our cook's homemade barbecue sauce, topped with onion rings, lettuce, tomato and cheddar cheese. Today's beer special is a nut-brown ale from Scotland called Belhaven Scottish Ale. I'll give you a few minutes to look at your menus." "You're Ted Ryan's daughter. Libby, right?" Scully asked. The woman turned and look at Scully through suspicion-narrowed eyes. "Who are you?" "We're with the FBI," Mulder replied. "We're working with your dad on a case." Libby grunted a reply, then mumbled, "I'll leave you look at the menus." She walked away before anyone could respond. The three agents exchanged questioning glances before Mulder and Taylor focused on their menus. Scully followed Libby Ryan's movement through the restaurant as the young woman delivered food to a nearby table, then disappeared down the hallway marked 'Restrooms.' Scully saw her chance. "I'll be right back," Scully said quickly. "Order me the special and an Evian." She found the bathrooms easily enough, the men's marked as 'Lumberjacks' and the women's marked as 'Lumberjills.' Humor only Mulder could appreciate, she thought as she pushed open the heavy door. Inside, she found Libby Ryan splashing water on her face. The woman shut off the water, lifted her head and saw Scully in the mirror. Her eyes widened, a Chihuahua cornered by a pit bull. Scully handed her a paper towel. "Do you think we could talk for a few minutes?" Libby took the towel and blotted her face. "Sorry, I'm working." "I won't take up much of your time." Scully tried not to let the absurdity of the situation reflect on her face. Meeting informants in the bathroom was Mulder's job, not hers. "My dad will be here any minute. I can't tell him because I know how flipped he is about this case." "You can't tell him what?" Libby closed her eyes. "Shit." "What can't you tell him, Libby?" The young woman opened her eyes and sighed. "I didn't tell my dad this but there's something about Carlos' girlfriend, Adrienne, that's just not right." Way to get to the point, Scully thought before asking, "What do you mean?" "I don't know... I work with her... You should talk to her." "Can you tell me what you think is 'just not right' about her?" Scully asked in a noncommittal tone. Libby's eyes shifted to the door. "I have to get back to work." "How well do you know Carlos Maderas?" "I know him well enough," Libby snapped. "Why?" "Your father was under the impression that you didn't know Maderas." Another glance at the door. "Dad believes what he wants to believe." "Libby, we really need to hear what you have to say. Is there somewhere that we can talk later?" The young woman pursed her lips, then nodded. "Meet me at Lowell at five tonight. Just don't tell my dad where you're going." "Lowell?" "Lowell Observatory. It's a few miles from here. I'm a research assistant. I maintain Perkins." She paused as she saw Scully's eyes narrow. "It's a telescope, you'll see it later." Scully considered making Libby come down to the station to make a formal statement, but upon seeing the fear in the young woman's eyes, she knew the wrath of the law was nothing compared to the wrath of a protective father. "We'll be there." "Um, can you come alone?" Begging in her tone. "I'm sorry, Libby, but my partner has to be there." Libby bit her lower lip. "Okay, you and your partner. That's it. Not the other guy." Her eyes pleading. "I can't let this get back to my dad. He'll make me quit school until the case is solved. He'll send me down to Tucson to stay with my sister. I can't do that. Everything I've worked for is here. I can't leave!" Scully flinched slightly at the emotion in Libby Ryan's voice. She saw a flicker of an angry flame in the young woman's eyes. Blood-red fury flooded her face, and a tiny vein in her forehead looked as if it would burst through her skin. Obviously, Libby leaving school was a sore spot for both father and daughter. "Fine, just the two of us. We'll find you at the observatory." As fast as Libby's anger rose, it subsided. Color drained from her face until her skin took on its pale pallor from before. She nodded and graced Scully with the first smile she'd seen on the young woman. "Thank you, Agent Scully. I'll give Martin Haskins, our boss, a call. You should talk to him about Adrienne. He's noticed her behavior, too." With that, Libby pulled the bathroom door open and left. "What the hell was that?" asked Scully under her breath. If anything, Libby Ryan knew how to make an exit. Not to mention a hell of an impression. When Scully got back to her table, her food was waiting for her, and Detective Ryan had joined them. She slid into the booth next to Mulder. She ate her meal in silence, partly because the burger tasted like heaven smothered in barbecue sauce, partly because of the impromptu meeting. Libby had said she knew Carlos Maderas 'well enough.' As Scully bit into an onion ring, she wondered just how well 'well enough' was. At the end of the meal, Ryan stayed inside to find his daughter the three agents made their way to the exit. Scully was thankful that Taylor had found the log flume too fascinating to resist closer inspection. When he walked away, she started to speak but Mulder beat her to it. "What's going on? You look like a kid dying to share a secret." Her mouth quirked into a small smile. She knew she could read just about every expression in Mulder's repertoire; she should have known he could do the same with her. "I had an interesting visit to the restroom. Libby Ryan is willing to talk to us." It was Mulder's turn to arch his eyebrows. "Oh really?" "She knows Maderas fairly well, but didn't tell her father because she's convinced he would have pulled her out of school. She claims we need to talk to Maderas' girlfriend, and the girlfriend's boss." "Why the secrecy? So dear ol' Dad won't find out?" Scully nodded. "Libby doesn't even want Taylor to know about it. She wants us to meet her at her other job. She's confident she can talk there without it getting back to her father." Mulder glanced toward Taylor, then back to Scully. "She thinks the girlfriend has something to do with it?" She shrugged. "I'm not sure. It wouldn't hurt to listen to what she has to say. We just have to find a way to do it without Dean finding out." "So we ditch Junior," he said with a smirk. "It was his idea to put a tail on Maderas. Let him do the honors. We can relieve him later and take over surveillance ourselves when we're done." Scully liked the idea. In fact, she loved it. Being with Mulder on stakeout meant he would be a captive audience. No ducking into his hotel room, no scurrying off to do some imaginary important thing he forgot to do. She would get some answers out of him. Or else. <<<<<>>>>> Lowell Observatory Flagstaff 4:45pm "Mars Hill. This has to be the place." Mulder took the turn-off as he pointed to the sign at the entrance. Scully looked up the hill and saw a telescope dome peeking out, a stark white bubble amidst the skeletons of trees. After a meeting back at the police station, Mulder and Scully had left to find the observatory. Scully felt a pang of guilt as she saw the dejected look on Taylor's face when he found himself relegated to stakeout duty. However, after Mulder explained to Taylor that they trusted only him to do the job right, Taylor's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and he practically sprinted to his car. Ah, to be that young and naive again, Scully thought sadly as Mulder found a parking place in front of the observatory. A uniformed guard at the entrance instructed the agents where the administrative offices were, but before they could find Martin Haskins, a man approached them. A Silly Putty face atop a Weebles body, with a chubby hand extended in Mulder's direction. "Martin Haskins," he said with an uneven yet warm smile. "You must be Agents Mulder and Scully. Libby Ryan called me earlier to say you were coming here." "We have just a few questions," Scully said as she shook Haskins's hand. "Libby mentioned that, too. Something about Ms. Burrard. I'm sorry to say she called in sick today. It's her fifth absence in as many weeks." Haskins opened a door and motioned them outside. "Come, I'll give you a tour while we talk." The air was crisp with a stinging coolness and was so clean it almost hurt to breathe it. Scully took a deep breath anyway, willing her lungs to expunge the D.C. grime and pollution and replace it with the fresh mountain air. "This is the Clark Telescope," Haskins said as they passed a wooden dome structure. "Percival Lowell himself used it to study Mars." Mulder walked alongside the dome, his hand lightly brushing the aging wood. He flashed a look toward Scully and she could see the fascination in his eyes. She had a feeling he would be back at the Observatory after the case was over. Too many toys, not enough time... "Mr. Haskins," Mulder said, "if Ms. Burrard has called in sick so often, why not fire her?" "I just can't see it in my heart to fire someone who is so much in love. I may be a little 'scatter-brained,' as my employees like to call it, but I'm more observant than they think." Haskins smiled. "The kids don't think I know about their favorite make- out place, but I do." He motioned the agents through the side door of another dome- shaped building. "This is the Pluto Telescope. It's the actual telescope that was used to take the discovery photos of Pluto in 1930." "This is make-out central?" Mulder asked. "This is it," Haskins said with a jolly laugh. "The latch on the door was broken a few months ago and we haven't fixed it. Since the telescope weighs in excess of a ton, it's not like it will be stolen, and this place is locked up tight after the nightly tours are done. Only employees can access the grounds after midnight." Haskins laughed again. "While the kids are on Spring Break, I'm having the lock repaired." Scully smiled politely. "Mr. Haskins, have you seen any changes in Ms. Burrard's behavior?" Haskins tapped a finger on his puffy lips. "Adrienne took a real shining to the observatory right away, and she took her job very seriously. But in the last month or so, I've seen her enthusiasm waning. I never thought I would see that happen." He sighed. "I know much of her odd behavior must have to do with Mr. Maderas's troubles. She seems determined to stand by him, though. Have to give her credit for that. She'd go to the ends of the earth for him." Scully shot Mulder a quick look. The scenario sounded familiar. Too familiar for comfort. Mulder cleared his throat, breaking the odd silence. "Mr. Haskins, are you aware of a relationship between Mr. Maderas and Libby Ryan?" Haskins's eyes widened. "Do you mean an intimate relationship?" His chuckle bounced off the walls of the dome. "As shallow as it sounds, I don't think Libby is... vibrant enough for Mr. Maderas's liking. She is a solemn young thing, but quite brilliant and very meticulous. She's one of the few I trust with helping me in the archives." "Have you seen Maderas and Libby together?" Haskins paused and tapped his lip with his forefinger. "Come to think of it, yes I have. Libby works mostly up at Anderson Mesa, but the archives are here on the main campus. Mr. Maderas has been here a few times to pick up Adrienne from work. I saw them, Libby and Mr. Maderas, talking a few months ago. It was a brief exchange, from what I could tell. Adrienne showed up, and she and Mr. Maderas left." Mulder nodded. "How far is Anderson Mesa from here?" "Just a little ways." Haskins reached inside his jacket and withdrew a brochure. "There's a map on the back here." Scully moved away from the telescope as Haskins explained the route to Mulder. Through an opening in the dome, she could see the sky, light blue silk with patches of fluffy cotton. This sky looked so different from the one she saw at home. A sky so bright, so clear, so peaceful. So unlike her sky -- and her life -- in D.C. <<<<<>>>>> Perkins Dome 5:05pm "Hello?" Scully surveyed the inside of the monolith dome-topped building. The walls were painted white and had the brassy shine of metal. It was hard to miss the building's namesake, considering the Perkins telescope took up half of the structure, reaching from just a few feet off the floor to the top of the multi-story dome. "Now, _this_ is a telescope," Mulder said as he moved next to the machine. "Think it would fit in the trunk?" "Not unless you have a car the size of New York," answered a dry voice Scully recognized. Both agents turned to see Libby standing in a doorway. Behind her Scully saw a row of computer terminals, lights streaking and dancing on the screen. Scully's gaze went to the young woman's hand, which held a paperback book, the spine declaring it 'The Works of Henry Wordsworth Longfellow.' Libby caught Scully eyeing the book. "English class, a necessary evil." She looked at Mulder, then Scully. "So, did you talk to Adrienne yet?" Scully ignored her question. "Libby, you mentioned that you knew Carlos Maderas better than you let on to your father." "You're not going to tell him, are you?" A wide-eyed plea. "Please don't tell him." "We'll have to tell him at some point," Scully warned. "We are interviewing those close to Mr. Maderas. We're taking formal statements..." "I don't know anything," Libby insisted, "except that Carlos is innocent. He couldn't have killed those women. He's just as shocked about those girls' deaths as everyone else. He's suffering, but he's keeping it inside." Scully sincerely doubted that but didn't call her on it. "He told you this?" The young woman didn't reply, but Scully knew the answer. "Libby, just how well do you know Carlos Maderas?" Mulder asked. Libby lowered her gaze to the metal floor. "I talk to him when he comes in before his classes, usually three times a week. Large coffee and bran muffin, that's what he always orders. He's nice, very smart. Fascinated by the stars, even though he teaches architecture." She raised her head and looked through the slanted opening in the dome. "Carlos says the sky is one big architectural marvel. The Milky Way, the Big Dipper, all of the stars and constellations are placed in exactly the right spots. Anywhere else, and the sky wouldn't be the perfect sight we see." Scully shot Mulder a curious glance and a raised eyebrow. He answered with a smirk. Mulder cleared his throat, bringing Libby back to Earth. "One of the witnesses said Mr. Maderas has dated over a dozen women while he's been..." "Who said that?" Libby snapped. "They're exaggerating. It's more like seven or eight." "Were you one of those seven or eight?" Mulder asked. Libby laughed, a snort of air that sounded like a hiccup. "No, I wasn't. I'm not... Carlos and I... we're not like that. We're friends. He talks to me. I listen." Scully offered up more bait. "At the Saw Mill or here at the Observatory?" "Wherever he needs to talk," Libby replied, refusing to bite. "Don't make it into what it's not." "What isn't it?" Mulder asked, intrigued. "It's not some sordid, closed-door affair. It's not an affair at all. It's more... intellectual. He's a very smart man, but he has a penchant for women lower on the IQ scale. The women go, but I stay. I'm his constant." Constant _what_, Scully wondered. Libby was right; Detective Ryan was going to have a coronary when he heard what his little girl was to Carlos Maderas. "Has Mr. Maderas mentioned anything to you about quarrels with former girlfriends?" Mulder asked. "I've heard a few of them mouthing off about him. They're just jealous, can't let go." "What about his current girlfriend?" Libby shrugged. "Like I said, Adrienne's been acting weird, and Carlos is getting sick of it. She'd take his car and flake out picking him up, or like last week, she went grocery shopping for him and left the bags in the car overnight." "How long has her behavior been erratic?" Scully asked. "I don't know, maybe a month or so." That coincided with what Martin Haskins said about Burrard's change in behavior. Scully's gaze met Mulder's. She could tell he was coming to the same conclusion. They needed to talk to Adrienne Burrard. END PART 5 ********************** ENSKY (6/11) by viXen Forest Lawn Apartments Flagstaff March 13 5:55pm Mulder eased the rental car into the last open parking space in the apartment complex which was, according to the police report, the residence of Adrienne Burrard. Scully tilted her head; she could hear loud music from one of the apartments, even through the closed window of the car. Campus parties, she mused as the music beat into her head, loosening memories of her own college escapades. She wondered if it would shock Mulder to know that she'd experienced lost time back then, only that lost time was due to consuming mass quantities of alcohol. She'd never woken up naked in bed with a stranger or anything that drastic, but she knew that for much of her first year at Berkeley, she was out of control. One particular party involving multiple Tequila shots, mixed with a disastrous biochem midterm the next morning, had caused her to mend her ways. She turned her attention back to her partner, who was clicking off his cell phone. She realized she hadn't heard anything he'd said. She caught him mid-sentence. "...managed to con a few off-duty uniforms into pulling relief for Taylor on the stakeout. He said Maderas hasn't moved from his apartment." She nodded as she pushed Dana Scully Party Girl back into her memory banks, and forced Dana Scully FBI Agent to re-emerge. She and Mulder headed toward the loud music. The offending apartment had an open front door and several party-goers spilling out onto the walkway. As they approached, the students parted like the Red Sea, realizing in their drunken haze that the agents weren't there to partake in the festivities. One partier, minus his shirt and inhibitions, didn't realize anything. "Dude! Brew?" He offered a beer can to Mulder. Mulder bit back a laugh and raised a hand. "Maybe later, bud." "Cool," the guy slurred, going back to dancing by himself. Mulder and Scully continued down the walkway and around a corner until they reached number 8-B. They were far enough away from the raucous party that they could hear muffled movement inside. Scully knocked soundly. The movement turned to scurrying just before the padlock being disengaged. The door swung open as the occupant said, "Carlos, honey, you know I have..." Adrienne Burrard's voice faded and she stared at the agents, the proverbial deer-caught-in-headlights look on her tanned face. She wore what Scully assumed were her work clothes: white polo shirt with 'Lowell Observatory' embroidered in blue letters, khaki chinos and clean white tennis shoes. Barbie-blonde hair was whisked up and away from her shoulders. Her doe-like expression hardened. "Who are you?" Scully flashed her badge. "Adrienne Burrard?" "Yeah," she replied, a slight whine in her voice. "I already talked to you people." "We just have a few questions," Mulder said. "It won't take long." "But..." Adrienne sighed, looked heavenward, as if realizing she couldn't get out of talking to them, then motioned the agents inside. Mulder took a seat on a tan recliner, while Scully settled on the matching couch. Adrienne, still standing, arms crossed defiantly over her ample chest, eyed the agents with contempt. "I have somewhere to be soon. Can we get on with this?" Scully cleared her throat. "Ms. Burrard, how long have you been working at the Lowell Observatory?" Adrienne flinched, as if slapped. "About a year. Why?" "How many sick days have you taken in the last, say, two months?" Scully watched as Adrienne's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I get it. You let Carlos go, and now you think _I_ did it?" Her arms dropped to her side as she sighed dramatically. "This is just great." Mulder tilted his head to the side. "Why do you think you're a suspect, Ms. Burrard?" "Isn't that why you're here? You don't have any leads, so you're trying to dig up something on one of Carlos's girlfriends, the ones that are still..." Her voice cracked, pain flickering in her soft green eyes. "Look, I'm just as freaked out by this as Carlos is. Even more so. _I'm_ the one who has to watch my back. _I'm_ the one who is in danger of being the next one to..." She turned away from the agents. Mulder leaned forward in the chair. "Is that why you've been absent so much at work? The fear of being predictable in your routine? The fear of being the next victim?" Adrienne turned back to face them, wet trails cutting through perfectly-applied cosmetics. "I love Carlos, but..." She sniffled and swiped at an errant tear, then continued in a voice rough and thick with emotion. "But when I found out that those women were all former girlfriends... I don't know how much longer I can do this. Half the time I don't know whether I'm coming or going. My grades are slipping, I'm in jeopardy of losing my job... I can't keep living like this, but I can't lose Carlos, either." "He doesn't know you feel this way?" Mulder asked. A timid shake of her head was her only answer. "When did you find out about Carlos's connection to the victims?" Mulder's voice was low and smooth, a warm glass of milk. "About a month ago, after the second death. They brought Carlos in for questioning then. It didn't hit me until they found the third one." Adrienne hugged herself. "I know Carlos is hurting, not that he'd show it. He internalizes everything, thinks it's not manly to show his real feelings, but I can tell he's scared. And the fact that he's scared _terrifies_ me." Scully met Adrienne's gaze. "Do you think Carlos killed those women?" "No," Adrienne gasped. "Absolutely not. I would leave him in a heartbeat if I had one shred of doubt about his innocence. He did not kill those women. I know it here..." She put an index finger to her temple. "...and here." Her hand went over her heart. Mulder rose from the chair. "Ms. Burrard, if you feel you are in immediate danger, please don't hesitate to call." He produced a business card as he walked to the door, closely followed by Scully. They walked in silence down the walkway, sidestepping the still- partying students. Once they reached the car, Mulder turned to her. "Either that was an Oscar-winning performance, or she's one terrified young lady." Scully nodded. "Her erratic behavior is understandable, considering the circumstances." Mulder opened the driver's door. "Let's head back to the hotel. I'd like to go over her original interview again." "So would I," she replied. "I'll let you have the file when I'm done with it. In the meantime, you can start on your autopsy notes." Scully wasn't surprised by his statement, but she still had to stifle the urge to wring his neck. She had one nerve left, and whatever was bothering her partner had attached itself to said nerve and was gnawing away like a termite on old wood. They rode in silence to the hotel, the tension in the car as thick and cold as the wind outside. <<<<<>>>>> Pinetop Inn 9:30pm Scully pinched the bridge of her nose. Her report was giving her a headache. Six pages of questions, and not a single answer. Skinner was going to love it. She closed the laptop and got up from her chair, stretching her tired body. What she wouldn't give for a bathtub that didn't look like it had last been cleaned during the Reagan administration. Deciding to brave a shower, she started to remove her shirt but didn't get far before her cell phone rang. She shot a look at the wall, the one her room shared with Mulder's. He wouldn't be calling her, would he? She found her cell phone and answered, still looking at the wall. "Scully." "Agent Scully." What does he want, Scully thought at the gruff, tight-jawed sound of Skinner's voice. "Sir." She paused, unsure what to say. Why was he calling her? She couldn't remember the last time he'd called while they were on a case. "I was hoping this would keep until you and Agent Mulder got back, but things have developed and I need an answer." Scully's eyebrow arched. "An answer to what?" Skinner cleared his throat, an uncomfortable edge piercing his voice. "It has come to my attention that a position will become available in the very near future. One I think you would benefit from taking." Why did she have the feeling her reaction would be the exact opposite? "It's at the Bureau's Forensic Science Lab," he continued. "The director is stepping down. There will be some movement in the ranks, and a Deputy Assistant Director position will need to be filled. Your name was mentioned." "By whom?" she asked, unable to hide the suspicion in her voice. "By a number of people, including myself." "You recommended me for the job?" "I supported your recommendation." He paused, as if waiting for her response, then continued, "Your reputation as a forensic pathologist has not gone unnoticed. Your name was circulated, and word got back here. I told them they couldn't have selected a better candidate." Flattery is unbecoming of you, Walter, Scully thought bitterly. Who was he kidding? This 'promotion' had cigarette smoke written all over it. "Sir..." "Before you give me an answer, Agent Scully, I suggest you think this over very carefully. The person who takes this position will act as the Bureau liaison to the American Society of Crime Lab Directors, and will serve on their Board of Directors." The harsh professionalism in his voice subsided slightly. "This is a legitimate offer, and it could be your chance." My chance to get a 'real' job, her mind supplied. She could leave Mulder, get on with her career. And her life. A third time period to add to her repertoire: After Mulder. "Is this an offer I can't refuse, sir?" He let out a long, even breath. "Agent Scully... Dana... I don't have to tell you that working in the X-Files division is anything but helpful to your career. You are one of the best field investigators I've ever had under my supervision, and your work in the autopsy bay is without parallel. If I didn't think you were the best person for this position, I wouldn't be pursuing it." "I appreciate your confidence in me, sir, but..." "Think it over," he said, his voice cutting like a razor. "I'll need an answer in twenty-four hours." Twenty-four hours? How the hell was she supposed to make a decision that would change her life in twenty-four hours? Scully's stomach tightened as she thought about the other life she would be changing. "Sir, Agent Mulder... I think he should know." "He has..." A heavy silence, then, "This is your decision, Agent Scully. I think Agent Mulder would see as I do that this is the right opportunity for you." Scully flinched; the disconnecting click perfectly complemented the finality in Skinner's voice. "Could this day get any worse?" she asked the cell phone before tossing it to the bed. How could she break the news to Mulder? Considering her partner's recent behavior, this would send him over the edge, even if the offer was a sham. A job of high prestige being dropped in her lap, only a few months after being reassigned to the X-Files. Even if Skinner had investigated every avenue of this offer, Scully knew how good these people were at deception. Amtrak couldn't do a better job of covering tracks. Scully pinched the bridge of her nose again, realizing she forgot to give Mulder's message to Skinner. It wasn't often Mulder admitted that Skinner was right about anything... Her eyes snapped open. "No," she breathed, looking at the connecting wall. "No." She paced the distance between the bed and the door, considering Mulder's earlier words: <> <> <> "Son of a bitch." It all fit. His behavior. Not wanting to talk to her about anything other than the case. Not being able to look her in the eye. Mulder knew about the job offer. He'd known since the beginning of the case. Before she was conscious of making a decision, she found herself outside her hotel room and standing in front of room 12. She pounded on his door, daring him not to answer. She'd blow the lock off it he didn't... "Scully?" Her eyes focused on Mulder's questioning look. She hadn't seen him open the door. He was still in his suit pants, but had shed his dress shirt, leaving a form-hugging t-shirt. "Scully? What's wrong?" She pushed past him into the room, turned on her heel and stared at him until he closed the door and faced her. Her voice was nearly as piercing has her gaze. "You knew. You knew and you didn't say a word." The erosion of his concerned look to one of pain was the only answer she needed. "How could you, Mulder? How could you betray me like this?" He flinched; her words slapped him harder than her hand ever could. "Skinner told me about the offer. Technically, I'm the head of the department, so he came to me to warn me about what was going on." "But no one saw fit to warn me until now?" "He didn't want to tell you until he'd checked it out. Before we left for this case, he told me the offer was the real thing and that you were the top candidate." "How long?" Confusion spread across his face. "How long what?" "How long has this been going on, you and Skinner planning my career?" "Scully..." "Isn't that what you were doing? You two deciding what was best for me? Poor Dana can't take care of herself, so you two took the task on yourselves?" "That's not what it..." "How long, Mulder?" He moved slowly to the bed and sat, his weight as heavy as his guilt. "Skinner has known for a month. He told me about the possibility of an offer about two weeks ago." Scully held back a gasp. "Two weeks?!" "It was just a possibility then." "One that I should have been made aware of." "It wasn't my place to tell you." "But it was your place to hide it from me for two weeks?" He looked at her, his eyes apologetic. "I didn't ask Skinner to tell me. He just did." "You should have told me." "He told me not to say anything." "Since when do you obey Skinner's orders?" Mulder stood up, his hands open, palms up. "What do you want me to say, Scully? That I'm sorry? I am. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I'm sorry Skinner told me. I'm sorry he..." He stopped, sat down. "You're sorry he offered me the job." He didn't answer. He didn't need to. "I'm sorry he did, too," she said softly. Her body suddenly felt too heavy for her bones to support, and she sat on the bed next to Mulder. "It's a great offer, Scully." The lack of enthusiasm in his voice betrayed any sincerity in his words. "It's a sham." "You don't know that." She looked away, focused her gaze on the opposite wall, the one their rooms shared. "It sounds too good to be true." "What if it is true?" "Then," she said with a sigh, "I will be giving up the chance of a lifetime." He shifted on the bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in mock prayer. "You should think about it." "I have thought about it. Ever since I started on the X-Files, I've thought about climbing the Bureau ladder, but things have changed. _I_ have changed." "This could be your best chance to get out of the basement." A smile curled her lips. "Maybe I like the basement." Mulder wouldn't bite. "You deserve better than the basement, Scully. You deserve to be promoted. You deserve to be respected by your peers. You deserve... you deserve a job where you don't have psychotic writers' characters pulling your heart out of your chest..." Scully shot up from the bed, silencing Mulder. She paced to the opposite wall, then back, standing just a few feet from her seated partner. "Mulder, why do you insist on putting me on this pedestal?" Confusion muddied his eyes again. "What pedestal?" "The one you always try to put me on when I almost... when my life is threatened." "Threatened? Scully, your life has been threatened nonstop since you started working with me. You don't deserve that." His voice just above a whisper. "No one deserves that, but especially not you." She forced out a breath. "You want me to take the job because it's safe, because you think it will put me out of reach of harm's way, not because it's a once-in-a-lifetime offer." "Who cares? It's a chance for you to get out of this nightmare and maybe have a normal life. Why wouldn't I want that?" "What if it's not what _I_ want?" She regretted the anger in her voice, but not the words themselves. This was her life, her choice. When was he going to realize that? Mulder swiped his hand across his face. "What _do_ you want, Scully?" That's a good question, she thought, remembering when the most important goal in her life was falling in love, getting married. Being a mother. "I don't know what I want." She sat on the bed again, her hip lightly touching his. "But I do know I don't want to leave this. To leave you." She saw a flicker of a smile on his lips before it disappeared. He nudged her with his shoulder. "Just because you leave the X- Files, doesn't mean you'll be able to get rid of me." "I know, but leaving isn't an option. This is my life now, Mulder. This is where I belong." She saw his answering shrug. "Why are you so adamant about me taking this job?" "It's the smart thing to do..." "No, I don't want an answer from here," she said as she tapped his forehead with her index finger. "I want an answer from here." Her hand went over his heart, lightly pressed into his shirt, his heartbeat tapping into her palm. "Now," she said softly, "do you want me to take this job?" His hand eclipsed hers, pushing it closer to his chest as he closed his eyes and whispered his answer: "No." Scully let out a soft sigh, relieved his answer was the one she wanted to hear. She leaned her head against his shoulder, enjoying his closeness, letting her lungs fill with the scent of his skin. "What I want doesn't matter," he said, voice thready with emotion. "It does matter," she said against his shoulder. "To me it does. And it just so happens that what you want and what I want are the same thing." He looked at her, smirk in place. "You want a subscription to Celebrity Skin, too?" She nudged him hard with her shoulder. "No, I'll just borrow yours." Reluctantly, she let her hand slip out from under his and she pulled away, keeping the moment from going any further. Just like they always did, she thought as emotion and common sense battled for dominance in her mind. She didn't want to admit that lately, common sense was having a harder time winning. Mulder pointed to a scattering of papers on a small table. "I went over Adrienne Burrard's statement. She was Maderas's alibi for the first four murders." Scully zeroed in on Mulder's face, the lip-gnawing, the narrowed eyes. She could read his mind. "You think she's an accomplice?" "When I gave her my business card, she took it with her left hand." "Most likely her dominant hand," Scully finished. "So he killed them, crushed their necks, and she did the carving." Mulder's shrug told her she was on the right track. "But why? I can see Maderas's motive, but what's Burrard's?" "Maybe she's the really, really jealous type," Mulder said with a smirk. "I'm still not convinced Maderas is involved in the murders. He doesn't fit the profile." "Who does fit the profile? Adrienne Burrard?" He shrugged again. "Mulder, it is nearly impossible for a man the size of Carlos Maderas to do the internal damage to the victims' necks that was done. It _is_ impossible for a woman who barely weighs a hundred pounds to do that damage." "Nothing's impossible, Scully." Scully ignored his infuriating grin. "Okay, Mr. Optimist, then what do the numbers mean?" "That I don't know. Maybe that database program of the Gunmen's can help. Frohike updated it last week. Said it can solve any numbers puzzle in the universe." "I doubt that, but I'll go get the laptop anyway." She stood and walked to the door. "I finished the autopsy notes and started the field report for you." "Ah, Scully, you're too good to me." She smiled as she reached for the door. "Yes, I am." "Hey, Scully?" He moved to her, doing his ever-masterful job of invading her personal space. Funny, Scully thought, this time I don't mind the invasion. His gaze went to the carpet. "I'm sorry about Skinner, about not telling you." Her voice was firm. "I understand why you didn't tell me, but you're not off the hook. You can't keep things like this from me, Mulder. This is my decision, and I should have been told from the start." He nodded and added a quiet "I know." "How about we make a pact? No more secrets." "None?" His grin gave away his mischief. She shot him the appropriate serious look. "No more secrets when it concerns us, our partnership." She raised her hand between them, handshake stance ready. "Deal?" Mulder took her hand, then pulled her into an embrace. "Deal." Scully's arms went around him; she rested her hands on his shoulder blades and her head on his chest. Her unspoken rule of never letting down her guard around him eroded with each second she spent in his arms. She felt emotional, a touch vulnerable even, and it felt good. So good... Mulder whispered in her ear, "No more secrets about us, right?" "That's what I said," she replied softly. "No more secrets." "Good." She raised her head, met his gaze. For the first time in two days, she saw raw honesty in his eyes. Words suddenly seemed excessive. Hands smoothed over her arms, then shoulders. She tried to conjure up feelings of fear or uncertainty, but they refused to materialize. Her analytical mind melted like candle wax under a flame. As his fingers kissed the base of her neck, her eyes fluttered shut. Her own fingers kneaded his back, begging to burrow under the shirt. Her eyes snapped open, eyebrows on alert, when she felt Mulder lifting the collar of her shirt. She focused on his face as he ran a finger over the material, then under, then moved the collar away from her skin and looked over her shoulder. He fashioned the collar back in place, smoothed the material, met her quizzical look with a sly smile. "Just checking." It took a second for her mind to engage. When it did, she didn't try to fight the smile. Laughter bubbled up from nowhere, overtaking the seriousness of her arousal for a few seconds, until his hands left her neck and framed her face. Levity retired as arousal made a comeback. She watched his face descend as long as she could, until his lips disappeared from her line of sight. Her eyelids gave up, closing, anticipation coating her nerves with extra sensation. His breath was on her mouth. He was so close. So close... A whisper of a kiss, down-soft lips on hers, barely enough pressure to register in her mind. But it did register, all the way down her body. Her lips acknowledged his presence and welcomed him with enthusiasm. The tentative kiss quickly hardened, years of repressed hunger finally being fed. His arms snaked around her, hands settling on their familiar place at the small of her back, though adding the unfamiliar by pushing her hips into his body. A moan flowed past her lips, passing his tongue on the way out. Her moan propelled movement. With a thud, Scully found herself sandwiched between Mulder and the door, and found herself more excited than she thought possible. The hard surface behind her, added with the hard surface in front of her, sent another moan singing through her. His tongue became braver, painting the inside of her mouth with broad, strong strokes. She returned the favor, exploring his tongue, palate and anything else she could taste. Breathing was a reluctant and brief necessity, a gulp of air before engaging in another oral assault. She felt him pull away, bending at his knees as his hands cupped her ass. He lifted her and straightened, pressing his full weight against her. Her legs embraced his waist, ankles locked behind his back. His erection right where she wanted it, angled perfectly, hard as stone. So hard... She rubbed herself against him, searching for a way to relieve the burning between her legs. Mulder was happy to oblige with a thrust of his hips. The resulting friction sent a ripple of ecstasy from her core to every cell in her body. As did the next thrust, and the next, and the next. Somehow she knew it would be this way. Some women dream of a man romantically sweeping her off her feet, carrying her to the bedroom, worshipping her body as he gently made love to her. Scully had dreamed that before, but not about Mulder. Mulder was pure passion. When she dreamed of Mulder, she dreamed of animal lust, a frenzy of arms and legs, torn clothes, devouring kisses, forceful thrusts. Her dream was coming true. She grabbed hunks of his hair, pulling him closer. Not close enough. She needed more. More of his mouth, more of his body. Much more of his body. She tried to tell him she needed more, but his mouth smothered the word. He didn't need the verbal encouragement; he thrust against her harder, punctuating each with a stab with his tongue against hers. Oh God, she thought. It was finally happening. Everything she dreamed and everything she feared was unfolding right before her. It was happening. Every inch of her body was aware it was happening, and for her it was going to happen in a matter of seconds if he didn't stop thrusting against her. Panic surged through her on the end of an orgasmic wave. What were they doing? No, it was too much. Too much, too fast. Her body betrayed her mind, the familiar fluttering between her legs increasing, blood screaming through her veins, a ringing in her ears... Ringing. A phone. She pulled her mouth from his, but he followed, sealing his lips over hers. Reluctantly, she pushed him away and tried to catch her breath. "Phone. Mulder. Phone ringing." "Huh? Uh. Yeah." He lowered her until she could stand, then backed away. Scully's hand went to her lips immediately, partly to see if they were as kiss-swollen as she thought, which they were, but mostly to disguise her shock. His wide-eyed expression told the same story: I just dry-humped my partner against a door. Scully broke the trance first. "Mulder, it's your cell phone." "Yeah." He ran toward the bed, tripped over the area rug, righted himself before falling, grabbed the phone and shoved it to his ear. "What?" he barked. "Yeah, what is it?" As he listened, his expression softened. "Where?" His eyebrows climbed, then, "Yeah, have them wait until we get there." He clicked off his phone. "That was Taylor. We have another victim." Professional Scully snapped into place. "Where?" "At the Saw Mill, behind the log flume." He slipped on his dress shirt. "And this time there's a witness." "I'll get my jacket." She turned her back to him, moved to the door. "Scully?" She left without answering, didn't look back, relieved to have her professional shield around her while she tried to douse the wildfire of emotions inside. END PART 6 ********************** ENSKY (7/11) by viXen The Saw Mill Flagstaff March 13 10:05pm The log flume looked like a new ride at Disneyland, lit up by red and blue lights from police cruisers, and flanked by a crowd of onlookers. A coroner's van was backed up to the flume's base, and Scully saw the bulging profile of Linda Francis stepping out of the passenger side of the van. Detective Ryan appeared from behind of the van, and waved the agents over to follow him. "Where's the witness?" Mulder asked when they reached Ryan, underneath the flume. "At the hospital. His neck was badly bruised, and he was unconscious. He was found about fifty feet from her." Ryan motioned toward a young woman on the ground. If not for the slight concavity of her neck, the woman looked perfectly normal, perfectly healthy, as if she was taking a nap beneath the flume. Shoulder-length black hair framed a peaceful, model-beautiful face, a face unaware of the life stolen from beneath its surface. Scully slipped on a latex glove and kneeled next to the victim. "Do we know who she is?" Ryan nodded. "Lucy Hernandez, according to her student I.D." "Ten bucks says she's dated our Latin lover," Mulder said, squatting next to Scully. "There's just the one witness?" "So far," Ryan said. "No one in the crowd out here claims to have seen anything. It's pretty dark under here, lots of shadows..." His voice faded as he looked over Scully's shoulder. "Son of a... I told her not to come near the university at night." Scully followed Ryan's gaze and saw the source of his distraction: Libby Ryan, less than ten steps away, behind the yellow police tape. Eyes wide and a Longfellow book clutched to her chest. Ryan stormed away from the agents toward his daughter. Scully shot Mulder a quick look. Though she couldn't hear what Ryan was saying, she could tell where Libby got her temper from. She felt sympathy as she watched the girl suffer under her father's gaze. Libby's head was down, never looking her father in the eye, her fingers playing with the zipper on her rain poncho. Ryan put a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder, and Scully saw her visibly stiffen. Libby finally lifted her head, looked past her father, shot Mulder and Scully a contemptuous glare, then waded back through the crowd, heading toward the parking lot. Ryan walked back to the agents, an apologetic smile on his lips. "Headstrong little thing, but brilliant. Only kid I know who had a life plan at age eight and is following it to the letter." His smile faded. "Okay, let's get back to business." Scully nodded, then went back to her inspection of the body. She took in the condition of the neck, which was almost identical to the victim she had autopsied earlier in the day. "Looks like our killer wasn't able to finish the job," Mulder said. Scully nodded, eyeing the carvings on the victim's chest. The numbers 1, 1, and 4 were complete; the last number was a straight line with another shorter line perpendicular to its center. She turned to Mulder. "The last number could be the start of another 'four.'" "Could be," Mulder said absently. He spent several more seconds staring at the numbers, then stood and walked away, heading toward the opposite end of the flume. Scully could see him going into profiler mode as he moved. The numbers were important, and the fact that their importance eluded him was taking its toll. "Ted, tell me you and Dana have figured this one out." Scully turned to see Linda Francis. Her red maternity outfit made her look like a giant apple holding a black attache case. Ryan smiled and gave Francis's shoulder a squeeze. "Sorry to call you out at this hour, Linda." "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for the world." She turned to Scully. "We're looking at the same thing, aren't we?" Nodding, Scully answered, "The only difference is the carvings were interrupted." "Hope this means the killer is getting sloppy," Francis said, stroking her distended belly. "One can only hope," Ryan mumbled. "Who's the guy digging to China?" Francis asked, pointing behind Ryan. Scully followed Francis's gaze and saw Mulder grinding the toe of his shoe into the ground. He kicked the dirt a few times, then returned to grinding. All the while, his eyes faced forward, gazing into the forest. "That's my partner, Fox Mulder." "Fox." Francis grinned. "His parents named him well." "Jesus, Linda," Ryan sighed, exasperated. "What? I'm married, not dead." Her expression softened. "Is he okay, Dana?" "He's fine," Scully assured them. "It's the way he works." "Hey," Ryan interjected, "if what Taylor says is true about Mulder's profiling ability, I don't care if the guy stands on his head." "Now _that_ I'd love to see," Francis said with a laugh. Scully smiled politely and turned her attention back to Mulder. His demeanor was changing; shoulders straight, brow crinkled, eyes narrowed and looking at the Saw Mill. She gasped when Mulder started jogging toward the restaurant's parking lot. "Excuse me," she tossed out as she took off after Mulder. She caught up with him just as grass turned to asphalt. "Mulder, where are you going?" He pointed toward a man standing next to a silver Mercedes. Scully squinted, couldn't see the man's face. Then arched an eyebrow when the man turned his head in her direction. The man was Carlos Maderas. "It's a regular Who's Who tonight," Mulder said as they neared the Mercedes. Maderas, who was facing the car, must have heard their footsteps. He turned, his tired eyes showing surrender. "Before you ask, no I did not kill Lucia," Maderas said, pronouncing the victim's name 'loo-chee-ah.' "Do you have any witnesses who can attest to that?" Scully asked. "Yes," he replied. "Eight of them." Scully couldn't resist. "Do you remember their names?" Maderas smiled and shot a look at Mulder. "A feisty one, isn't she?" His gaze returned to Scully. "Touche, Senorita. Yes, I do remember their names. They are over there, in the crowd. Five women, three men. They are my students." "I'd like to talk to them," Mulder said. "Agent Scully would be happy to escort you into the restaurant and wait with you while I check out your story." The hell I would, Scully thought as she went against her own wishes and motioned for Maderas to head to the restaurant. Mulder gave her an 'I'm sorry' shrug before jogging off toward the crowd. She followed Maderas into the Saw Mill, which was deserted except for a waitress and a male bartender. Both were behind the bar, and both stared as Scully and Maderas walked in and took a booth near the back. "You do not need to sit here." Maderas put his hands on the table. "I will not go anywhere. Honestly." Scully didn't answer but kept her stony gaze on the handsome man. Very handsome man, she thought. Beautiful cheekbones. Beautiful eyes, several shades darker than Mulder's but just as expressive. Gorgeous head of hair. As thick as Mulder's... She blinked, took in an even breath, exhaling the thoughts. Her gaze traveled to the table top, where Maderas's hands were. For the first time, she saw his mangled left hand. Ring finger and pinkie in tact, long fingers that begged to play the piano. His thumb, index and middle fingers were cut at the first joint, three stubs of flesh and gnarled knuckles. Scully sucked in a quick breath when Maderas whipped his hand from the table and into his lap. Busted, she thought. Slowly, she looked up and found anger in his eyes. "Disgusting, isn't it?" His top lip curled into a sneer. "No need to lie. I know the truth." "Mr. Maderas..." "Do you know what I did for a living before coming here?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I was a model. I worked in New York for six years. I had a top agent who was going to make me the Cindy Crawford of the male modeling world. That's what she said." He shook his head. "She would have, too, if not for this." He flourished his left hand, a mockery of elegance. Scully realized she was witnessing a different side of Maderas. His voice was softer, more sincere. His shoulders slumped forward, not in defeat but in relaxation. As if he was letting down his guard, not concerned with keeping up appearances. "The Casanova bit," she said, "it's an act, isn't it?" A sad smile spread across Maderas's lips. "It is, how they say, a hook. A facade." A shield, she thought. A shield to keep in the insecurities. A shield to keep out the pain. "Americans love stereotypes," he continued, nonchalant. "Stereotypes evoke emotions. Passion. That is what I am drawn to. Those who are disgusted by my behavior are not worth the chase. Those who are _fascinated_ by my behavior are the ones I seek. They want to see the passion beneath the facade. They want to see the real Carlos." Mulder was right, Scully realized. Maderas was a game-player. He made a game of the murders so that he wouldn't have to deal with the reality of death. He made relationships a game as well, so he wouldn't have to deal with the reality of rejection. Pique a woman's interest, lay on the Latin lover persona to mess with her head. If the woman scoffed at him, she wasn't 'worth the chase.' If the woman still showed interest, she was treated to 'the real Carlos.' The revelation didn't make Maderas any less of a sleaze in Scully's book, but at least she understood _why_ he was a sleaze. It also didn't lessen the urge to slap the cocky smile from Maderas's lips. "Libby Ryan mentioned that, about getting past the facade. You two are close?" She didn't want to encourage him but curiosity was getting the better of her. "Libby is a sweet girl. Smart, passionate. But so dark." His smile faded. "My mother told me about an uncle of mine I never met. He was smart, genius level. But my mother called him Un Nino de las Sombras, a Child of the Shadows. Something dark lurked in him, it eclipsed his very soul." He laughed. "My mother was always one for dramatics. What I mean is Libby is a brilliant, passionate woman, but she is a troubled soul. She, how you say, has issues. I prefer women without issues." Apparently, he prefers women without common sense as well, Scully thought as she bit back a sneer. "What about Adrienne Burrard? Has she made it past the surface?" "Ah, Adrienne." He sighed. "She tries. She believes she loves me, but she does not. She is in love with the facade, not the foundation." "You're going to break up with her." Maderas nodded, his face solemn. "It is inevitable. I have been embroiled with this tragedy, so I have been unable to tell her." Motive, Scully thought. If Burrard knew Maderas was about to dump her, she had a motive. But did she really? Why wouldn't she just kill Maderas? Maybe she saw the other women as possible threats and thought with them out of the way, she'd have Maderas all to herself? "They will put me back in jail tonight, yes?" Scully lifted an eyebrow, a mock shrug. "You are a prime suspect found at the scene of a crime." "I did not do it. I did not even leave the table." Complete confidence seasoned with fear. "If your students can corroborate that, then you have nothing to worry about." The restaurant door opened, startling both occupants of the booth. Mulder stepped inside, followed by a uniformed officer. The uniformed officer nodded as Mulder talked to him, then headed in Scully's direction. Mulder motioned for her to join him. When she reached her partner, he lead her outside, then toward the flume. "Ryan and I interviewed Maderas's students. All eight claim they were in the restaurant for about three hours. The only time they lost sight of Maderas was _after_ Hernandez and the witness were discovered." "He was with them the entire three hours?" Mulder nodded. "Not even a potty break." The crowd had thinned out some, the appeal of the crime scene fading with the addition of time and more uniformed officers. Francis's assistant, Joe, had arrived and was crouched over the body, deep in thought. Ryan's nose was buried in his notebook, the top of his pen held prisoner between clenched teeth. Mulder stood next to Scully, though he kept his distance, her personal space uninterrupted. For that, she was relieved. Though she had work literally at her feet, Mulder kept seeping into her thoughts. His mouth, his hands, his body, his hardness... Mulder's voice startled her. "Scully, did Maderas mention his girlfriend?" "Just that she wasn't going to be his girlfriend much longer. Why?" Before Mulder could answer, Ryan's cell phone buzzed. The detective nodded, breathed a "good news," nodded again, then clicked off the phone. "That was Agent Taylor," Ryan declared. "He went with the witness to the hospital. Said the guy woke up in the ambulance. He can't talk because of his injuries, but he can write." "Scully and I will head over there." Mulder stood and started walking away from the body. He stopped, turned back. "Scully?" "You go ahead," she said in a flat tone. She was determined not to let her professionalism drown in the sea of emotions. But she also needed time away from him, time to focus on nothing but the case. "I'm going with the body, to do the autopsy." Mulder nodded, but Scully could see the disappointment on his face, barely hidden by his own facade of professionalism. "Why don't you go?" said a familiar voice. Scully turned to see Linda Francis standing next to her. When did she walk up? Francis pointed to Lucy Hernandez's body. "It'll take us a couple of hours to get the body back to the office and prepped. I'll give you a buzz when we're ready." "The photos..." "...will be taken by yours truly," Francis finished for her. "Joe is taking care of the trace evidence." "Looks like it's in good hands," Scully conceded, her thin smile covering her disappointment. <<<<<>>>>> Flagstaff Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit 10:30pm Taylor met Mulder and Scully at the nurses station at the center of the ICU. He looked exhausted, despite having nursed almost an entire cup of coffee. The younger agent pointed to the room directly across from the nurses station. "The doctor is in with him now. As soon as he's done, it's our turn." "Do we know who the witness is?" Mulder asked. Taylor nodded. "Richard Whedon, twenty-one, student at NAU. He's a waiter at the Saw Mill. Detective Ryan said he known the kid's dad for thirty years." He frowned at the coffee cup and tossed it in a nearby trash can. All heads turned as the hospital room door opened. Out stepped an olive-skinned man, a ring of salt-and-pepper hair surrounding his oval head. "How's he doing?" Taylor asked the man, whose coat declared him 'Dr. Zakhia.' "Better than any of us could have hoped," Zakhia said as he placed a medical chart on the counter. "We're still concerned about his larynx, of course, but he's doing remarkably well." Scully reached for the chart, and Zakhia reached out to stop her. Taylor stopped his hand. "It's okay. Agent Scully is a medical doctor." Zakhia seemed perturbed but put down his hand, allowing Scully to take the chart. She skimmed the reports, her eyebrow quirking almost immediately. "You were able to perform a tracheostomy?" Zakhia nodded. "It looked as if the attacker grabbed him right here." His hand went to his neck, directly under his chin. "Most of the pressure was above the trachea. It's the only thing that saved him from suffocating to death." "He's not able to talk?" Mulder asked. "Not sure he'll ever be able to talk," Zakhia replied solemnly. An uncomfortable silence surrounded the nurses station until Scully broke the lull. "Can we see him?" Zakhia's expression was firm. "Just a few minutes. That's it. And not all three of you. The kid's been through enough already without having an entourage descending upon him." "You two go," Taylor said as he motioned to Scully and Mulder. "I'll call Ryan and get an update of the scene." Scully nodded her appreciation to Taylor as she lead her partner into the hospital room. Richard Whedon, propped up by two pillows on the hospital bed, opened his eyes and positioned his gaze on Scully as she approached the bed. His head remained still; the tubes connected to the hole in his throat prohibited movement. The pain in his eyes screamed louder than any voice could. "Mr. Whedon, I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI." A bob of his head told her she could continue. His hands toyed with the notebook and felt-tip marker sitting on his lap. "Were you working tonight at the Saw Mill?" Whedon nodded slightly as he scribbled on the notebook for nearly a minute. He turned the paper to face Scully. It read: FINISHED MY SHIFT. LUCY CALLED FROM CAR, WAS 5 MINUTES AWAY & WOULD PICK ME UP. 20 MINUTES & SHE DOESN'T SHOW. I WENT OUTSIDE TO LOOK. "Lucy's your girlfriend?" Mulder asked. Whedon nodded. "Do you know if Lucy ever dated an associate professor at the college..." Before Mulder could finish, Whedon's hand was writing frantically. He showed the agents the paper: SHE DATED MADERAS. THOUGHT HE WAS IN JAIL. Scully looked at Mulder before answering, "He was, but he was released earlier today." Whedon's mouth opening to say words his voice couldn't support. His lips pursed in frustration and he penned his response: HE KILLED HER! ALMOST KILLED ME! Scully's eyebrow arched. "Are you saying Carlos Maderas is the one who attacked you?" More scribbling: WHO ELSE COULD IT BE? "But did you see him?" Scully pressed. Whedon took a deep breath, released it with a whistling sigh through the trach tube as he wrote: DRESSED IN LONG JACKET W/ HOOD. FACE HIDDEN. HUNCHED OVER LUCY. It was Mulder's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Did the attacker say anything?" Whedon nodded and scribbled: WEIRD VOICE, BREATHY & DEEP. TALKED ABOUT HANDS OF TIME & STARS ASCENDING. LIKE RECITING POEM. "Do you remember the words?" Mulder asked. Whedon put a finger to his lips, then wrote: LAST LINE - THE NIGHT SILENT WITH STARS ASCENDING. Whedon shrugged and added to the paper: NOT EXACT WORDS. Scully wrote in her own notebook before asking, "Anything else you can tell us about the assailant?" Whedon wrote: STRONG, PICKED ME UP BY NECK & TOSSED ME. "Do you remember what hand was used to pick you up?" Mulder asked. Eyes narrowed, Whedon gave Mulder an odd look, then wrote: LEFT HAND. Scully nodded, not surprised by his response. She glanced at Mulder and could tell he was coming to the same conclusion: Carlos Maderas was not the killer. "What happened after you were attacked?" Scully asked. With a shrug, Whedon scribbled: BLACKED OUT, DIDN'T SEE WHAT HE DID TO LUCY. Whedon's hand shook as he wrote LUCY, and a tear fell from his eye, smearing her name when it landed on the paper. He wrote his final words: SHE'S GONE, ISN'T SHE? "Yes, she died at the scene," Scully said softly. She watched Whedon turn away from her and Mulder, though the trach tube kept him from turning away enough to hide the tears descending his face. "We're very sorry, Mr. Whedon," Scully said sincerely. "Thank you for talking with us." Whedon didn't look at them when they left. Outside the room stood a pacing Taylor, his face relaxing as Mulder and Scully approached. "So, did he say who it was?" "Unless Maderas has regrown a few fingers," said Mulder, "he's out as a suspect. We'll have to let him go." He explained Whedon's revelation and Maderas's alibi at the crime scene, and succeeded in getting an exasperated sigh out of the younger agent. "But he was there at the restaurant. What are the chances that he would be there right when the murder happened unless he did it?" "We know he frequents the Saw Mill," Scully replied. "It's not a stretch for him to be there." Mulder agreed with a nod. "The killer is on a mission and won't stop until that mission is complete. Being caught is not an option. The complete lack of evidence at every scene proves that. If Maderas was the killer, he wouldn't have waited around for us to find him." "I was so sure he was guilty." Taylor shook his head. "What now?" "We need to find Adrienne Burrard," Scully stated. "She was on her way to the Observatory earlier this evening." "I'll follow you there." Taylor gave a quick wave and walked away. When Taylor was out of earshot, Mulder turned to Scully. "Do you want me to drop you off at the coroner's office?" Scully opened her mouth, intending on saying yes, but she shifted gears. She couldn't let what went on less than an hour ago affect her job. Even if it took every bit of her concentration to keep those thoughts from overpowering her. "No," she replied firmly. "I'll go with you. I have some time before the autopsy." His eyes widened slightly, but he responded with a nod as he followed her down the hall to the elevator. Scully could feel the heat of his gaze as they waited. She refused to look at him because she knew what she would see. She already knew she was hurting him. She was hurting herself as well, by not admitting what she was feeling. The problem is I'm not even sure what I'm feeling, she thought as the elevator arrived. <<<<<>>>>> En route to Adrienne Burrard's apartment 11:10pm Scully held the styrofoam cup with both hands, warming her palms. She was grateful for Mulder's suggestion to get some coffee to go from the hospital cafeteria. She would have been grateful for the 'specialty' coffee if it hadn't tasted like French vanilla tar. She watched Mulder's profile as he took a long drink of his coffee, his hand eclipsing the cup. She could almost feel the warmth of the fluid as it flowed over his tongue, heating his mouth, that mouth that inflamed hers... Mulder put the cup in the car's holder. He turned to meet Scully's gaze, held it for several seconds before he looked back at the road. The questions she saw in his eyes made her stomach leap for her throat. What were they thinking? What had they done... "It's escalating," Mulder said, shattering Scully's mental flogging. "The interval between murders have gone from two weeks to two days. We've got one, maybe two victims to go before the killer's mission is accomplished." "The numbers on the chest..." He nodded. "Each victim is serving a role, as if the killer is casting each as a specific character." "How do we know when we've run out of characters?" "I don't know," he said with a shrug. "But I'm pretty sure Adrienne is being saved for last. The piece de resistance, the one that will give the most pleasure to kill." Scully fought a shudder. With everything she had seen, every murder she had investigated, she never got used to murder being described as someone's 'pleasure.' "What about the words the killer spoke?" she offered. "What could they mean?" "Part of the ritual. Serial killers often pray or quote passages from favorite works before each murder." Scully's only reply was a nod. She turned away from her partner, looking out the window into the darkness. Her emotions had no place in a murder investigation, yet they kept haunting her. Everything was coming apart at the seams. The case, their relationship... "Scully?" His tone caused tears to pool in her eyes. "Not now," she said without facing him. "After the case." She ventured a look. She was sorry she did. "Are we okay?" His gaze sliced through her like a lance. "We're fine, Mulder." The doubt in his eyes contradicted his nod. END PART 7 ********************** ENSKY (8/11) by viXen Forest Lawn Apartments Flagstaff March 13 11:25pm Scully felt like they hadn't left the apartment complex. They passed the same party-goers lining the walkway in front of the same apartment. Six hours did nothing to diminish the party. Once at Burrard's door, the agents flanked the door; Mulder on one side, Scully and Taylor on the other. When Mulder rapped on the wood, the door moved, easing open. In sync, all three agents reached for their guns. Mulder stepped inside first, gun sweeping the dimly lit room. As Scully and Taylor entered behind him, Mulder went down a hallway toward the bedroom. Scully headed to the kitchen. By the time Taylor shut the front door and joined her, Mulder returned from the back of the apartment, his gun holstered. Taylor stated the obvious. "She's not here. No sign of struggle, but her front door was open." "Maybe she was in a really big hurry." Mulder moved into the living room. Scully followed, fingering the magazines on the coffee table. Nothing looked out of place from earlier. Taylor's curious "Huh" turned the other agents' heads. The younger agent pointed at a square black box sitting next to the phone, and again stated the obvious: "Answering machine." He pressed a button on the machine. In a tinny tone came Carlos Maderas's voice: "Adri, I need to see you. Meet me after work. You know where." The machine clicked, then a monotone female voice stated the call came in at six-thirteen. "That wasn't long after we were here," Scully said. "She was on her way _to_ work when we saw her." Mulder nodded. "Maybe she's still there." <<<<<>>>>> Lowell Observatory 11:50pm Mulder pulled up in front of the visitor's center, making his own parking spot. Taylor did the same. "I called Ryan," Taylor said as exited his car. "He'll meet us here when he's done at the scene." The agents reached the visitor's center, yet found the building locked and the lights out. "I thought they had night tours," Taylor said. Mulder cupped his hand over his eyes and looked inside the building. "They do, but they stop at eleven." Scully started toward the side of the building. Mulder and Taylor followed, and met up with her at a side door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only.' She tried the door knob. No luck. Mulder decided on the direct approach, slamming his fist on the metal door. "Hello?" Scully yelled as she joined her partner in pounding the door. Their persistence paid off, as a muffled "just a minute" came from behind the door. Keys jingled, a deadbolt unlatched, then the door opened. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." Martin Haskins's eyes were as wide as quarters. He gave Taylor a quick glance, then motioned the agents inside. Mulder led the way. "Did Adrienne Burrard work tonight?" A nod from Haskins. "We had a special tour, a group of Arizona legislators. We're up for more funding, so we wanted to show them where the money will go. Adrienne and I were the guides tonight." As Haskins spoke, Scully took in the decor of the room. Post- Modern Low-Budget Office, she concluded. Faux wood desks, metal filing cabinets, worn cocoa carpet. The walls, however, turned the office into Early American Astronomer. Every inch of the four walls was covered with star charts, photos taken from space, paintings, drawings and countless magazine and newspaper articles touting Lowell Observatory and its work. She caught Mulder's gaze wandering as well. Haskins swiped at his sweating brow. "Can I ask what's going on?" Mulder's gaze went from Scully to Taylor, then to Haskins. "There's been another murder." Haskins gasped. "Dear God." "It's imperative we find Ms. Burrard," Scully said. "She's not at her apartment." Quarter-wide eyes stared back at her. "She said she was going home, but it's possible she's still on the grounds. I'll release the front gate so you can look around." Scully's attention shifted from Haskins to her partner, who had moved to one of the posters lining the walls, a star chart plotting the constellations. She watched as he reached out for the chart, his index finger connecting the stars. He tapped the chart and turned to Haskins. "How are the stars catalogued? By name?" "By name and their HR number." Off Mulder's questioning look, Haskins added, "Their number in the Bright Star Catalog, the industry standard." "Do you have a copy of this catalog?" Mulder said, his voice tight. Scully's eyebrows arched in unison. The Bright Star Catalog. A catalog of numbers. "We have a copy around here somewhere," Haskins said as he started pulling open filing cabinet drawers. On the fifth drawer he lifted out an encyclopedia-sized book and put it on a nearby desk with a thud. "Is there a star with the number one-one-five-one?" Mulder asked. Haskins turned to the index and scanned the contents. With a nod, he said, "Asterope." Mulder's forehead crinkled. "What about one-one-five-six?" Haskins checked, then said, "Merope." Taylor urgently flipped through his notebook, found the page he needed. "One-one-four-zero, one-one-four-two and one-one-four- five." After searching a few pages, Haskins responded, "Celaeno, Electra and Taygeta." Scully knew the names. "The Pleiades." All three men looked at her as if she'd uttered an obscenity. Mulder's expression was especially priceless, Scully thought as she fought a smile. "My father was a man of the sea," she said, as if that explained everything. To her it did. Ahab had been fascinated with the stars. Though she'd never admit it to Mulder, she had been fascinated as well. Her awe of the sky faded as she grew up, but the names -- and the memories of time spent learning them with her father -- were still as bright as the stars themselves. Haskins nodded slowly. "She's right. The Pleiades is an open cluster of seven stars in the Taurus constellation. The remaining two stars are Maia and Alcyone, one-one-four-nine and one-one-six- five, respectively. Alcyone is the brightest of the seven stars." "Seven," Scully said absently. "That's the magic number." Taylor looked as if he were in a trance. "The constellations are based on Greek mythology, right? What's the story with the Pleiades?" Scully took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "If I remember correctly, one of the sisters was romantically pursued by Orion, The Great Hunter. She refused his advances, and Orion became enraged. He hunted the sisters, and to save them, Zeus turned them into doves and placed them in the sky so Orion couldn't harm them." "Wait a minute." Mulder started pacing, a hand over his mouth, fingers rubbing dry lips. "Orion... Orion..." He slammed a hand on a nearby desk. Scully and Taylor leaned their heads forward, waiting for Mulder to say something, anything. Haskins looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. "Lucy Hernandez was Maia." Mulder's voice soft, strained. "Adrienne Burrard will be Alcyone." Taylor's mouth dropped open, disbelief flooding his face. "How do you know?" Haskins added a gasp to the dialogue, but didn't comment further, choosing instead to heft his stunned body into the nearest chair. Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "Richard Whedon said the killer recited something to do with stars ascending. It sounded familiar but it didn't click until now." He paused, took a deep breath. "'And day, with all its hours of light/Was slowly sinking out of sight/While, opposite, the scale of night/Silently with the stars ascended.'" Another pause. "That's from 'The Occultation of Orion' by Henry Wordsworth Longfellow." Scully flinched at the realization of what Mulder had said. "You're saying... Mulder... that's not possible." "What's not possible?" Taylor said, an edge of frustration marring his voice. Scully turned her full attention to her partner. "Mulder, the force used to inflict these injuries would be virtually impossible for anyone to do, but would be _absolutely_ impossible for someone her size." Taylor's frustration turned to anger. "_Whose_ size? Who the hell are you talking about?" Shocked, Scully waited for Mulder to drop his bomb on Taylor. What he was thinking was impossible. More than impossible. When it became evident her partner wasn't going to speak up, Scully did it for him, saying the unbelievable. "He's talking about Libby Ryan." <<<<<>>>>> Once she assured herself Haskins wouldn't go into shock or cardiac arrest after Mulder's revelation, Scully left the visitor's center and caught up with Mulder and Taylor, who were a few steps from the iron bars surrounding the inner campus. Taylor saw her and motioned to Mulder. "Would you please tell him he's wrong? Just because the girl carries a book of Longfellow poems doesn't mean she's a murderer." Scully's gaze went to Mulder. She knew there was some truth to her partner's revelation. Despite the physical impossibility, despite her impression of Libby Ryan, despite her confidence in Ted Ryan's ability to detect a serial killer in his family, Scully couldn't tell Taylor what he wanted to hear. "I'm not sure he is wrong," she said, turning to Taylor. "Though I admit I'm having trouble with some aspects of the theory." "She has the motive," Mulder said. Scully met Mulder's gaze and held it, their normal sparring stance in place. For her, Taylor faded into the night sky. "I don't doubt that, Mulder" she answered. "It's obvious Libby wanted her relationship with Maderas to go beyond the 'intellectual connection' they had. The motive isn't the problem. The method _is_." Mulder shook his head. "Adrenaline rush, Scully. There are hundreds of documented cases of men and women lifting impossibly heavy objects off friends or loved ones in danger. Adrenaline can make ordinary people do extraordinary things." She hated when he tried to throw science in her face. "We are talking about a woman who weighs less than a hundred pounds, with arms the width of my wrist, putting her open palm on someone's neck and applying one forceful thrust in excess of one hundred pounds. I don't care if her body is producing enough adrenaline for a three-hundred-pound bodybuilder, she can't do what was done to these women." "She can if she has help," Mulder said. Her eyebrows arched. "Who? Maderas? I thought you were sure he wasn't involved." "I am," he replied. "I'm not talking about a second person, Scully. I'm talking about a second personality." "You think she suffers from multiple personalities?" Scully asked. Mulder shrugged. "In a way." He's being evasive, she thought. That could only mean one thing. Though his feet never left the ground, her partner had taken a quantum leap. "Mulder, what are you saying?" She kept her voice level. His lips quirked into a smile. "Have you ever seen 'The Exorcist'?" Scully tilted her head, her mouth open in surprise. No. Absolutely not. He couldn't possibly be talking about... "Possession?" she said, her voice jumping half an octave. "You think Libby is possessed? Dare I ask, by whom? Or what?" "She's playing the role of the hunter," Mulder replied calmly. "She's hunting the seven sisters of the I-dated-Carlos-Maderas sorority." Scully let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "So what you're telling me is that Libby Ryan was able to crush these women's necks because she is possessed by the spirit of a Greek god." "Of course not," Mulder said with a smirk. "Orion was a mortal, not a god." She shot him a lethal look, which he answered with a chuckle and, "I'm not saying she _is_ possessed, Scully. If she _believes_ she's embodying the spirit of The Great Hunter, then she _believes_ she has the ability to kill these women. The power of suggestion can be more potent than the power itself." The only response she could muster was a shake of her head. This was 'out there,' even for Mulder. She could see Libby Ryan as the killer. Quiet, a loner, obsessive personality, in love with a man who doesn't return the affection. She gets angry and kills those she sees as competition for Maderas's attention. How she was able to fatally injure these women still eluded Scully, but possession was not the answer. Even the belief of being possessed can't give super-human strength to someone Libby's size... A glass-shattering scream interrupted Scully's thoughts. "The Pluto Dome," Mulder said. "Make-out central. That has to be where Maderas was meeting Adrienne tonight." He reached for his gun and pushed open the gate, Scully and Taylor close behind. Another scream pierced the silence, followed by a male shout of "No!" Adrienne and Carlos were in the dome. But they were not alone. When they arrived at the dome, the door flew open and out staggered a bloody Adrienne Burrard. "She's crazy! Libby... I... Carlos is still in there!" She leaned against the dome, cradling her blood-splashed left arm to her chest. Scully helped Adrienne away from the dome, toward one of the ornate street lamps along the observatory walkway. She took the young woman's arm and examined it gently. Shards of crimson- dipped bone jutted through skin. Broken in too many places to count. Scully removed her suit jacket and carefully wrapped Adrienne's arm. "Adrienne, listen to me," she said slowly. "You need to get to the visitor's center. Can you do that?" She paused until she saw a weak nod. "Martin Haskins is there. Tell him to call nine-one- one. Keep your arm as still as possible until paramedics get here." Adrienne nodded. "Please. Carlos is in there. Don't let her..." Scully smoothed a hand over Adrienne's shoulder. "I won't. You just worry about getting to Martin." The young woman nodded and moved slowly toward the visitor's center. When Scully turned her attention back to the dome, she saw that Mulder and Taylor hadn't waited for her; they were already inside. She walked quietly, like a stalker, her body and gun poised for action. Her foot hit the concrete walkway as a male scream billowed from the dome. Her walk turned into a fast run as she prepared herself for the worst. It didn't help. At the base of the telescope was Libby Ryan, her back to the dome's entrance and the hood of her rain pancho barely clinging to her head. Dangling over the young woman was Mulder, suspended in air by Libby's left hand gripping his neck. Scully screamed, "No!" Libby's answer was to slam Mulder's head against the telescope's thick metal casing. "Libby, please," Scully pleaded, trying to keep her voice forceful. "You don't have to do this." When she didn't get a response, Scully aimed at Libby's arm. She focused, lining up on right shoulder, hoping to wing her and force her to release Mulder and grab for the wounded shoulder. Just as Scully's finger tightened on the trigger, Libby moved her arm forward, which moved Mulder's body behind hers, destroying Scully's chance of shooting without risk of hitting her partner. "Damnit," Scully breathed. Desperate enough to try the shot anyway, she aimed for the back of Libby's knee. Her finger twitched against the trigger, pulled tighter. "Olivia Marie Ryan!" Scully's head snapped to the source of the sound: Ted Ryan, standing in the doorway, his body surrounded by an eerie glow of artificial and moonlight. Scully's gaze went back to Libby. The young woman's attention was fully on the detective, her grip on Mulder barely holding, then finally releasing as she let the agent fall to the ground. "Olivia, come here," Ryan said forcefully. Libby took three steps forward, then jerked to a halt, as if yanked back by some imaginary hand. Scully chanced a look around, wondering where Taylor and Maderas were. She found Maderas, partially hidden in the shadows, standing near the entrance. What wasn't hidden was the stark terror-stricken eyes, or the rigidity of a body paralyzed by fear. "Olivia," Ryan barked. "No." A deep, harsh voice exploded from Libby Ryan. "The seven must die." Ryan countered, "He is not one of the seven." Libby didn't respond, but she didn't return to Mulder's side to finish what she had started. Father and daughter engaged in a staring contest, a battle of wills that gave the agents some much- needed time. Scully heard the rustle of clothing behind her, and turned to find Taylor, approaching her slowly. She pointed to Ryan, and Taylor nodded, understanding. Scully moved away from Taylor, her steps completely silent, as she neared her destination: Mulder. Libby was still close to Mulder, but Scully didn't care. Her only thought was to get to her partner, her... what? What were they to each other now, after what happened in the hotel room? Lovers? She shook her head. She couldn't think about it now. When she reached him, Scully could see Mulder struggling to breathe. Curled in a fetal position, he jerked at the touch of her hand. "It's okay," she soothed in a whisper. "It's just me." He relaxed, rolled onto his back. She pulled at his tie, loosening the knot and unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. She bit back a gasp. His neck looked as if it had broken out in a rash. A rash in the shape of a human hand. "Mulder, slowly," she whispered as she sat next to him. "Slow breaths." She lifted his torso, dragged him into a semi-seated position, leaning his back against her chest to better open his airway. His head rested against her shoulder. "Slow breaths," she repeated, running a hand through his hair. "Hang on, Mulder. Don't you dare leave me." Her gaze moved to Libby, who was now staring at her and Mulder. Scully couldn't remember seeing such rage in a person's eyes. The young woman's face, shadowed by the pancho's hood, looked different. Her skin darker, her eyes bigger, her face more gaunt, almost skeletal. Scully's arm went around Mulder's chest, and she pulled him closer. "Leave them alone, Libby," Ryan said. "They don't want to harm you. None of us do." "Then leave us to our business," Libby snapped in the deep, demonic voice. Us, Scully thought. Maybe Mulder was right. Maybe Libby believed she was being controlled by another entity... "Where is the seventh?" Libby yelled, startling everyone in the dome. Scully's gaze went to the entrance, and she saw Maderas cowering in the shadows. She wondered why he hadn't left when he had the chance. A wicked streak in Scully surmised that Maderas found the fire and passion in Libby too fascinating to resist. Rational Scully deduced that Maderas was too terrified to move. "Don't worry about her," Ryan said. "Come with me, Libby. Let's go home." "No," Libby bellowed. Scully saw Taylor move beside Detective Ryan. "Listen to your father," Taylor soothed. "You can stop this." Libby bristled. "Where is Carlos?" "He's not worth it," Taylor said. "He's not worth all of this." No, Scully thought. No, Taylor. Wrong answer... Libby roared, an inhuman scream, and she rushed toward Taylor and Ryan. Both men raised their guns at the blur coming at them. A flash of light. An explosion of gunpowder. Who fired? The question clung to the edge Scully's mind as saw Libby Ryan stagger backward, grabbing her shoulder. The young woman pulled her hand away and whimpered at the sight of dark liquid dripping from her fingers, cried out with a wounded-animal wail, then slumped to the ground. When Detective Ryan dropped his gun, fell to his knees and started sobbing, Scully knew she had the answer to her question. <<<<<>>>>> Flagstaff Memorial Hospital March 14 5:40 am As she walked down the antiseptic-scented hospital corridor, approaching the last of the three rooms on her list, Scully realized how lucky everyone in that dome had been. Her first visit had been to Adrienne Burrard, who suffered a severely broken arm, some nerve damage and most likely months worth of physical therapy to regain marginal use of her wrist and hand. Surprisingly, Maderas camped out at her bedside, providing much-needed emotional support to the young woman. The caring, sensitive man inside Carlos Maderas had somehow dug his way out from underneath layers of chauvinism and machismo. Next had been a trip to the intensive care unit. Libby Ryan's room. At her bedside was her father, hunched over in a chair next to the bed. He hadn't heard her enter the room, but turned as she approached the bed. A sad smile on his chapped lips, he nodded a greeting before turning back to his daughter. "The surgery went well," Scully said, slipping into doctor mode with an ease that unsettled her. "The bullet just nicked an artery, and they were able to repair it quickly. She'll make a full recovery." Physically, at least. "She woke up earlier." Ryan's voice flat and dry. "She doesn't remember a thing. She even thought she was a target herself, because of her friendship with Maderas. That's why she didn't want me to know. "I believe her," he added, though Scully didn't say a word. "I know when she lies. She gets this twitch in her left eye." He smiled, drifting off in thought before sobering, frowning. "They think she might have that Multiple Personality Disorder. This other... personality is responsible for the murders." Scully saw the doubt in Ryan's eyes. She doubted the MPD angle herself. Though it was a more plausible explanation than possession... As she stopped in front of Mulder's room, Scully couldn't help the sense of deja vu sweeping over her. How many times had she found herself in this same situation, opening the door to pain and the memory of seeing Mulder nearly die? How many more times would she have to endure this? How many more times until she didn't have to endure it, because he would be gone? She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then opened the door. She found Mulder buttoning his dress shirt. He left the top two buttons undone. Much to Scully's relief, the injuries to his neck were superficial. The pain and restricted ability to talk would remain for a few days, but would leave no lasting effects. The swelling on his neck had gone down, though the redness remained, joined by light blotches of putrid yellow and purple. "Think anyone will believe they're hickeys?" Mulder asked, his voice husky and barely above a whisper. She smiled, felt the beginnings of a blush heating her skin. The uninvited thought of whom he expected to give him the hickeys crept into her mind. "How's Libby?" he asked, allowing her mind to return to work. "She's doing well. She shouldn't have any nerve damage or restriction of movement." "What about Ryan?" She shrugged. "About as well as to be expected. He believes Libby has no recollection of the murders." He nodded. "Most victims of possession have no memory of their actions while under the influence of the entity..." He stopped and smiled at his partner's disapproving look. "Too Linda Blair for you, Scully?" "I think a better explanation will be found once she undergoes a psych evaluation." "Maybe." He grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door, his hand brushing her shoulder. "Let's get the hell outta here." She nodded and followed him out, thanking God with each step that Mulder was able to walk out of the hospital. END PART 8 ********************** ENSKY (9/11) by viXen Dulles International Airport Washington, D.C. March 14 2:50pm EST Sometimes a long plane flight can be an asset, because it provides time to think, time to reflect. Sometimes a long plane flight can be a curse for the same reason. For Scully, the flight back from Arizona belonged in the curse category. Uninvited replays of Mulder's body crushing hers against the hotel room door played in an endless loop for the entire five- hour trip. She wanted to believe she could handle it the way she handled everything else in her life: with a level head. But that tactic wouldn't work if her every thought involved having her level head locked with Mulder's at the lips. Thankfully, she didn't have to face the subject of her thoughts on the plane. The air pressure change caused by the plane's take- off wreaked havoc on Mulder's neck. By the time the plane leveled out, his breathing was so shallow, he sounded like an asthmatic in the middle of downtown L.A. Once his breathing returned to normal, Scully convinced him to take one of the painkillers prescribed by the E.R. doctor. He nodded off within minutes and slept the entire flight, most of which he spent with his head on her shoulder, and most of which she spent trying to resist running her fingers through his hair. The only time her mind wasn't focused on some part of Mulder's anatomy was when she thought about the case. A search of Libby Ryan's apartment turned up an Exacto knife; one ten-pack of disposable Exacto blades, missing seven blades; four books on Greek mythology; seven books on astronomy, all of which had dog- eared pages in the sections about the constellation Taurus; the class schedules for each of the six dead women; the class and work schedules for Adrienne Burrard; and over two dozen pictures of Carlos Maderas, which included magazine ads he had done as well as candid Polaroid photos. Despite the overwhelming evidence, Mulder still believed Libby Ryan wasn't aware she was a murderer. Despite the obvious premeditation of the murders, Mulder still insisted the spirit of Orion did all the dirty work, using Libby's body as its medium. Scully looked over at her partner, his face relaxed in sleep. She wondered how he could ignore the natural and side with the supernatural. A man with such high intelligence disregarding the obvious and probable in favor of the obscure and unlikely. He was a mystery to her, even after seven years. She smiled. She always loved a good mystery. The mumbled landing announcement from the cockpit snapped Scully out of her daydreaming. Her eyes focused on Mulder's face. How long had she been staring at him? She was about to wake him for the landing, but the change in air pressure did it for her. His face contorted into a grimace. "Let me guess," he groaned as he lifted his head from her shoulder. "We're home." "Almost. How are you feeling?" "Like I have a hangover, only I didn't have the pleasure of getting drunk." She offered a small smile and watched as he closed his eyes again, letting his head rest against the seat. He remained that way until the plane came to a stop at the gate. The agents gathered their luggage and stood in the cattle-call line to disembark. Once off the plane, Mulder picked up speed, and Scully found herself having to jog every few steps to keep up with him. "Mulder, what's your hurry?" "Just want to get home," he said without looking at her. "It's been a long trip." That it has, she thought with a sigh. She joined him in maintaining the silence not only through the airport, but to the parking area until they arrived at the car. "I can drive," she said, holding out her hand for his keys. "I'm fine," he replied, his comment seasoned with sarcasm. "It's been over five hours since I took the happy pill. That's an adequate amount of time for the effects to wear off, isn't it, Doctor?" I deserved that, she thought as she nodded and went to the passenger side. She knew she deserved his anger and his sarcasm because she wouldn't discuss the shift that was happening in their relationship. The shift from professional to personal. She admitted their relationship had been personal for years, but it was a platonic personal, always one step away from intimate personal. They had taken that one step in a hotel room in Flagstaff, Arizona. There were no steps between them now. Except for the ones she kept taking backwards. She closed her eyes, leaned back in the seat, willing everything that happened in Arizona from her mind. She'd always been efficient at repressing events she didn't want to think about, tucking them into the outer recesses of her mind. The only problem was they kept coming back in her dreams... "Home sweet home." Scully's eyes snapped open at Mulder's words. With a yawn, she realized she must have nodded off. They were already in the Hoover parking garage, parked next to her car. Mulder cut the engine and got out, popping the trunk. By the time Scully shook the sleep from her head and stepped out of the car, he had her luggage sitting next to her trunk. "Thanks," she said, nodding to the bags. He shrugged, looking shy all of a sudden. She was well aware of his eyes on her as she opened her and loaded in the luggage. He was hovering, and she knew exactly why. "Drive safe, Mulder," she said as she closed the trunk. "I'll finish our report tonight after I'm done here." "You're not going home now?" "I have to talk to Skinner," she said, reinforcing the point by looking over his shoulder to the elevators. "I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded, though she could see disappointment flooding his eyes. She walked away, toward the elevators, the echoing click of her heels on the concrete somehow soothing. "Hey, Scully." She turned to see him approaching. He stopped, his body mere inches from hers. Her eyes made it as far as his Adam's apple; she couldn't bring herself to look in his eyes. In Flagstaff, she had seen the honesty in his eyes, his true feelings bright and strong in their depths. She couldn't handle that honesty right now. She gave him a shaky smile. "Mulder, don't worry. I haven't changed my mind about the job offer." He stepped back, giving her more room, as if sensing her discomfort. "I know. I just wanted... I know you need some time to... process what happened, I think we both do. But I just need to ask you one question." Her mouth opened, ready to argue, but she clamped it shut. One question wasn't too much to ask, right? He took her silence as compliance. "Was Padgett right?" Her breath caught in her throat, though she was able to stifle the sound. Padgett was wrong about many aspects of her life, but he nailed the right answer on one: Is Agent Scully already in love? Of all the questions for Mulder to ask... "Padgett was psychotic," she replied slowly, choosing her words carefully. "He couldn't possibly have known every aspect of my life, especially what is inside my head." "Just answer the question." Mulder squared his jaw. "Please." It's not that easy, she wanted to say. She loved Mulder, but what she wanted to do with that love was the true question. Logic and emotion had done an excellent job of confusing her. She would get to the point of convincing herself that they were partners and should stay that way, then she would remember what it felt like to be pressed against that door by the weight of his body. What it would feel like to be pressed into a mattress by the weight of his body. His naked body... "I can't answer that with a simple yes or no," she said, frustration roughening her voice. "Why not?" His own frustration pushed his voice up half an octave. "Because... because I can't. Mulder... I just can't." "I don't want to press you, but..." "Then don't. Please." She took a deep breath and stepped into the elevator. "I have to go. Skinner's waiting for me." The doors closed, separating them, but not before she heard his response: "So am I, Scully." A sickening wave of irony swept through her stomach. She didn't need Philip Padgett or his characters to rip out her heart; Mulder had done it without even touching her. <<<<<>>>>> Skinner's office 3:45pm "He's waiting for you," Kimberly said before Scully had fully stepped inside the reception area. Scully nodded, moving confidently to Skinner's door. She knocked once, waited for Skinner's muffled reply to enter, and opened the door. "Agent Scully," Skinner said, nodding as she moved to sit in front of his desk. "I'll get right to the point. I need an answer from you concerning the Deputy Assistant Directorship." "My answer is no," she said, her voice firm. Skinner's eyebrows inched up. "You've thought about this?" "Thoroughly, sir." A terse nod. "Can I ask why?" "I like my job," she said matter-of-factly. "And you're sure you won't like what this new one has to offer?" "I'm sure I would, sir," she replied. "But I've never been a quitter." Skinner's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid you've lost me." "My job here is far from done. Agent Mulder and I have come a long way, but we have a long way to go. The answers we've uncovered are just on the surface. To leave now would be to abandon all the work we've done over the past six years. We have learned so much, and there is much more to learn, much more to uncover. I am just as committed to this as Agent Mulder is..." Scully stopped. Like a dam breaking, her mind flooded with the answer she'd been searching for so desperately. All along she had wondered about commitment. She was well aware that any relationship with Mulder would be difficult. What she wondered was if it was even possible. They were two very different people. His recklessness aggravated her; his willingness to believe without proof annoyed her. Sometimes she wondered how they had remained partners all these years. But they had. Despite reassignments, they always came back to each other. She was now willing to admit that the promise of an intriguing case wasn't the only reason she kept coming back. The X-Files was an integral part of her life, but she could go on if reassigned elsewhere. She wouldn't let go of what was learning exactly what happened to her during her abduction, but she could look for those answers without the X-Files. Without Mulder. It would be more difficult to accomplish, but she could do it. The point was, she didn't want to look for those answers alone. She wanted Mulder by her side every step of the way. Could she devote herself to Mulder? She already had. "Agent Scully?" Scully's focus snapped back to her boss. He was looking at her, curiosity with a touch of annoyance in his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. It's been a long trip." She took a cleansing breath and let it out slowly. "What I'm trying to say is that I have made a commitment to the X-Files. I find it rewarding and challenging, and I am not willing to give it up for a desk job, not even a prestigious desk job." She realized that if she had substituted 'Mulder' for 'the X- Files,' the same statement would be true. "Am I to assume I can't talk you into changing your mind?" "No sir." Skinner nodded. "I have to say I'm disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed. I had the committee convinced you were the only person for the job." Scully bristled. "Sir, I didn't ask you to pursue this for me. As a matter of fact, I wasn't in a position _to_ ask, considering I wasn't made aware of this offer until the wheels were already in motion." "I pursued this," Skinner said, his voice as tight as a fist, "because I thought it was a good career move for you." "What you did is appreciated," she said, her gaze and voice unwavering. "The way you did it is inexcusable." Skinner clenched his jaw. "I don't need to defend my actions to you, Agent Scully." "I'm not asking you to, sir. I just expect to be treated with the respect I deserve." His eyes flared but he refrained from comment. Scully knew his tactics were not standard practice, and she could tell he knew she knew. She also was aware that Skinner had long since discarded standard practice with the X-Files division. Skinner cleared his throat. "I will inform the committee that you are not interested in the Deputy Assistant Director position." "Thank you." She rose, taking his nod as a dismissal. She made it to the door, then curiosity stopped her from leaving. "Off the record, sir. Was this offer truly clean?" Skinner leaned back in his chair. "It's been common knowledge for some time that Director Palmer was going to retire this year. There were no sudden... acts that looked suspicious. I believe this was the real deal." She nodded, still not convinced but willing to accept Skinner's explanation. She turned, placed her hand on the knob, put her weight toward the door until Skinner's voice stopped her. "Off the record, Agent Scully." He waited for her to turn and face him. "If you weren't partnered with Agent Mulder, would you have taken the offer?" A small smile curled her lips as she opened the door. "In a heartbeat." She walked out, her stride confident. She knew that in Skinner's office, she had made two decisions that would change her life. Her smile widened. END PART 9 ********************** ENSKY (10/11) by viXen ** Rated NC-17 for lots of lovin'. If you're under 18, don't even bother continuing. ** Mulder's apartment Arlington, VA March 14 4:25pm Scully stood outside his apartment, her hand poised to knock. She hesitated slightly, then rapped on the door. Her mind replayed what she wanted to say to him. They would have to be careful not to let their personal life interfere with their professional life. There would have to be ground rules... Her breath caught in her throat as the door opened, revealing Mulder wearing nothing but a pair of faded black sweatpants. All rational thought left her mind as her eyes glided over his naked chest like a slow caress. Her gaze finally traveled up to his face. She found curiosity and confusion in his eyes, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of arousal. She hoped. "Yes," she whispered. His eyes narrowed. "Yes, what, Scully?" "Yes. Padgett was right." Mulder's eyes closed for several seconds, then opened as he exhaled a shaky breath. He leaned against the door jamb, as if unable to support his weight any longer. Before she could stop herself, she closed the distance between them, her hands roaming the expanse of his chest. His skin was burning, scalding her fingertips. She replaced one of her hands with her lips, placing a tender, lingering kiss over his heart. His skin tasted salty, a bit tangy, like the rim of a margarita glass. Absently, she wondered how he would taste with a twist of lime. "Scully," he sighed, his fingers burrowing in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist and let her cheek rest on his chest, just over his heart. Taking comfort in his heartbeat, slightly elevated and steadily quickening. Taking comfort in his breath, slightly shallow and also steadily quickening. Pulling away, she looked up, anxious to see what his eyes revealed, but she wasn't given the chance. His lips found hers immediately, picking up where they had left off in Flagstaff. She felt herself being pulled forward into his apartment, her mind barely aware of her feet moving, brain cells too busy processing the rough, slick swipes of his tongue in her mouth. She heard a thud, and realized she was drowning in arousal and deja vu: her back was now against the door, her body gloriously trapped between hard wood and hard Mulder. Though every nerve ending she had was already on overload, she wanted to feel more. She pushed her body away from the door, into Mulder. He pushed back, slamming her into the door and crushing her as his tongue pushed further into her mouth. The move caused a river of arousal to begin flowing down her body. She could smell herself, thick and heavy, like a thunderstorm. She knew he could smell it as well. He broke the ravaging kiss, inhaled in a deep breath through his nose, let out a growl, then attacked her neck with his mouth. He sucked at her skin, nipped and licked, marking her as his own. She allowed him, only because she would have her chance to mark him later. Fair is fair, she thought as she forced air into her lungs. His heavy body and his heady kisses were stealing her breath to the point that she felt herself starting to hyperventilate. "Mulder," she said between gulping breaths, "do you think we could try this somewhere else?" He pulled his lips from her neck and gave her a coy smile. "You have something against doors?" "Pounding on them, no. Being pounded against them, yes." "I see your point," he laughed as he brushed his lips over her forehead. "Do you want to come inside?" "Very much so, Mulder." She ran a hand over his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Mulder's smile faded. He pulled her into a tight embrace, as if he were holding on for his life. She held on for her life as well, absorbing his strength through her clothes, through her skin. Through her soul. When he released her, Scully's gaze immediately went to his face. She saw what she was sure was in her eyes: awe. The reality of the situation was so overwhelming when she stopped to think about it. They were finally at the milestone in their relationship she thought they would never reach: the consummation of the love and desire they spent seven years trying to deny. Always holding each other at arms' length, never letting each other inside. She wanted him inside. Finally she could admit it to herself. She would admit it to Mulder. Soon. Not now. Right now, she wanted to celebrate. There would be time to talk later. She saw his expression soften, the harsh planes of his face relaxing. He smiled, as if acknowledging that he knew what was on her mind and he whole-heartedly agreed. He moved away from her and walked to the doorway of his bedroom. He turned to face her and stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance, each forearm resting on the doorjamb. "You sure you want in here, Scully?" "I'm positive." "All hope abandon ye who enter here," he said with a smirk. He's giving me a way out, she realized. He was trying to be a gentleman, and if she wasn't already aroused beyond reason, she might have given his offer more than a few seconds of thought. Luckily for them, her mind was incapable of processing any thought other than how long it would take to get his sweats off. She approached him and allowed herself the luxury of running her hands from his abdomen to his collarbone. "Mulder, the only things I plan on abandoning in your bedroom are my clothes." His jaw dropped open and an unbelieving laugh popped from his mouth. Then his hands went to her shoulders. He crouched, his eyes level with hers. He moved his head a few times but kept his eyes on hers and the smile on his face. "Scully, are you in there?" She gave his chest a playful double-handed slap, her eyes trying to broadcast anger, but her smile gave away her amusement. His hands slowly slid up her neck to frame her face. "It's just... you seem so sure about this, but I know you weren't sure a few hours ago. I'm wondering what happened to change that." "Skinner," she replied. Mulder's eyes widened. "What?" With a smile, she said, "When I was talking with Skinner, explaining to him why I didn't want the new job, I realized that my commitment to the X-Files wasn't just about the work." She traced a path from his shoulders to his face. He kissed her then, a kiss as warm and languid as a summer breeze. When he finally lifted his lips from hers, he said, "Hey, since we're both hopelessly committed to our work, we may as well get something extra out of it. Job satisfaction can only go so far." "I like the way you think," she said coyly, tightening her arms around him. He raised his eyebrows playfully. "Are you sure you're Scully?" "It's really me, Mulder." She gave him the widest, most heart- felt smile she could ever remember being on her lips. "You're really here," he said, a thread of astonishment weaving through his voice. "I'm here," she whispered against his lips. "Right where I belong." His mouth closed over hers in an instant, the kiss harsher now, more demanding, explaining to her what he wanted once she entered his bedroom. She was more than willing to give him everything he wanted. Everything, and so much more. She felt herself being pulled forward, physically and emotionally. As they moved into his bedroom, she felt her control slipping out of her reach. It frightened her, the thought of letting herself go completely. It also excited her, knowing the only man she would give control to was Fox Mulder. He stopped short, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the waterbed and his lips leaving hers. Her lips curved into a wicked grin, and she gave him a small shove, just enough to send him backwards onto the bed. She heard his back hit the water-filled mattress with a slap, then she saw his face contort in pain. She gasped. How could she have forgotten? "Oh, Mulder. Your neck." "No, it's OK," he replied, his harsh tone tight with pain. "No, it isn't. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." She sat next to him, stroked his cheek and the side of his neck. "That does it, no crazy stuff for us tonight." His laugh came out as a weak cough. "You mean we can't swing from the chandelier?" "You don't have a chandelier." "Give me five minutes on the phone with the Gunmen, and I will." She shook her head, trying to hide a smile. "No chandelier- swinging, sorry." "Damn." He leaned his head against her arm, like a cat nudging for attention. Her hand instinctively went to his hair, brushing her fingers through the brown silk strands. From the relaxed look on his face, the gesture was as comforting to him as it was to her. She smiled, closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Her eyes opened and she was met with her reflection on the ceiling. She let out a chuckle; she'd forgotten about the mirror. "Maybe it's a good thing I don't have a chandelier," Mulder said as his eyes met hers in the mirror. "I'd have to take this down." "We can't have that, can we?" Her voice was so husky, it shocked her. Was she actually getting aroused at the thought of watching herself making love to Mulder? You betcha, she thought with a grin. "What are you smiling at?" he asked, returning her grin. "You." She broke eye contact with his reflection, choosing to look at the real thing. She leaned down and kissed his lips, then his forehead. Knowing he wasn't at one-hundred percent, she decided a Plan B was in order. And she knew just what to do. "Mulder, why don't you scoot up against the headboard and let me do the driving tonight?" He looked up at her, his eyes simultaneously darkening and twinkling. "Are you sure you'll be able to reach the pedals?" A smile spread over her lips as her hand smoothed a path down his chest, over his hip. "What do you think?" She settled her hand over the bulge in his sweats and gave a firm squeeze. Her name, tangled in a gasp, was his only response. She took it in the affirmative. As her lips found his, her hand traveled the length of his erection. Impressive, she thought as she swallowed his moan. Impressive, and all hers. Unable to stand the barrier of cotton hiding her new treasure, she pulled at the strings on his sweats, unknotting them, then yanked on the waistband. "Lift your hips," she said against his mouth. He obeyed immediately, and she pushed the sweats over his hips and down his thighs. She encountered yet another barrier: heather gray boxer- briefs. She breathed out a harsh sigh. Unlike the sweats, the boxer-briefs left little to the imagination. She traced the prominent outline of his erection, her index finger traveling up one side, over the head, down the other side. "Scully, you're killing me," Mulder choked out. His hands gripped the blanket with such ferocity, his knuckles turned white. She didn't reply, choosing instead to focus her attention on the gray cotton nuisance in front of her. She peeled the boxer-briefs down, her eyes widening with each inch of flesh revealed. Once the material made it past his thighs, Scully let out a content sigh. Her eyes explored every wiry hair, every vein, every curve. Like the rest of his body, his erection was long and lean. Though not too lean, she mused as she bit her lower lip, imagining how he would stretch her, fill her. Complete her. We're really doing this, she thought, still amazed they had made it to this point. "Are you going to look all night or what?" She looked up and saw his mischievous grin. "Or what," she replied, matching his grin. "You. Headboard. Now." "I love it when you order me around," he said, his voice like cream on sandpaper. With her help, Mulder sat up and moved toward the head of the waterbed. He sat with his back against the headboard, his arms at his side, his erection proudly standing tall. "Uh uh," she said, doing her best to not let her gaze wander down his body. "Lie down." "Why?" She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because your doctor said so." He smirked, a defiant twinkle in his eyes. "Since when do I listen to my doctor?" "Since she can do this." Scully popped the top button of her blouse. She undid the next, and the next, and the next, until the blouse opened completely. She looked at him, swearing she could see his penis twitch. She pulled her gaze up his body to his face. The dark, dangerous look in his eyes sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. "Ready to listen to your doctor, Mulder?" she asked sweetly. "As soon as she loses the shirt," he replied in a voice so deep and thick, Scully barely recognized it. She shivered again as her hands pulled open the blouse and let the smooth material slide from her shoulders, down her arms. Her eyes found his face, and she sighed at the sight of his tongue sweeping out over his bottom lip. "Now the pants," he rasped, as if unable to fully support his voice any longer. Before the second syllable of her name left his lips, her hand was at the waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping her pants, her eyes never leaving Mulder's. She pushed the pants down her thighs, then let gravity take them the rest of the way down. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside, and only then would she break eye contact with Mulder. She couldn't help herself; her gaze went to his hips. His erection strained against his body, curling slightly toward his stomach and to the side, as if reaching out to her. She wondered if it was possible to come just from looking at him. The orgasmic current surging through her body told her it might just be. "The bra, Scully." His voice brought her eyes back to his. She shook her head defiantly. "Not until you lie down." Mulder licked his lips. "Anything you say, Doc." He slid his body down the bed until his back was on the mattress, and his head and neck supported by a pillow. She approached the bed and smiled down at him. His hand brushed against her arm, then her hip, then her hand. Fingers entangled in hers, he pulled her closer. "Come on in, Scully, the water's fine." With a laugh, she climbed on the bed. The mattress shifted, a small ripple traveling the length of the bed. A motionless mattress, she thought absently. That was a good thing, considering what they were about to do. She straddled him, her knees on either side of his ribs. She sat lightly on his stomach, and she could feel the tip of his erection nudging the material of her panties. She shivered again. "Tit for tat, Scully." Her eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?" She watched a grin curl his lips as his fingers smoothed up her legs, her hips, to rest on her waist. "I'm horizontal, just like you ordered, Doc." One hand burned a path to the tiny satin bow in the center of her bra. "Now it's your turn." She tilted her head to the side, feigning ignorance. "My turn to what, Mulder?" He tugged on the bow. "Lose the bra. Now." Electricity crackled in her veins. His voice was as rich as dark chocolate, one step above a growl, one step below dangerous. She liked dangerous. Wanted to immerse herself in it. In Mulder. Her hands went behind her back, unhooking the bra in one practiced move. She let the material loosen around her breasts, and put her hands at her sides. Mulder took the hint; his hands flew to her shoulders. One finger under each strap, massaging her skin, then pushing the straps down her arms. She flung the bra aside, heard it hit something, possibly his dresser. She didn't care. She was too busy drowning in the sensation of Mulder's hands cupping her breasts, the pads of his thumbs skimming over her nipples in teasing whispers. She studied his face, eyes narrowed in concentration and darkened in desire. Those eyes made her feel worshipped. She knew the term was wrong; she was not a deity or a saint, and therefore was not worth the worship of another human being. But seeing the reverence in his eyes, feeling the adoration in his touch, she believed she was the one he put above all others, the one he cherished more than life itself. Though she had chastised him for putting her on a pedestal, here, in his bed, she allowed it. She welcomed it. Needed it. "Hey," he said, breaking her out of her reverie. "Do me a favor." "Anything," she whispered. His gaze dropped to her chest, then moved up to her eyes. "Bring those down here." Her breath caught in her throat. She should have been appalled, or at least pretended to be. If she'd still been thinking with her brain, she might have, but her brain was no longer in charge. Mulder's mouth on her skin. Everywhere on her skin. The thought caught her breath again, choking off what surely would have been a moan. She leaned forward, putting her hands on the pillow on either side of his head. Her breathing, already ragged, rasped through her chest like a choppy sea wind. She tilted her chin down, allowing her to see Mulder's face. The hunger she saw in his eyes nearly made her collapse. "Lower," he whispered, the strain of trying to lift his head and neck from the pillow pulling at his eyes and mouth. She lowered herself to her elbows, her breasts mere millimeters from his lips. She bit her tongue as she saw him lick his lips. "Oh yeah," he moaned as his hands went behind her back, pulling her closer to his face. She moaned as he latched onto one nipple, engulfing her flesh in a humid fire. His tongue was like wet velvet, sweeping over her nipple, hardening the already rigid bud. Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, his teeth joined in. A light nip, followed by a soothing lap of his tongue. Over and over, nip and lap, nip and lap, all the while his lips suckling and massaging the soft skin of her breast. She felt herself surrendering to the ecstasy, her control crumbling faster than sun-dried mud. Her body buzzed from the extreme sensation, his mouth becoming the focal point of her universe. She was so close, so unbelievably close... Not yet, she thought. Not until she had the chance to show him she could give as well as she could take. With every ounce of will power she could summon, she lifted away from him, her nipple leaving his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned his disappointment, but she silenced him quickly, kissing him with an intensity she had forgotten existed inside her. Too long since she had allowed this side of her to come out to play. Too long since she had studied the body of a lover with the detail of an explorer mapping new territory. She started her expedition at his neck, after prying her lips from his. Her tongue swept over his Adam's apple, down to the hollow of his clavicle. A nip at his collarbone, then forging a trail south, stopping to play in the sparse meadow of chest hair for a few licks, then south again in a straight path to his navel. His salty flavor became stronger, more intoxicating the closer she got to... "Scully, where are you going?" His voice rumbled like thunder. Her lips curled into a smug smile. She lifted her head, looked up at his face. She fought a sigh. God, he was beautiful. His lips forming a loose circle, his eyes squeezed shut, crinkled at the corners. He was the picture of a man immersed in pleasure. You ain't seen nothin' yet, she thought as she moved herself further down his body to straddle his legs. She knew he couldn't lift his head to see what she was doing, and she decided to draw out the moment. She could feel his anticipation seeping from his skin. His low whimper started her countdown. Five, four, three, two, one... Her mouth slipped over his erection, taking in just the head, her tongue swirling around the bitter beads of liquid escaping from him. "Scully... oh fuck... Scu..." Loss of vocabulary. That's a good sign, she thought as she wrapped her hand around the base and took in more of him, pulled back to the head, then back down again, taking in more each time until she could feel him nudging the back of her tongue. He was beyond vocabulary now, his voice only able to sustain grunts, growls and the occasional moan with her name wrapped in it. She settled into a rhythm, in and out, her tongue twisting and turning to reach a sliver of skin it hadn't touched before. Her hand joined in, pumping up to meet her lips. Her other hand wasn't idle; her fingers teased over and under his sac, down his thigh, and back again. Hands and mouth absorbing his heat through her skin, fueling an already uncontrollable fire inside her, the flash point at her core. "Scully, please" he breathed as his hands reached for her head. "You... stop. Please." She'd performed fellatio more times than she cared to admit, but each time, she'd made her one ground rule perfectly clear to the recipient: Dana Scully does not swallow. She glanced up at Mulder, and the look of complete bliss on his face told her that one of his favorite credos was really true: rules were meant to be broken. She ignored his pleas, pinned his hands to the mattress and doubled her efforts until she heard his strangled cry and felt him streaming over her tongue. She prepared herself for the bitter, salty liquid to hit her palate. Not entirely unpleasant, she thought, conceding that her assessment of the taste was seasoned with the sweet flavor of arousal. She swallowed his offerings and kept her mouth around him until she felt his body go slack. "Scully," he moaned, his voice shaky. She let him slip from her mouth, and she kissed her way up his body, stopping when she reached his mouth. "You called?" she whispered, nipping at his lower lip. Desire-drugged eyes smiled at her. "Oh, you shouldn't have done that." "You didn't enjoy it?" she asked with a mock-frown. "Scully, if I had enjoyed it any more, you'd be performing CPR right now." She ran a hand through his hair, smiled at him before lowering her lips to his. He returned the kiss, though he was a bit slow on the uptake. She broke the kiss and watched as his lips took several seconds to realize her mouth was no longer there. I've just blown my chance for getting lucky, she thought. No pun intended, a voice in her head added helpfully. She moved off him, removing her soaked panties before kneeling at his side. Even if she wasn't going to get any for a while, no sense in being modest. She wasn't sorry for giving him pleasure at the sacrifice of her own. Deep down, she knew it would be worth the wait. She leaned over him, nipped at his earlobe. "Mulder?" "Mmmm... give me a minute." She kissed his forehead. "No, it's OK. You need your rest." "No," he whined. "Don't wanna sleep. Wanna jump you." "You can jump me later." He opened an eye. "Really?" "Yes, really," she said with a laugh. "But right now, you need to rest." "No," he whispered. "Doctor's orders." She curled up next to him, laying her head on his arm. She felt his hand skim her thigh. "Sorry, Scully." "There's nothing to be sorry for, Mulder. You need time to heal." "Sorry," he slurred. "Wanted to be everything to you tonight." "You already are," she whispered, fighting the lump in her throat. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, and closed her eyes. END PART 10 ********************** ENSKY (11/11) by viXen ** More NC-17 territory ahead. If you're under 18, vamoose! ** Mulder's apartment Arlington, VA March 14 11:10pm On the fringes of a dream, she heard a moan. The voice was familiar, one she knew intimately, yet the timbre was different, with a rawer edge. Another moan followed, one lower and longer than the first. When the third moan echoed in her ears, she realized the voice was hers. Senses awakened before mind and body. Hot breath on her neck. A scent -- warm, sexual and very masculine -- tickling her nose. Long legs wedged between her legs, holding hers apart. A hand resting above her breast, over her heart. Another hand between her legs, parting her, stroking her. "It's just a dream," she whispered. "Not this time," a voice graveled behind her. Her tenuous hold on sleep floated away like a child's balloon. No. She didn't want the dream to go away. Only when her mind found its way through the fog of sleep did she realize the dream wasn't a dream. The hand over her heart pressed against her, fingers kneading, as if wanting to burrow under her flesh. Hand over her heart... fingers burrowing... into her heart... She stiffened, her body shoring itself up against the prison of arms holding her. Panic filled her lungs like polluted air, choking her. Hand over her heart, fingers slicing her skin... "It's all right," her captor whispered. "It's just me, Scully." As she awakened fully, rationality kicked in. With a relieved sigh, she realized it wasn't Padgett trying to steal her heart. It was Mulder, who had managed to steal her heart years ago. Her breathing evened out, and she remembered she was in Mulder's bed. With Mulder. Naked. She hummed her approval as she became aware of the body spooned behind her, limbs entangled with hers, lips and teeth exploring the back of her neck, erection nudging her ass. She became aware of her own body, taut as the strings of a violin, virtuoso fingers playing her, coaxing from her a symphony of moans and gasps. Her eyelids fluttered open, focusing on the digital clock on the nightstand. They had slept for several hours, though she didn't remember being so tired. Obviously the nap has done someone some good, she mused as Mulder's arm draped over her leg, hiking her thigh over his hip. "Mulder." Her voice barely audible, all energy focused on the two fingers sliding along her slick folds. "Am I dreaming?" he groaned as his idle hand found work keeping her breast warm. "You'd better not be." She gasped as his erection slipped between her legs, stroking her opening. "Mulder..." His answer was to thrust against her -- tiny, maddeningly slow motions with his hips. His leg moved, pulling away from her and taking her leg with it, opening her further to him. She felt the moisture seeping from her, coating those wonderful, curious fingers. She gave a breathy laugh, wanting to tell him what thorough investigative techniques he had, and how much she appreciated them, but she was unable to get her brain and voice to work together. Her laugh was cut off by a sharp gasp as his fingers parted her folds and found the cluster of nerves hiding, waiting for his touch. She cried out, arched against him as he applied more pressure, the pleasure too much to handle. She could hear her moan, constant and operatic, climbing and dropping an octave with each change of his angle. She tried to stop her voice, but she couldn't. So she stopped trying. She let her control slip out of her grasp. Now, her only thought was of release. She wanted it, needed it like she needed air and food. She couldn't keep still, arching her back, clutching at any part of him she could touch. Every nerve ending on her body was focused on the point where Mulder's fingers touched her. His erection kept thrusting, teasing, nudging her but never slipping inside. An overwhelming need spread through her body like a wildfire in dry brush. She wanted him inside her. He had to be inside. Inside. "Inside." "What?" A puff of humid air against her neck. "Inside," she groaned, pushing her back against him. "Want you inside." A growl vibrating her skin. "Not yet." "Yes." Begging. "Now." She reached between her legs, her hand brushing his. His fingers closed around her wrist, trying to pull her hand away. "Scully..." "Please. Need you... inside." Resignation and desire blended in his moan. His hand let go of her wrist, moving to her stomach and settling there, pulling her hips against his. Finally, her hand found its target, and she wrapped her fingers around his hardness. She gasped as he bit her shoulder, and she tightened her grasp. "Fuck..." I'm trying, she thought as she tilted her hips down. Not enough. Because he was holding her so close to his body, she couldn't get any traction on the bed to thrust down. She needed him inside. Now. "Scully..." Breathless, barely coherent. "Do it," she growled. His hips jerked up, and he slammed into her in one stroke. She let out a gasping scream, the feel of him inside her almost caused her to shatter into a million pieces. Muscles she hadn't used in so long tensed around him, gripping his hardness like a fist. She had to tell herself to breathe, the act no longer involuntary. Finally, finally he moved within her, pulling out just a few inches and easing back in. Then holding there, arms crossed over her chest, holding her to his body as if she would run away if he let go. He moved again, in and out, slow, even strokes. Then holding. She squirmed in his arms, trying to find an angle that would provide some relief. Her arousal now unbearable, she barely resisted the temptation to reach down and touch herself. As if reading her mind, Mulder's arms loosened around her. One hand smoothed down her side, over her hip and settled just above where they were joined, his finger drawing tiny, slow circles. "Mulder..." She couldn't keep still, shifting under his finger, trying to get him to move his finger faster, trying to get him to move inside her. He had stopped thrusting. Why wasn't he moving? She was so close, so close and he wasn't moving. "Mulder?" "Hmmm..." She gasped as he took her sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger and massaged it roughly. "Oh God! Mulder... stop..." "Why?" "Because I'm... too close..." "That's the idea." A groan rumbled in her chest as he finally thrust against her, burying himself as far as he could go. "Let it go, Scully. Come for me." A nip at her neck. "I wanna feel it." Something deep within her grew, swelled, rushed through her body like the winds of a hurricane. Her voice started as a moan, soared higher until it exploded as her orgasm washed over her in a violent wave. Drowning, she was drowning, but he was holding her, making sure she wasn't whisked away by the current. Slowly, she came back to herself, the dizzying rhapsody subsiding, leaving twitching muscles and a satisfied smile. Mulder's shallow, even breathing was mesmerizing, threatening to lull her to sleep. Can't have that, she thought as she ran a hand over his arm, which still held her close. "Mulder, are you still awake?" A snort of laughter ruffled her hair. "Are you kidding?" She chuckled softly and reached up behind her, stroking his hair. He was still inside her, impossibly hard, and her muscles were still contracting around him. The feeling was... indescribable. She couldn't think of a single time in her life when she had felt this euphoric, this satiated. A gasp pushed through her lips as he started to move again. Every time he thrust in, she could feel the tip of him hitting her cervix. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this full, stretched and sore in all the right places. And it's Mulder filling you, she said to herself. For some reason, she kept having to tell herself it was Mulder, as if she didn't believe he was behind her, pushing into her with increased fervor. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I need to see you." "I'm right here," he whispered against her shoulder. "I know, but... I want to see your face when..." "When, what?" A smile curled her lips. He wanted to hear the words. Good thing she wanted to say them. "I want to see your face when you come." She heard his breath catch, then resume at a more ragged pace. He withdrew from her body, and she sighed. He felt so good... She winced when she moved her leg; being held at an odd angle, draped over Mulder's hip, her leg had fallen asleep and she had a nasty cramp creeping into her calf. Ignoring the pain, she turned over, finding Mulder on his back. Before he could move, she raised herself up and moved over his body, straddling him, kissing him with such force, it surprised them both. She swallowed his gasp and thrust her tongue against his, taking control of his mouth. He didn't seem to mind, relaxing his lips and tangling his fingers in her hair. While his hands and mouth were occupied, Scully reached down between them and grasped his erection. He broke the kiss and moaned, his hands loosing their grip in her hair. She moved down, sitting above him on her knees, her hand still wrapped around him. Lining her body up with his, she lowered herself until just the tip of him slipped inside. Slowly, she relaxed her leg muscles and engulfed him. Their moans blended in the silence. His hands closed around her breasts, fingers stroking and kneading, pulling gasps from her as he thrust up. He was so far inside her, she swore she could feel him nudging her throat. Faster. She needed to go faster. She lifted up, immediately slamming herself down on him. Light pain shot through her pelvis, quickly overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure. Over and over, she pulled up, slammed down, his hands circling her waist and helping to quicken the pace. She leaned her head back, her hands on his thighs supporting her weight. She opened her eyes and was met with the most erotic sight she'd ever seen. He was looking at her in the mirror, a wolf eyeing his prey, eyes so wide, so dark. "Scully..." Her name, in that voice, said it all. Everything he felt about her was spoken in those two syllables. She fell forward, hands on his chest, eyes locked with his. He moved faster, knees bent, feet planted on the bed. Better traction, she thought as he thrust up with such force, it should have broken bones. She couldn't feel the pain anymore; the only sensation in her body was pleasure. "God!" He was splitting her in two, and she loved it. "Yessss..." His hand snaked between them, roughly stroking her, coaxing her higher as he thrust harder, his hips pistoning at an unbelievable rate. She floated for a second, weightless, then mind and soul exploded. She screamed the first syllable of his name, the second syllable cut off as all breath was forced from her. Minuscule white flecks behind her eyelids, stars imploding in the night sky. As if miles away, she heard his gasp, then a groan, then her name as she felt a stream filling her. She forced her eyes open. His eyes closed, pulled tight with desire, beautiful lips pursed, face covered in a thin film of sweat. Another wave rippled through her, this one drowning her in her own feelings for this man. Feeling light-headed, she collapsed onto him, resting her head against his chest, mouth open, bathing him in humid, heavy breaths. "God, Mulder. That was..." "I know," he said, before she could find the words. His hand found her head and stroked her hair. They lay in silence for several minutes, basking in the afterglow. Even with him still inside her, even with her body still rocking with orgasmic quakes, she kept having to tell herself it really happened. She wasn't dreaming. She and Mulder finally had made love, and it was... fucking amazing. She smiled at her word choice. Lifting her body slightly, she felt him slip out of her. She sighed, disappointed, and she saw his frown. She moved to his side, still half-draped over his torso. His arm immediately went around her shoulders. "Mmmmm... I think I've died and gone to heaven," she said, well aware she was slurring her words. "Not possible." "Why not?" "Because you're never going to die." Her eyebrow arched. Something in his steady tone worried her. She raised her head from his chest, examining his face. His eyes were closed, but his face relaxed. No smirk, no signs of sarcasm at all. He wasn't serious, was he? "Mulder, I'm going to die someday." He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "Clyde Bruckman said you wouldn't." "Mulder..." He raised a hand in surrender. "I know, I know. Death is inevitable. But I can dream, can't I?" "You can dream as long as you know when the dream stops and reality begins." "Are you insinuating that I'm not dealing in reality?" She shrugged, unable to hide the teasing smile on her face. He joined in, smiling, pulling her closer. She laid her head on his chest. "Just do me a favor, Scully. If you die before me, will you come back and possess me?" Her lips curled into a sly smile. "I thought I already did." She felt his chest move in a silent laugh. "I meant in the supernatural sense." "Why would you want to do that? You'd spend all your time debunking your own theories." She heard and felt his laugh this time. "Are you always this wicked after sex?" She almost said 'yes,' but stopped herself. His line of thinking had piqued her curiosity. "Seriously, Mulder. Why would you want my spirit to possess you?" He shrugged. "Then you would always be with me." His bare honesty shook her like an earthquake, as did the seriousness of his statement. He couldn't shut down his brain even after mind-blowing sex. She lifted her head from his chest, propped herself on her elbow. Her hand stroked his face, and she waited for him to meet her gaze. "Mulder, none of us ever truly leaves as long as we live through the memories of friends and family. Even when we're gone, we're still here." She paused, shrugged. "At least, I'd like to think that when I die, I won't be forgotten." "Never," he whispered with a passion that made her shiver. "Then I'll always be with you, without the need for possession. Not that possession is in the realm of possibility." "Why not?" She tilted her head to the side, giving him her 'are you serious?' look. "Mulder, it's physically impossible for another human being, a _dead_ human being at that, to possess the body of another human being." "Why is it so hard for you to believe in possession when the Catholic Church preaches to the masses about an afterlife?" Her jaw twitched, her face readying itself for another round of skeptic versus believer. Then she looked down at Mulder's naked chest, let her gaze wander lower, over his abdomen and hips, and lower still, between his legs. Unconsciously, she licked her lips, then brought her gaze back to his face. What were they arguing about? "Can I make a suggestion?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. "Shoot," he said with a nod. "No shop talk in bed." A victory smirk crossed his lips before he said, "For once, I agree with you one-hundred percent." She leaned down and sealed the deal with a kiss, one that was slow, soft, but still passionate. She didn't think it was possible to kiss him any other way but passionately. She didn't think it was possible to do anything with him that didn't involve his passion lighting their way. It was what made Mulder the man she loved. Even if he did insist that possession was possible and that she would never die. "I'm not immortal, Mulder," she said when their lips parted. "I know you're not. I just..." A sigh. "If you have to die, I want it to be of old age. In the meantime, I want you to be safe." Her heart leapt for her throat when she heard the pain in his voice. "I _am_ safe, when you're by my side. I know that I'm safest when I'm with you, and you are safest when you're with me. We watch out for each other. It's what we do best." She paused, unable to resist kissing his chin. "If you insist on putting me on a pedestal, you'd better get your ass up here with me." He grinned. "Think there's enough room up there for my couch? Maybe a big-screen TV?" Hiding her smile, she laid her head back on his chest, relaxing at the sound of his heartbeat. "No couch. No TV. Just you and me, Mulder." She felt his shoulders move in a shrug, then heard, "I can live with that." So can I, she thought as she snuggled closer. THE END! ********************** Author's Notes: There are several people to which this fic is dedicated, because if not for their patience and diligence, Ensky would not have been finished. First, to JS and MA, who went above and beyond the call of beta duty. You two are the wind beneath Ensky's wings. Second, to Missy, whose messages I looked forward to so much after each chapter posted. You're the best non-stalker an author could ever want. :) And last but certainly not least, to the kind, wonderful readers who sent encouragement during Ensky's WIP process. If not for all of the tasty feedback morsels in my Inbox, I would have given this fic the ol' heave-ho long ago. For those word connoisseurs out there, I highly recommend the book, "The Word Lover's Dictionary" by Josefa Heifetz. So many fun and obscure words, including the title of this fic: ensky: to make immortal.