TITLE - Mulder's Tail AUTHOR - Romp RATING - NC-17 CLASSIFICATION - Story/Humor/Angst -- Mulder/Other SPOILERS - Set in the latter half of Season Six. No spoilers I'm aware of. KEYWORDS - Smut/UST/Equestrianization SUMMARY - A case involving a unique sexual practice causes Mulder to reflect on his first encounter with bondage and domination. Meanhwile, a mysterious older woman offers to be Scully's sexual mentor. AUTHOR's NOTE: Continues story arc begun in "Scully's Dilemma." Another related story or two may appear in the New Year. FEEDBACK: Please! Was it Dennis Miller who said, "All writers are whores for attention?" Thanks to everyone who responded to my first story. E-Mail: Rompier@aol.com . DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. ********************************************** Dana Scully ploughed the creamy mush indifferently with her spoon. Dejected, she read the label again: Fat Free. Banana Cream Pie Yogurt. Lite. Now With Even Fewer Calories! Scully sighed. And even less taste. Cultured crap. Why the hell did she do this to herself? Setting aside the yogurt, she turned to the other half of her "lunch," a bagel with lite cream cheese. She had hoped to have time for a jog on one of Quantico's famous training trails, but her lecture ran long. Her audience was especially enthusiastic, and the group of Academy students peppered her with insightful questions long after the allotted lecture time was over. The Bureau liked the idea of field agents coming in to give periodic lectures. It kept the training program fresh and rooted in day-to-day investigative techniques. AD Skinner had agreed to make Scully available twice a semester for an extended morning lecture on forensic medicine. She welcomed the break from the X-Files and enjoyed the occasional opportunity to focus on something related exclusively to her first love: medicine. Scully looked out through the wall-length windows of the Academy cafeteria, the cold autumn rain running slowly down the glass. But then, lately, she welcomed any opportunity to get away from the X-Files. It had been almost a month since the strange events that led her to call on her partner, Fox Mulder, for a deeply personal examination. In retrospect, it all seemed so preposterous, but then so much of their work often did. What had happened to her was never fully explained. Mulder suggested that a substance called phenalchlorolactate was responsible for the strange greenish discoloration in her nipples. But subsequent blood work revealed no such chemical in her system nor any other that shouldn't have been there. Scully grimaced. Green nipples. Definitely preposterous. Yet her nipples had been green. She was sure of it. Sure enough to bare her chest to her partner. Sure enough to have him check her for signs of green discoloration elsewhere, a symptom manifested by nine other individuals who had subsequently died. Sure enough to have Mulder probe her rectum for signs of yet another lethal chip. No, that wasn't true. Mulder didn't really have to check for the chip, Scully admitted to herself. The lack of any discoloration of her anus was sufficient proof that she was in no real danger. No, she had him insert his finger *there* because she wanted it. Scully looked down at her bagel. Yes, she thought, you wanted it. At the time, it had seemed like a harmless game. Mulder's inability to conceal his erection during the initial stages of the exam had emboldened her to take matters a step further. And God she had loved his touch! The thorough and relentless search with his finger. How many times had she masturbated to the memory in the past few weeks? Still a big part of her deeply regretted the episode. To the outside observer there was no discernable difference between the partners. They continued to set about their work diligently. In four weeks, they closed out no less than five X-Files. A mini-record. And, Mulder was still Mulder. Driven, insightful, intelligent, and occasionally perverted, though he took great care to never even mention the dilemma Scully had found herself in, much less his role in resolving it. They had talked briefly about the encounter immediately afterwards, sealing matters with a hug. But for Dana things had changed. Increasingly, she found herself finding excuses to go off and do work on her own. She avoided any situation with her partner that would even hint at a sexual innuendo whenever she could. "Why?" part of herself asked. "Are you really ready to answer that?" another part responded. Their next case, she realized, wouldn't help matters. Scully glanced at her watch. It was almost one and she was scheduled to meet Mulder at two to go over the particulars. She'd taken a copy of the case file home the night before but hadn't had a chance to do more than glance over a few of the crime scene photos. They showed an attractive young woman clad in an elaborate animal costume meant to simulate some sort of jungle cat. A lioness maybe? Perhaps a cheetah or a leopard. Scully shrugged. Jungle cats weren't her specialty. Flipping through the file again, Scully realized just how intricate the outfit was. At first she had assumed it was just something extra-kinky from Frederick's of Hollywood or some such place. But she saw now that this was something much more. There was a thorough attention to detail in the costume's design. In particular, on the woman's feet there was an elaborate attempt to simulate paws, with fur-covered prosthetics that ran midway up her calves, leaving the rest of her legs bare. Her torso was covered in a tight, spotted unitard that actually seemed to be made from a thin animal skin of some kind. It tapered to a thong in the back, exposing her buttocks completely. Attached to the thong, or so it seemed, was a spotted tale, again surprisingly realistic and possibly constructed with actual animal hair. Lastly, the woman's head was contained in an elaborate skull-cap that mimicked the head of a jungle cat, but left her face exposed. Her long blonde hair was wrapped tightly through a hole in the top of the head piece and cascaded down freely in the back, furthering the feral impression: from the front, her hair would look like a mane. Lastly, came a meticulous, and possibly ritualistic, face painting. Metallic gold and black paint splotched her cheeks and forehead. The look was topped off by a faux animal nose and whiskers. Scully frowned. And I wonder why Mulder's interested in *this* case, she thought. *********************** "Equestrianization, Scully. A fringe practice among some in the bondage and domination set. One person submits to another by assuming the identity of an animal, often a horse. The dominant partner then assumes the role of master, caring for the 'animal,' tending to his or her grooming, even taking them out for rides on occasion." He paused. "Or so I'm told." Mulder flashed a smile at his partner, enjoying, as he always did, any opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge of things sordid and sexual. Scully raised a classic eyebrow and smirked, unwilling to give in to Mulder's attempts to shock her. "Let's say you're right," she said, turning back to the image projected on the wall of their basement office, "that might explain the, well, unique circumstances of her death, but not what makes this an X-File." Mulder was wearing his typical rebuttal smirk. "C'mon Scully, an otherwise perfectly healthy 31-year old woman's heart all but explodes during an animalistic sexual practice and you don't see anything strange about that?" Scully studied the crime scene photo projected on the wall then looked down at the preliminary medical examiner's report. Privately, she conceded, Mulder had a point. Putting aside for a moment the unique costume, the medical facts of the case were perplexing, to say the least. Virginia Penn. Age 31. No family history of heart disease. She'd been in for a physical six months before her death. Health perfect. Blood pressure excellent. Avid runner in top physical condition. Ideal weight for her height. Scully shifted her gaze back to the crime scene photo. Yet there she lay, dead from some form of violent and fatal heart trauma. An attack so severe that the autopsy had found more than eighty percent of the heart muscle damaged, as if she had a dozen massive heart attacks all at once. In some places the organ had even ruptured, spewing blood into the surrounding cavity and esophagus. A thin trickle ran from her mouth as she lay contorted on the floor of her apartment. Mulder interrupted his partner's prolonged silence. "Well?" Scully nodded. "Okay, definitely strange, but certainly not unprecedented. I could come up with half a dozen plausible explanations for this condition, up to and including an exceptionally adverse reaction to recreational drug use." Mulder shook his head and pointed at the case file. "The medical examiner found no trace of anything more illicit in her system than ibuprofen." Scully thought for a moment. "All right, then, what about any number of rare but documented cases of congenital heart defects?" "And the fact that one of these congenital defects just happened to strike while she was playing Sheena of the Jungle doesn't seem the least bit odd to you?" Scully shrugged. "Should it? If anything the physical stress and excitement would almost certainly elevate heart rate and blood pressure. It's just as likely for this..." Scully hesitated. "For this sexual act to have exposed a fatal weakness in her heart as it would be for it to have occurred while she was out running or in an aerobics class." Mulder nodded deeply, feigning acceptance of Scully's explanation. He advanced to the next slide. "Then how do you explain these?" Scully moved towards the wall trying to get a better look. It appeared to be a close up of the bed linens. They were shredded, with deep perpendicular slashes cut into the mattress beneath. She stared at her partner incredulously. "Oh my God. Are those...?" "Yep. Claw marks." ************** Scully buckled herself into the passenger seat and braced for The Theory. "Two words Scully: lycanthropy and anthropomorphism." Scully restrained herself. He's been studying for the SATs again, she thought. Mulder could feel the cynicism building to his right but continued. "Any number of religions have a belief in animal spirits and in the transference of spirits between man and beast. Lycanthropy has been a recurring theme in various folklore legends throughout the Western world, as well as in many other cultures, including among Native Americans, several African nomadic societies, and many religious groups in Asia." Scully took a deep breath. "So what you're saying is --" "-- that Virginia Penn didn't just dress up like an animal, she actually became one." Scully sighed. "Mulder, do you seriously mean to imply that what befell Ms. Penn involved her morphing into a cheetah ala Lon Chaney, shredding her bed clothes, and then morphing back into human form before taking a massive and fatal heart attack." Mulder shook his head. "Yes and no. I believe that Virginia Penn may have undergone some form of transformation. But maybe something went wrong, maybe somehow the transference was incomplete." "What do you mean?" Mulder paused, thinking. "During the werewolf hunts in 17th century Europe, there was a belief in the identification of lycanthropes through what was referred to as 'repercussion,' wounding the creature in animal form and then identifying corresponding wounds on an alleged human host." "And?" Mulder took a deep breadth, suddenly conscious that he was about to take a big leap of logic, even for him. "What if part of Virginia Penn morphed backed faster than another?" "Mulder..." "No, no, Scully, think about it. What would happen if your or my internal organs were required to support the body of an animal?" Scully rolled her eyes. "Mulder this makes absolutely no sense." "Humor me." Scully furrowed her brows. "Animal heart rates and physiology vary widely from those of humans. I don't know. The heart and lungs could either be extremely overtaxed or under worked, I guess." "And under the strain of a sudden switch to an alternate, animal physiology, how might the heart respond?" Scully relented. "I *suppose* if the heart suddenly had to support a different pulmonary system and a different body weight, you could get the type of violent heart trauma seen in this case." "Exactly." Now it was Scully's turn to smirk dismissively. She opened the case folder in her lap, signaling Mulder she needed a brief respite from his latest foray into the paranormal. If nothing else, it gave Scully an opportunity to read over the background notes in more detail. Virginia Penn had graduated Johns Hopkins in '92, Yale Law School in '95. She'd only recently moved to the DC area after spending five years as an assistant DA in Richmond. Penn had accepted a partner-track position with one of DC's better known law firms. Well-respected by her peers. Devoted to her job. No known boyfriend. Parents lived in Germantown, Maryland. She was third-generation Irish American. Regular churchgoer registered with St. Charles' parish. Scully winced. The details of their daughter's death would make things especially hard on the family, Mulder eased the sedan up in front of the high-rise apartment, one of the nicer buildings in the Ballston section of Arlington, Virginia. A few minutes later he and Scully were breaking the police tape outside the fourteenth floor apartment. "The crime scene boys did a thorough check for hair, fibers, etc. Apparently her old boss in the Richmond DA's office called in a few favors to make sure there was no evidence of foul play," Mulder explained as he fiddled with the pass key. Scully nodded. "Pay back for someone she sent away." Mulder shook his head as he walked into the spacious, plush- carpeted suite. "Seems a little unlikely though. She mainly worked white collar crime." The agents paused for a moment. Before them a large picture window spilled out onto an ample balcony. Beyond was an exquisite panorama of the DC skyline, dominated by the Washington Monument. "We are in the wrong line of work Scully." Scully exhaled in a low whistle. "So, what did forensics turn up?" "Very little. No evidence of semen stains on the surrounding carpet or linens. Some hair and fiber samples that can't be completely explained, including animal hair which may or may not have come from Virginia's costume." Mulder paused to raise an eyebrow. "No good fingerprints. And no good explanation for why it looks like Tony the Tiger did the rumba on her bed." Scully had drifted into the bedroom. Most of the bed clothes had been removed to the lab, leaving just the mattress. The claw marks she had seen in the photos looked even more vicious and severe up close. She'd tried to convince herself that maybe they'd been artificially created. By the prosthetics on Virginia's feet? By some tool or weapon? But standing here looking at the mangled remnants of a heavy-duty king-sized mattress, Scully had to admit that the word "animal" quickly came to mind. "I'm not sure what to make of this," she called to Mulder. "Then what about this?" Through the doorway she could see Mulder fiddling with the back of a wardrobe that stood just inside the living room. With an effort Mulder squeezed both arms inside the cabinet and pulled out a large thin sheet of paneling: a false back. Straightening up, Mulder pulled the wardrobe's doors wide, revealing a series of hooks and shelves. Arrayed across the cabinet's back Scully could make out a few implements: a riding crop, a short cat-o-nine tails, a longer leather whip curled around two hooks. With them, were what looked to be tails. Each appeared to be some derivation of a jungle cat. One for a tiger. Another for a leopard. And so on. There were four in all. A fifth hook hung empty. It must have held the one Virginia was wearing at the time of her death. Peering over Mulder's shoulder, Scully made a sudden revelation: attached at the terminal end of each tail was a tapered butt plug, thick and round at one end; narrow and attached to the faux tail at the other. Scully understood: when inserted into the wearer, it would appear that the tail was actually emanating from between his or her cheeks. Her face flushed in genuine surprise. From the crime scene photos she'd assumed the tail had been attached to the unitard Virginia had worn. But these obviously... "Must fasten on via the backdoor," Mulder finished her thought aloud. A long, awkward silence hung between the two agents. Scully looked up. Was Mulder blushing? "Umm, there's more underneath. A makeup kit. And, a, um, stand." Scully furrowed her brows. "A stand?" Mulder reached around to the side of the wardrobe, revealing that it, too, concealed a hidden chamber. Scully tugged on the drawers in front. Nothing. The entire piece of furniture must have been built expressly to conceal hidden compartments. Mulder pushed the false side upward, extracting a drum-like pedestal, the kind a circus lion might crouch on. Scully let out a deep breath to try to clear her mind. "Okay, so we've established that Virginia Penn liked to spend her free time in...well...interesting pursuits. How does this help us with the investigation into her death?" "Basic deductive logic, Scully. If she liked to dress up like a lion, doesn't it stand to reason that there must be a lion tamer out there somewhere?" Mulder tapped the pedestal for emphasis. Scully nodded "One who presumably was with her at the time her physical exertions caused her heart to give out." Mulder smiled. "Or whatever exactly it was that happened to her." Scully let the remark slip by her. "So we find the lion tamer, we gain a better understanding of her death." "Right." "And we start looking at the National Zoo?" Mulder grinned broadly and reached inside the wardrobe for a small black card. It said simply. "The Menagerie. Rare goods and services." Scully held the card skeptically. "Ah, well, case solved." "Scully it's not unusual for practitioners of this sort of, of animalization -- or whatever you want to call it -- to congregate. Very often masters want to present their animals to other trainers. Among the human equine set it's not been unknown to hold pageants and competitions, replete with blue ribbons for the best groomed 'horses.' Suppliers of equipment and costumes often serve as hosts for such events to drum up business." A sudden thought hit Scully: Mulder seems to know an awful lot about this. Just as quickly she brushed the idea aside: Mulder knows a lot about many strange things. Giving in to a yawn, Scully realized that she was too tired to argue this out with him. Her early morning at Quantico was finally catching up with her. And, truth be told, it only made sense to track down where Virginia acquired her equipment. She relented. "Okay, Mulder. First thing in the morning investigating the Menagerie is our top priority." ************** Traffic back into the city was even worse than usual and it was almost seven by the time Mulder guided the car into the FBI's underground garage, stopping when he found Scully's car. She'd actually nodded off on the drive back in. He looked over at her now. God, she was beautiful when she was sleeping. But then, he thought, when wasn't she beautiful? Gently he touched her shoulder. Scully stirred. Shaking the sleep from her head, she smiled. "Good night, Mulder. We'll start fresh tomorrow." He watched as she strode to her car door, the two firm mounds of her buttocks pleasantly draped under the well- tailored pants of her business suit. *Just waiting to make sure she gets in her car safely,* he told himself. He wondered if she had any clue that he stole leers at her backside every chance he could now. It had been a month since he'd had to examine her, but the image was still as fresh in his mind as if it happened minutes ago. Those two beautiful ass cheeks poised invitingly in the air. Scully's red hair splayed out on his desk as she cradled her head in her arms. Her shudder as he touched her ass cheek. Fox closed his eyes as he felt his manhood stir, remembering how it felt slipping his finger into her puckered nether hole. The sensation of knowing her like that, of exploring that forbidden place. His bold, indomitable Scully so vulnerable, so pliant. A polite beep roused Mulder from his daydream. Three cars were lined up behind him and he was blocking Scully from backing out of her spot. His erection raged, pushing painfully against the taut material of his suit pants. He shifted into drive. *God, I hope it's not a long ride home.* ****************** Masturbating had become a nightly ritual for Fox Mulder over the past month. Certainly he had never hesitated to take pleasure in himself, but lately he was achieving levels of activity not seen since high school. Christ, he had to jerk off every morning just to be able to face her. Then there was his evening ritual. Scully was an early riser and usually in the office before him. Consequently, she tended to leave a little earlier. He'd watch pointedly as she walked out the door, force himself to count to thirty, then dash down to the basement men's room. Privately, he hoped that the Syndicate had the room wired so that some poor flunkie had to sit there watching him every night. Once he'd burst out laughing, imagining one of the junior Men in Black calling Smokie up: "Yes, sir. Masturbating, sir. Again, sir. Yes. Umm, maybe three or four minutes. No, no sir, no magazine that we can discern." A sudden thought occurred to Mulder: when had he ever masturbated this much without the benefit of some kind of pornography? On those nights when he was denied his visit to the men's room for some reason, he'd suffered intolerably during the ride home. Usually, those evenings were capped with what he affectionately dubbed a "twilight-double header." Tonight had definitely been one of those nights, the trip to Victoria Penn's apartment and the details of their new case doing nothing to alleviate his seemingly hopeless lust for Scully and near obsession with the woman's posterior. He'd resigned himself that sooner or later his longing would die down, no matter *how* much jerking off he had to do. After all, what else could he do? Mulder rolled off his futon and reached under the end table for his phone book. As he thumbed to the white pages, he had to admit that tonight Scully wasn't the only woman on his mind. Ms. Penn's collection of tails and other sundries had stirred a different set of memories. After years of having his place routinely ransacked by one government operative or another, Mulder had learned one thing: if you want to keep something private, put it in the phone book. Bibles, dictionaries, and journals all were inevitably searched, but near as he could tell, no one ever bothered to look in the phone book. Arriving at the G section, he found what he was looking for: a homemade six- inch by four-inch section cut into the pages, perfect for storing photographs. The first was his wedding picture. He passed over it quickly. Next came two polaroids of Diana Fowley in his favorite piece of lingerie, a classic black-lace teddy. Front-view. Back view. Last were the two snapshots he was looking for. A slight smile crossed his face remembering the first night he'd seen them.. It was the only time he could recall seeing her that nervous. Phoebe Greene. Soon to be a rising star at Scotland Yard, at the time a fellow grad student in Oxford's psychology program. Despite his studies, Mulder was too naive to understand the dynamics of bondage and domination at the time. He remembered just how surprised and confused he'd been by the photos. For him, Phoebe was anything but submissive. Confident, self-assured, smart, beautiful, and ever so aggressive in bed. Mulder found it almost impossible to reconcile those qualities with what he saw in the portfolio she laid out before him. But there she was: nude save for rigid calf boots protruding down into mock hooves fitted over her feet. In her mouth, a leather bit hooked up to a pair of reigns which hung loosely down her bare back. Her hair braided into a high pony tail jutting straight into the air before swaying down on her right shoulder. And lastly, the tail. He'd practically passed out when it dawned on him just how that particular accoutrement was held in place. One of the photos he now held displayed a wonderful view of that long, luxurious appendage hanging down from between Phoebe's taut athletic buttocks. Not quite as nicely rounded as Scully's, he thought. Mulder wondered how many outside the "community" had seen these photos. Looking back he realized just how big of a risk it was for Phoebe to share them with him. A unique honor indeed. Of course, at the time, that's not how he saw it at all. After recovering from his initial shock and arousal, he asked the most jealous question possible: "So who exactly took these pictures?" Phoebe had nearly cried. Another first for her. A legendary row followed. Phoebe tried to explain her interest in submission logically: it was precisely because she was so forceful and in control externally that she needed this type of secret release from time to time. Mulder had responded clumsily: "Couldn't I just tie you up?" She'd rolled her eyes and gone into more depth about what it was she loved about this particular act. The utter servitude of it. The complete relinquishing of responsibility and choice. The pleasure that came from surrendering absolutely to a trainer and having him reciprocate with care and respect.. Mulder couldn't remember ever being more angry. "And what exactly does a trainer *do* for you?" he demanded. Phoebe had struggled to assure him that this practice was strictly non-sexual for her. Sven just provided her with grooming and took her out for the occasional ride. Mulder cringed. "Sven?" Next he exploded. "You mean he actually saddles you up?!" Phoebe replied straight-faced, "Of course not, only the male ponies are ridden directly. I pull a buggy." Inexplicably Mulder felt his anger subside as he gave into unrestrained laughter. Patiently, Phoebe waited for him to regain his composure. The door now open, she tried again to explain her rather particular tastes and interests in detail. They spent the rest of the night in a deep soul-sharing session consummated by slow, tender make-up sex just before dawn. By sunrise, Mulder had accepted Phoebe's assurances that she wasn't having "wild horse sex" with anyone behind his back. He even agreed to attend an upcoming human equine "event" with her at a private estate in Scotland. Lord Weldon Baxter, himself a closet "pony boy" and his wife, Margaret, an accomplished trainer, opened their private estate up to the human equine community once each autumn. Unlike other events, this one was something of an "open house" with significant others invited to attend even if they were non-practitioners of equestrianization. Friday night was a normal dinner attended by the "animals," their trainers, and select civilians. Mulder estimated there to be about thirty participants in all, including a half dozen outsiders such as himself. This dinner was a meet-and-greet affair, a way for the submissives and doms to interact on an even plane before the festivities began in the morning. Mulder drank heavily that night in an attempt to wash away his remaining misgivings about how Phoebe would spend the next day. One upside was that he had actually cozied up to Sven after his fifth Scotch, finding the sixty- five-year-old retired horse trainer to not be half the dirty old man he expected and far less of a threat than he feared. Phoebe woke well before Mulder on Saturday, having warned him the night before that she would be gone and in full horse regalia by sunrise. His instructions were simple: enjoy a nice hearty breakfast in the dining hall, have his run of the house, and wait for Sven to call him. Wandering through Baxter's mansion, Mulder had to admit he couldn't think of a worthier setting. The house was at least four hundred years old and had a nice "haunted-but-in- a-friendly-way" feel to it. He could easily imagine Holmes and Watson stalking prey out on the surrounding lawns or picture John Steed and Emma Peel hunting down some prototypically British supervillain in the manor's high- ceiling, oak-paneled banquet rooms. Of course, atmosphere wasn't all the mansion offered. Its most desirable characteristic was remoteness. The breadth of the surrounding grounds ensured guests sufficient privacy from prying eyes. Mulder smiled as he stopped to admire a wonderfully quaint suit of armor at the bottom of the stairs. *Hmm, must have been a little too tipsy to notice that last night.* The breakfast spread was expansive with all manner of meats, eggs, and pastries strewn across a forty-foot banquet table. Mulder was clearly the last to rise and found the dining hall deserted. He welcomed the solitude. Despite his efforts to understand Phoebe's "hobby" he still didn't feel entirely comfortable with his fellow guests. Passing over the heavier foods, Mulder assembled a selection of breads and took a seat by a picture window overlooking the manor's south lawn. It was then that he saw them. Not Phoebe. Not horses. No, a zebra and a unicorn. A surreal scene unfolded before him: two female bodies frolicking against the rich dark green carpet of the manor grounds. The first a Rubinesque beauty, completely nude, her body painted with remarkable care to resemble a zebra. A full, round ass and two ample D-sized cups bounced across the lawn for Mulder's pleasure, the horizontal black-and- white stripes only accenting her curves. Her counterpart was a tall, lithe woman of athletic build, with pale, milky white skin suggesting Scandinavian descent. She lacked extensive body painting but wore instead white calf-boots similar to the ones he'd seen on Phoebe in the photos simulating hooves over her feet. Her small, firm breasts stood readily at attention. On her head was an elaborate headdress culminating in a single horn. The woman's straight blonde hair was pulled up in a braided pony tail that ascended in a high arc before descending down her back. Her simple accoutrements meshed well with her natural coloring and shape, giving the women the look of something truly mythological. Mulder had no idea what an actual Valkrie might look like, but he sensed that this faux unicorn would come close. Both women bore the trademark tales Mulder had anticipated: the unicorn's long, white, and flowing, the zebra's shorter, black, and frayed at the end. Mulder felt himself stir even now thinking back on the two lovely creatures as they pranced unencumbered across his view. He watched then for at least half an hour. They were playful with one another, without necessarily being overly suggestive. He couldn't help but wonder if they knew he was watching and whether that heightened their enjoyment. A tap on his shoulder had broken his trance. He'd looked up to see Sven. It was time to go. ************ A few miles away in Georgetown, Dana Scully surveyed the collection of implements arrayed on her bedspread. Melissa would be so proud, she thought. "Liberation via vibration." There were three toys in all: The Backdoor Burrower: four-inch battery-powered finger- shaped device, replete with a fly-by-wire controller. The Waldorf: standard six-inch dildo with internal vibrator. The Anal Assassin: ten-inches long and stereotypically black. Heavy duty suction cup on one end for wall mounting. Truth be told, Scully had to admit her "toy chest" was a miserable failure. She purchased the various implements a week after her encounter with Mulder. She'd been called to Albuquerque to do an autopsy and on a whim -- no, make that an impulse -- realized that she had the perfect opportunity to shop for sex toys. Of course, she could have gone to any of a number of discreet boutiques in Washington, but her fear of being recognized always prevailed. The anonymity of a strange city melted her inhibitions and she loaded up at the first store she could find, filling her shopping bag with the three implements and a quart of something called Astroglide. Scully remembered how she had blushed shamelessly in the checkout line, belatedly realizing she would need to use her credit card to pay. The elderly woman across the counter had smiled politely, "There's an ATM around the corner if you'd like me to hold these for you dear..." A quick cash advance later, Scully was striding out of the boutique with a newfound feeling of liberation. She'd always shirked her anal fantasies, relegating them to late- night longings and the overactive imagination of her subconscious. Now she had embraced them head on and had a receipt for $67.53 to prove it. Scully laughed softly to herself. Who the hell goes to Albuquerque for sex toys? Her sexual freedom was short-lived, however. After the initial novelty wore off, she'd rapidly grown tired of each device. The "Burrower's" motion quickly became repetitive. Plus Scully felt utterly ridiculous -- and a little apprehensive -- having a wire coming out of her butt to the control mechanism. The "Assassin" was, well, simply impractical. She'd only picked it up in a flash of bravado and had used it just once with utterly disastrous results. The "Waldorf" somehow just felt cold -- too mechanical. None provided her the true stimulation she craved. Her analytic side gradually had formed a hypothesis: as devices, the toys were inherently incapable of conveying feelings in addition to sensation. It's not simply the act of anal penetration you crave, she told herself, but the surrender to another that accompanies it. *You can buy the toys, but you won't let anyone else play with them.* Scully sighed. *I hate my analytic side sometimes.* Dejected, she swept her toy collection back into its shoebox and prepared for bed. ******************** Almost fifteen years later, Mulder still had to admit it was one of the most erotic afternoons of his life. He'd been instructed not to speak to Phoebe as "Phoebe" but rather to treat her as he would an animal -- kindly, respectfully, but also impersonally. The bit in her mouth obviously complicated communication anyway, but still he was strictly warned against addressing her directly. He'd felt his manhood first stir, then rapidly come to full erection within seconds of his initial glimpse of her. If her photos had aroused and intrigued, seeing her up-close ignited and engulfed. God she was amazing! Phoebe stood firm and straight-backed in the late morning sun. Her nude, well-muscled body slightly glistening from the fruits of her early morning workout. Her eyes were fixed firmly straight-ahead, peering out from under a pompadour headpiece she'd had made just for the occasion. Mulder drank in the smell and look of a leather corset fitted tightly over her abdomen and bosom. The corset served as harness, linking up to a small two-wheeled riding buggy behind. Leather reigns draped across her bare shoulders. After gently climbing into the buggy, Mulder allowed himself a full-blown grin. He couldn't ask for a better view for his ride! Phoebe's lovely ass served as a frame for the forbidden tassel masquerading as her "tail." Unsure what to do, he had gently snapped the reigns. On cue, Phoebe started to saunter down a marked trail and across the lawn, the buggy trailing lazily behind her. The next few minutes were filled with an array of sights befitting a future custodian of the X-Files. In the distance a sumptuous red-headed pony pulled her boyfriend in a carriage similar to Mulder's. To his left three completely nude male ponies trotted with female riders decked out in full jockey outfits on their shoulders. To the right, he saw his old friend the zebra pausing to pose on a tree stump. Behind him, an elderly woman "walked" her seventy-year old husband, who crawled slowly across the grass, nude with a light saddle on his back. The words, *through the looking glass* came to Mulder's mind. He "rode" Phoebe for perhaps an hour, more or less letting her wander where she wished over the manor's extensive grounds. Mulder had no idea how to "steer" her and refused to even think about employing the buggy whip which Sven had left for him. He wasn't sure how Phoebe knew he wanted her to stop. She just did. Dismounting the buggy, Mulder gently pulled the reigns around in front of Phoebe looking her dead in the eye. She tried her best to not meet his gaze, staring distantly towards the horizon. Playfully he scratched her nose. In a few minutes he had undone her corset and was leading her by the reigns into the woods. Unsure what exactly he was looking for, Mulder took his time, clearly enjoying the sensation of trolling a nude Phoebe through the countryside. After a few minutes of wandering, Mulder saw it. A massive weeping willow stretched out to his right, its low-lying, thick branches providing the perfect place to tie Phoebe's reigns. She'd shuffled in place as Mulder laced the leather straps under one bough. Her eyes widened as she realized he was continuing to pull the slack on the reigns, slowly forcing her to bend over.. Reluctantly, she moved her hands from her sides, where they had been rigidly planted since the start of their journey. She braced herself on the low branch. Mulder had been staring at her backside for almost an hour, but it did nothing to diminish the glee he felt as he moved in behind her. Brushing aside her faux tail, he reached under Phoebe, gently stroking the outer regions of her sex. He smiled. She was moist and more than ready for him. With a swagger, Mulder moved in even closer as he heard Phoebe moan against the bit still in her mouth. He grinned. *And the horse you rode in on.* Playfully, he twisted her tail. She let fourth a low yip against the bit and flexed her ass back against him. Surprising himself, Mulder let fly with a hard smack to her left ass cheek. Phoebe smoldered under him, her back arching, her cries more feral that equine as she literally chomped at the bit. His manhood had been aching for her for hours now. Unleashing his member from his jeans, Mulder grasped himself tightly, enjoying the unrestrained fullness and lust of a well-cultivated erection. Gently, he began rubbing himself underneath Phoebe, letting his cock skim along her moistened lips. His pleasure was only heightened by the light dance of Phoebe's tail around his shaft. Then something utterly unbelievable happened. Phoebe whinnied! Not once, not twice, but three loud guttural whinnies. She bucked backwards and then ground her ass towards Mulder's groin. He got the message: enough foreplay. With another spank, this time to the right cheek, he entered her hard. She gasped deeply. He gave himself a moment to enjoy her velvet warmth, then slowly began rocking as she bobbed and pushed in time with him. Mulder braced himself against her backward thrusts, quickly moving his hands to her hips. He needed to slow her down! This was too good. It wasn't every day he got to fuck a beautiful woman in the Scottish countryside, horse costume or no. He wanted this to last. Decreasing their speed, Mulder lengthened his strokes, withdrawing almost completely before plunging fully back into her. Along the way, he made sure to let his head play against all the right places in her silky walls, probing and prodding for just the right spot. Long and slow, in and out, he paced himself as Phoebe continued to moan passionately against her bit. Finally, he could take no more. Tightening his grip on her hips, Mulder began heaving forward with almost as much verve as Phoebe pushed back against him. He willed himself not to come, desperately wanting Phoebe to give in to the ecstasy of the moment first. He knew he was seconds away and redoubled his efforts when he felt her body tighten and release beneath him. A low shudder escaped from Phoebe as the first of two orgasms crashed into her. Mulder followed immediately, unleashing himself with an almost painful explosion inside her. His head swam, his heart nearly stopped, and Fox Mulder had the best damn orgasm of his life. As he would later record in his journal, "Even better than on Conan Doyle's tombstone." Minutes, maybe hours passed, as he and Phoebe spooned under the willow tree. They still hadn't talked and she remained in character the whole time. Fox let his hand wander up and down her back, through her hair and under her neck, gently massaging her taut muscles. The rest of the day was largely a blur. He remembered leading Phoebe back to their buggy and re-harnessing her. He dimly recalled the long slow meandering trip back to the manor, both of their energy expended to the fullest. That night she and the other "animals" had slept in their stables while the trainers and civilians shared a quiet supper. Mulder had retired early, unable to recall ever being so physically spent by a single sexual act. They'd left early the next morning, both having important meetings with their dissertation advisers on the following day. He'd feared that things might be awkward once they left the confines of the manor, but, if anything, Mulder was amazed at how rapidly Phoebe transitioned back to her old self-confident persona. As soon as they'd left the compound, any trace of the total submissive she'd been for the past twenty-four hours was gone. Mulder winced as the happier side of his memories with Phoebe gave way to the more painful times. Shortly after the Scottish weekend, things had taken a turn for the worse in their relationship, though her equestrian pursuits were the least of their problems. Phoebe might not have been into "wild horse sex" but she did eventually stray, nearly breaking Mulder's heart in the process. Mulder replaced the photos in their phone-book cubby hole. Deciding to forego the waterbed, he rolled over on the futon, pulling his New York Knicks sweatshirt over him as a blanket. ****************** As it turned out, the Menagerie wasn't as difficult to find as Scully had feared: it was listed in the White Pages. A short phone call later, the agents were headed west out of DC. The establishment was located in a suburban section of northern Virginia just beyond the Beltway, not far, Mulder couldn't help but note, from CIA headquarters in Langley. Set back on a large piece of property in a prominent residential area, the building that housed the Menagerie gave no hint of what business might take place inside. From the road, the non-descript structure could have passed for anything from a dance studio to a dentist's office. It was only when their car had made its way halfway up the long gravel driveway that the agents actually saw a small sign, simply announcing, "You have arrived at the Menagerie. Welcome." Any pretense of normalcy was quickly lost as soon as they entered the small anteroom which served as...an entrance? A coat check? Scully couldn't exactly tell. The walls were lined in what looked to be black velvet. At various points multi-colored silhouettes of naked women and various exotic animals were pressed into the velvet. The room was now lit by simple track lighting but Scully suspected that during business hours a black light or some form of florescence would be used to create a truly psychedelic effect given the unique wall-covering. Scully didn't actually hear the main door open. Rather, she saw it open in the reaction on her partner's face. Mulder's became aglow, as a short, buxom young woman stepped through and asked for their identification. Scully felt something stir on the back of her neck. A short buxom woman wearing nothing but the briefest of bikinis. And bunny ears. And a tail. As Scully reluctantly showed the young woman her badge, she elbowed Mulder and whispered, "You're drooling." Mulder didn't seem to care. The "bunny" costume was not the typical Playboy ensemble. No, Scully suspected, this woman was meant more to be a field hare, her bikini and accouterments all cast in a light brownish shade. Her natural coloring was a striking mocha hue. Espresso Scully decided. At first, Scully had taken her for being of Mediterranean descent, but looking more carefully at her features she decided now that maybe she was South American or some sort of ethnic mix she couldn't begin to guess at. Whatever her pedigree, Scully had to admit the woman was striking in a truly exotic sense. High cheek bones, a wide- full-lipped smile that would have made Cameron Diaz proud. Short dark hair framing her classic features. And lastly, luscious deep blue eyes that stood in wonderful contrast to her dark complexion. Her body was idyllic: perfectly rounded C cups that appeared real enough. A tight, muscular bottom and an even tighter, six-pack abdomen. "My name's Thumper." Scully blinked. "Your name's Thumper?" Mulder looked gleefully at his partner. "Her name's Thumper." Scully rolled her eyes as Thumper led them into the chamber beyond. Mulder's eyes were clearly somewhere else. The next room appeared to be some sort of bar or club, empty now. It stretched the length of the building. On the sides were booths and down the center ran two rows of round tables. A large central bar dominated the back third of the area. To its left was a set of stairs and to its right, Scully noted, a small stage. Thumper was leading them up the stairs now and her elevated position vis-a-vis Mulder's face was only heightening his enjoyment. Scully was pretty sure that her partner had lost the power of speech. "So Thumper," Scully ventured, "do you, um, perform here?" Thumper halted in her tracks, half turning around. Mulder damn near headbutted her crotch before stopping himself. She smiled. Then giggled. "I wouldn't quite call it performing." Mulder tried to regain some pretense of being an investigator. He waved his finger in the vague direction of her bikini. "And...umm...this...this is your...uh...work costume?" Thumper smiled even more broadly. "Oh, no, I usually work nude. Just my tail and ears." She wiggled the former. "Ms. Lydia said I had to cover up because you were the police." Blood was rapidly draining from Mulder's head to other body parts. Scully shoved by him on the stairs as Thumper resumed walking upwards. The room at the top of the stairs was obviously the Menagerie's showroom.. It was extensive and, Scully had to admit, featured some beautifully crafted items. The walls were lined with perhaps two dozen mannequins, each wearing a different costume. Immediately on her right, Scully saw a jungle cat outfit very similar to one worn by Virginia Penn on the night of her death. Further along there were a few more derivatives of the "bunny costume" worn by Thumper. Next came a skunk, then a series of costumes apparently meant to mimic horses. The costumes on the far wall were even more eclectic. Scully's jaw dropped: was that one supposed to be an elephant? Others were non-animalistic per se, but rather elaborate derivatives of the traditional leather dominatrix outfit. In the center of the room were a series of racks and display cases featuring related paraphernalia, including handmade tails, animal make-up kits, and props for "trainers," in addition to more conventional sex toys and lovemaking oils. Surveying the room, Scully's eyes locked on the costume in the far corner: a red, leather devil outfit, replete with horns, a pitchfork, a leather bustier, and thigh-high red- leather boots. "It's beautiful isn't it?" a lyric voice said from a few feet away. Scully turned around with a start. She hadn't heard anyone else enter the room, yet standing less than an arm's length away was a striking older woman. Scully stared in close at the woman's face. It was lovely to be sure, but there was something almost familiar about it. Then it clicked: the woman was a dead ringer for -- oh what was her name? Scully's mind raced. Barbara Eden? No, the other one -- from Bewitched. Yes! Elizabeth Montgomery, that was it. Scully remembered her and Melissa watching the silly sit-com every night after supper with their Mom during junior high. This woman was nearly identical to the late actress. She was, at most, Scully guessed 50, but more likely in her mid-40s. A mane of platinum blonde hair framed her eerily familiar face. She wore an elegant, yet business-like white dress. Scully was simply relieved to be dealing with a fully clothed woman. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. This --" Scully looked around. Where the hell was Mulder? "Umm...Fox Mulder, ma'am." Mulder spat out as he stood up from an all too careful examination of one of the display cases. "A pleasure to meet you both. I'm Lydia Carnivale. How can I help you?" Scully eyed her partner angrily then began her explanation. "Ms. Carnivale, we're investigating the death of Virginia Penn, who died under somewhat, well, mysterious circumstances two nights ago. She was found dead in her apartment wearing a costume that looks like it might have come from your collection. We found other items that your establishment seems to sell at the scene, as well a business card for the Menagerie." Scully reached into her coat pocket and produced one of the milder crime scene photos. "Do you recognize this woman, Ms. Carnivale?" Lydia waved away the photo. She sighed. "I knew Ginny. She was one of our regulars. Yes, she did buy her costume and props from me." Her eyes seemed to mist over. "She was so proud of herself..." "Proud?" Mulder asked. "That she had accepted her sexual interests. Proud that she was finally getting in touch with who she really was." Mulder nodded, understanding all too well. Next to him, Scully shuffled uncomfortably. At least, Scully thought, Mulder seems to be finally focusing on the matter at hand. "Ms. Carnivale, we believe there may have been another person with Virginia the night of her death. Someone who may even have been responsible for it." Mulder paused to let the information sink in. He continued, "Do you have any idea whom Virginia engaged in her activities with?" Lydia shook her head. "I'm afraid the activities of our patrons our strictly confidential." Mulder took a step forward. "Ms. Carnivale, I noticed the video camera in your anteroom. I'd rather not have to get a warrant." Lydia looked up, seemingly amused. Gradually an edge set into her features. "You'd be surprised who might turn up on that tape. Are you sure you *could* get a warrant?" A moment of uneasy silence passed. Then Lydia spoke again. "I'm not sure I like you Agent Mulder." She shifted her gaze to Scully. "But you, Dana, you, I like." The agents looked at one another unsure. "I'll make you both a deal. I have a fairly good idea who it is your looking for. I'll trade that information." Scully looked at her confused. "In exchange for?" Lydia smiled. "Five minutes with you, Dana." ***************** Mulder hadn't liked the idea of Scully going off with Lydia alone, but the sudden reappearance of Thumper had helped temper his displeasure. For her part, Scully was taken aback by the offer but felt no real threat. Besides, Scully thought, Mulder's camera ploy had been clumsy. This woman clearly cared about Virginia -- Ginny as she called her. Mulder needn't have resorted to threats so soon. Scully couldn't help but think that her partner was running a bit high on testosterone in more ways than one. Maybe Lydia just felt more comfortable passing confidential information on to another woman. Scully decided she would get her information and leave this place in peace. Lydia Carnivale closed her office door and offered Scully one of two luxurious leather arm chairs that dominated the area in front of her desk. Overall, Scully saw, the office was well appointed. The desk and book shelves oak, the trimming brass. Deep-pile carpet. As in the rest of the establishment, no windows. Casually set against the wall was a set of old-fashioned stocks -- the kind used to put wrong-doers on display in colonial times. The wood was a close match for the desk and bookcase. As Scully sat down, she found herself wondering if the item was merely an elaborate display piece or if it had a more practical purpose. "So, Dana, what shall we talk about?" Scully smoothed the lap of her skirt. "Ms. Carnivale, if you have information relevant to our investigation, I can assure you --" Lydia cut her off with a raised hand. "Dana, I'll tell you what you want to know. But I believe you promised me five minutes of your time." Scully stared at her uncertain. "Ms. Carnivale, I don't understand..." "Please call me, Lydia. I want to talk." Scully raised her eyebrows, "About?" "You." "Me?" "Yes. Are you happy?" Scully let out an angry breath. "Lydia -- Ms. Carnivale, I don't have time -- " "Actually dear you owe me another four and a half minutes." Scully shook her head. "I don't understand. Is this some sort of game? Did someone put you up to this?" "No game, Dana." Lydia smiled. "At least not now." An awkward pause hung in the room. "Dana, aren't you the least bit curious about what we do here?" Scully leant back in her chair, slightly exasperated. "Not really. I assume you run some sort of unique strip bar or gentleman's club or whatever you want to call it. You pay young women like Thumper to exploit themselves for a bunch of drooling middle-aged men in mid-life crisis, who overpay for watered-down drinks in exchange for an opportunity to imagine they're Tarzan for a night." Scully folder her arms. "About sum it up?" "Hardly. You are right, I do pay Thumper. But she's the only member of the Menagerie I pay, other than the bouncers. And Thumper's remuneration isn't for her services as a hare, but rather for her efforts in helping me maintain and run this establishment." Scully looked at her watch. "Should that impress me?" Lydia let another pause build. Gradually Scully's curiosity got the better of her. "So you don't pay any of your performers? They just take their clothes off and dress up like woodland creatures for free, I suppose?" Lydia nodded. "That's right, Dana." "And they do that because..." Lydia looked deep into Scully's eyes. "Oh, I think you know why these women come here. I think you know why they put those costumes on and serve the man or woman who finds his or her way into my establishment." Scully held Lydia's gaze. *What the fuck am I about to do?* she thought. Quietly, she spoke. "Let's say, that -- that you're right. Let's say I do know why they come here, why they enjoy submitting. What difference would that make?" "I told your partner that Virginia learned to accept her sexual interests." Lydia stopped, reflecting for a moment. "And to explore them with another person. So can you." Scully looked down wistfully. "I don't think my interests lie in your specific area of expertise." Lydia leant closer and placed her hand on Scully's. She spoke in a whisper. "Perhaps you're right." She laughed softly. "But I do think it would be good for you to join the Menagerie for a night some time." Scully felt herself blushing. *What the hell is wrong with me?* Lydia spoke again. "Dana, whatever it is, maybe I can help you make peace with it. Even embrace it." Uncertain Scully looked up. She wondered if Lydia could tell she was on the verge of crying. "How?" Lydia leaned backed in her chair. "That would take some explaining. Why don't you come back and see me again some time? In an unofficial capacity." As if watching another person, Scully became aware that she was nodding, "Yes." She brushed away the proto-tears that had welled-up in her eyes. Lydia was writing now. She handed Scully a small Post-It. "His name is Philip Raglan," she said. "He's a very dangerous man. You should find him at that address. Be careful." Scully stood to leave. "Come back soon, Dana." Silently, Scully left the office. ***************** Raglan's house was located still farther west of DC, deep into the suburbs of Northern Virginia. It took the agents nearly half an hour to reach the residential community where Lydia's address led them. The neighborhood was a fairly new development, just beyond Dulles Airport. Most of the homes appeared to be less than five years old and all resembled one another to an unsettling degree. As he prepared to knock on the white colonial door of Raglan's two-story house, Mulder's couldn't help but think of the Falls at Arcadia. With the first thump of his knuckles, the door slowly swung half-open. Mulder eyed Scully and both agents simultaneously drew their weapons. "Mr. Philip Raglan? FBI!" Mulder shouted as he pushed the door wide open. Peering through the doorway, the house appeared completely dark. Scully could make out what looked to be a living room off to the right and maybe a staircase straight ahead, but that was it. Mulder edged across the threshold as Scully put a hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, let's get back up. A forensics team. If Raglan is linked to Virginia's death, we should do this right." Mulder peered into the house desperately wishing he could pierce the veil of darkness. He nodded and took a step back. He holstered his weapon as the two agents turned to walk away. A small yelp from Scully was all that alerted Mulder to the fact that something had gone wrong. Under other circumstances Mulder would have thought she was reacting as if she had inadvertently sat in something wet. But as she half turned around, he saw that it was something far more serious. His eyes locked in on the small dart protruding from her right buttock as Scully dropped awkwardly to her knees. "Oh God, Mulder..." Behind him a man raced out of the house in a blur. Mulder reached for his weapon when his eyes caught a glimpse of a blow gun in the assailant's hand. Mulder spun back immediately to Scully. If it was a blow gun.... Scully was leaning forward on all fours now, her knees and arms threatening to give out. Trying hard not to think about what he was doing, Fox Mulder pulled the dart out of Scully's backside. Then he leaned in close, bit gently around the wound, and began to suck hard. ********************* He fingered the cigarette thoughtfully. He would have given anything to light it, but he knew he mustn't. She wouldn't permit it here. Perhaps downstairs, but not here in her private sanctuary. And, for the moment anyway, he needed her help. Her special services. The thought of being reliant on another's skills annoyed him even more than the denial of his Morley. The Smoking Man forced himself to focus: Lydia's harangue was nearing an end. Pocketing the cigarette, he met her gaze. "I agree, we misjudged. We didn't believe Raglan to be that dangerous. The dart wasn't supposed to be tipped with curare." The Smoking Man paused to reflect inwardly on his miscalculation: how many times had he picked a man who was *more* efficient at killing than he'd intended? He continued. "But, in the end, his attack on Agent Scully may have only furthered our plan." Across the oak desk, Lydia glowered. She knew, however, that the Smoking Man was right. Recent events had only brought Scully and Mulder closer together. It would take far less effort to push Scully in the desired direction now. "Provided," she said out loud, "that this little incident hasn't completely destroyed Dana's trust in me." The Smoking Man put on his best veneer of confidence. "Nonsense. You warned her Raglan was dangerous. If anything, his attempt on her life should only strengthen the bond you established at your preliminary meeting." "You're just lucky Mulder knew what to do." She paused. "It's possible I misjudged him." The Smoking Man's lips formed a razor thin smile. "Yes, he's quite resourceful." *When he's not masturbating like a fiend in that basement restroom* he added silently. Lydia hesitated for a moment then decided to press forward with the question that had built in her mind for some weeks. "And does your respect for Mulder have anything to do with your particular interests here? You never did fully explain your motivation in this endeavor." "Nor shall I," he responded crisply. The Smoking Man took a breath to steady himself. "You of all people should know better than to pry, Lydia." Lydia nodded. Confidentiality was an essential part of her trade. Why should this instance be any different? And, much as she hated to admit it, there were times when she needed the protection of this man. Surely there were others who had asked her to use her skills to far more nefarious purposes. Best to move on she decided. "So now we wait." "Now we wait," the Smoking Man echoed. "Soon enough Scully will come back to you, I'm sure of it. And then..." His voice trailed off. Lydia smiled, a little ashamed at the images she was conjuring in her head. "And then I melt the Ice Queen." ******************** Visiting Scully in the hospital was becoming an all too common an occurrence for Fox Mulder. How many times was it now since that the first fateful time at Georgetown Medical when she'd been returned? Five, six. He'd lost count. Her prognosis this time, mercifully, was good. He'd managed to get enough curare out of the wound to prevent the poison from doing any serious damage. She'd experienced some temporary numbness and dizziness, but that was largely it. She'd be kept at the hospital for two days as a precaution while an antiserum was administered just to ensure there would be no residual ill effects on her system. As he entered Scully's room, the Garfield helium balloon Mulder trailed behind him managed to evoke an immediate smile from her. Truth be told, when Dana Scully let her guard down she was a sucker for goofy-looking cartoon characters. "Mulder, you shouldn't have." "C'mon, it's not every day I get to practice my boy scout snakebite survival skills. I owe you big time." Scully laughed softly, knowing that it was she who owed him her life. "Any word on Raglan?" Mulder shook his head. "No, but we have an APB out on him through the entire lower 48. We may not have anything to link him definitively to Virginia Penn's death, but he's wanted for the attempted murder of a federal agent now. We'll find him Scully." "So there was nothing in the house tying him to Virginia Penn?" "Oh, there was plenty. An ample number of accoutrements that fit in with Ms. Penn's lifestyle. Also videos and photographic stills of him engaging in 'animal training' of females. There were also a number of herbs and symbols used in Shamanistic practices often associated with shape- shifting." Mulder paused to raise his eyebrows. "But nothing that would prove definitively that he was with her on the night she died." Scully smiled tightly. Mulder had saved her life. She'd let him off the hook for once. If he wanted to believe that Raglan had actually changed Virginia into a lioness somehow, so be it. "So, I guess from our standpoint, Mulder, there's not much more we can do. Other than wait for the manhunt to turn up Raglan." "I guess not. Besides, Skinner's ordered you to take the next ten days off. No arguments." Scully nodded. "I'll probably need a few days to get over the side effects of the anti-serum." Mulder tied the balloon to the end of Scully's bed. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll, um, give you a call in a few days when you're back home." "Thanks, Mulder." As soon as he'd closed Scully's door, Mulder let out a hard frustrated breath. *Oh, and by the way, Scully, your ass tastes great.* Looking around, Mulder quickly located the nearest men's room.