SHADOW III: Haunting 
by TexxasRose (a.k.a. Laura Castellano) 
November 1998

laurita_castellano@yahoo.com


Classification: S, A, MSR

Rating: R for language, violence, mild sex and references to minor 
sexual assault

Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder, I'd keep him much too busy to solve 
cases. If I owned Dana and Maggie Scully, they'd be my shopping 
buddies. If I owned Walter Skinner...well I don't know what I'd do 
with him, but I'd put him to good use somehow...But they all belong to 
Chris Carter, 1013, yada yada yada...you know the drill.

Guarantee: Always MSR, Always a happy ending. Really. Trust me.



This is for Julie--without her encouragement it would never have been 
written.



**********

Chapter 1

**********

Mulder emerged from Dr. Sherwood's office ten minutes before his 
session was up, white-faced and trembling. He cast his eyes about the 
waiting room looking for Scully, and when he did not see her, sank 
wearily into a chair, covering his face with shaking hands. The last 
half-hour had been hell. Dr. Sherwood had finally managed to get 
Mulder to talk a little about the things Nancy had done to him in 
Idaho, although not easily, and the effort had drained them both of 
energy. Sherwood had been without mercy, Mulder thought. He didn't 
just want him to talk about the things that bitch-woman had done, he 
wanted to talk about...that. The THINGS. Or perhaps he should call it 
the THING, since she had done the same THING over and over to him. He 
supposed as molestation went it was pretty tame but every time 
Mulder's mind touched on it he felt nauseous. Her hands, reaching for 
him, stroking, probing, forcing a response out of him until his face 
flamed with humiliation and he wanted to bury his head in his arms to 
hide his shame, hide from her, hide from everything. She had wanted to 
bring him to the point of arousal where there was no return, no option 
except for him to finish it, jerk himself off, but he had refused with 
the stubbornness that only Mulder could conjure up, steadfastly 
denying her that victory. Instead he would think of Scully, of how 
this woman had singlehandedly caused Scully's death, and his 
desire--if it could be called that--would shrink into nothingness 
instantly. As long as she touched him there she could control him but 
once she let him go she had no power over him. Not over that part of 
his anatomy, anyway. She could still beat him and starve him and taunt 
him with Scully's death, and she did all of those things frequently 
and with great glee. He estimated that she had kept him imprisoned in 
that basement for about two weeks, and during the length of his 
captivity he could recall only five meals. (Not forgetting, of course, 
the drugged one, when she had tied him up and beaten the shit out of 
him with a heavy switch.) She had locked him in what was apparently an 
unfinished bathroom, oversized to allow for the addition of a vanity 
or perhaps some cupboards, leaving just enough space for her to 
squeeze a small cot in next to the sink and toilet. Mulder knew if it 
hadn't been for the fact that the water service was left connected in 
order to prevent frozen pipes, he would probably have died after she 
disappeared. He was fairly certain there had been a period of at least 
four days between the time he last saw Nancy, when she had brought one 
of his infrequent meals, and the time those nosy teenage boys--God 
bless their souls forever--had discovered him. Had she taken him to a 
warm southern location where pipes freezing were not a danger Mulder 
was certain he'd have been a dead man.

Sherwood, for his part, privately thought he had never had a patient 
as steeped in denial as Fox Mulder. He'd had a pretty good idea what 
Mulder's attacker had subjected him to from his conversations with 
Dana Scully, and if Mulder ever found out that the two of them had 
discussed him behind his back there would be hell to pay, he 
reflected. Yet through session after session Dr. Sherwood had been 
unable to persuade Mulder that he needed to work through the anger and 
fear and even shame he still felt. Mulder was also one of his most 
talented patients at self-blame, Sherwood thought, although not his 
very best. That slot was reserved for the woman who considered herself 
at fault every time she passed a homeless person on the street or 
suspected a child of being abused or any other of the myriad problems 
that plagued the nation. Mulder wasn't that bad. He only blamed 
himself for something his captor had done while he had been held 
against his will. And for the deaths of the three people she had 
killed. Mild by comparison but still unnecessary.

Mulder had resisted Sherwood's probing for weeks, always managing to 
turn their talk to something a little less traumatic, like his 
reaction to Scully's supposed death. While that was painful enough, at 
least Mulder had the comfort of knowing it had all been a lie. He 
could discuss his feelings about it now that he had Scully safe and 
sound, back in his life. (He knew he couldn't live without her and Dr. 
Sherwood was quickly reaching the same conclusion.) Every time the 
therapist had tried to delve deeper into Mulder's experience he had 
deflected, resisted or just withdrawn, refusing to reveal or remember 
any of the worst parts. Dr. Sherwood pointed out to him that as a 
psychologist himself, Mulder certainly knew that eventually he had to 
confront those experiences, but Mulder had stubbornly avoided it until 
now. He had known, however, that the good doctor was right. It would 
never go away, it was part of his life now, and sooner or later he 
would have to cope with it.

Part of his life. He considered that phrase. For the rest of his life 
he would be a survivor of sexual assault (but not full-blown rape, 
thank God for that!), of attempted murder, of yet another insane 
person bent on his destruction. How many had there been? Mulder had 
lost count. It didn't matter anyway. Somehow the only one that ever 
mattered was the most recent one, as if every new experience 
superseded the last. It hadn't been that long ago that he had been 
certain he was about to be executed, a bullet put unceremoniously 
through his head and his body dumped God-knew-where, perhaps never to 
be found. He had taken the longest walk of his life as he was marched 
out to what should have been the last place he ever saw. He wanted to 
think he had been brave in the face of impending death, but the truth 
was he was simply numb. He couldn't feel his feet hitting the ground, 
even the pain of his broken finger had miraculously disappeared during 
that time. The only thought on his mind had been Scully. Nothing 
specific, not a concrete thought that he could cling to, just images 
of her racing through his mind and mixed with it the regret that he 
had wasted years of both their lives hiding behind his feelings and 
now it was about to be over and he would never have the chance to tell 
her--. He had actually pitched forward when the gun exploded in his 
ear, and a moment later released with a whoosh the breath he hadn't 
realized he had been holding. The man next to him had fallen and 
Mulder had been freed, without explanation, and he had taken the 
chance and run for his life, even as his natural curiosity plagued him 
every step of the way. There had not been time for questions. Soon 
after that incident, before the finger had even had time to heal, he 
remembered (and well before his heartrate had fully returned to 
normal, he joked to himself) had been what Mulder had come to refer to 
in his mind as the Giant Bug case. That one had landed him in 
restraints in a psych hospital--at least he'd been able to avoid that 
this time around. Once the Giant Bug was the focus of his attention 
the New Spartans and their murderous ways had been shoved to the back 
of his mind. All that mattered was solving the Case of the Giant Bug. 
He thought it sounded vaguely like a Hardy Boys mystery. It was all in 
a day's work for the X-Files team. For a brief second he almost found 
himself wishing for another lunatic to come into his life and muck it 
up somehow; maybe then he could put Nancy on the back burner and 
forget about her. His rational mind (when he could locate it) knew it 
wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon. Not as long as he was afraid 
to leave the sanctuary of Scully's apartment alone.

He still had the nightmares, usually after a really awful session--he 
was certain he would have them tonight--but they were getting better, 
and he took comfort in that. His appointments were down to twice a 
week, and his friendly local night terror occurred perhaps once a week 
now. Most of the time he was able to get a decent night's rest, even 
though Scully still worried that he didn't sleep enough hours. Mulder 
insisted that he didn't need more than six in one night, he had lived 
that way for years, and he thought maybe she had begun to believe him. 
She hovered over him until at times he just wanted to scream in 
frustration, but he knew she meant well. He was careful, though, what 
he said. He didn't want to piss her off and drive her away. The last 
thing he wanted was for Scully to abandon him. If she did that now, 
Mulder knew he wouldn't be able to survive. He would never make it 
through a day or a night alone. Even now his breath caught with relief 
and remembered pain every time he looked at her. Her death had been so 
real. With all the tortures Nancy had subjected him to, for some 
reason it had never occurred to him to doubt her honesty where 
Scully's death was concerned. Of course, she'd had that obituary made 
up to reinforce her lie, and a damn fine reinforcement it had proven 
to be. Right up until the time he had heard her voice from a thousand 
miles away on the telephone Mulder had believed in Scully's demise. 
Now that he had her back, and could touch her and hold her anytime he 
wanted (which he did frequently just to remind himself that she was 
not a dream) he had no intention of doing anything that might damage 
their still-fragile relationship. Scully gave him something that 
nobody else on earth could give him now, something he sometimes 
couldn't even give himself. Scully believed in him.

She wanted so badly for him to get well enough to go back to work. He 
wanted that, too. The inactivity was killing him. He had begged her to 
bring home files for him to study but she had steadfastly refused. 
Skinner would have her head, she told him, and he knew she was right. 
They were both aware--all three were in fact aware--that if Mulder got 
his teeth into an interesting case he would forget his fear and go 
tearing off into the night alone, a man with a mission, to try to 
right injustice and smoke out the truths in the world. While Scully 
longed to have that Mulder back with her, and Mulder himself often 
despaired of ever finding that part of himself again, they both knew 
that right now the worst thing he could do would be to find himself in 
the middle of a dangerous situation when his fears hit full force. 
Mulder's effectiveness and determination in the past had come from his 
utter fearlessness in dangerous situations. He reserved the terror 
(except, of course, in the case of the New Spartans, when he had been 
absolutely certain that death was only moments away) for after the 
danger had passed. Then, in privacy, he could allow himself the luxury 
of getting the shakes or even breaking down a little. Alone, with no 
witnesses. Not even Scully, although she had long suspected this part 
of him. Now was not the time to resume his quest, Mulder realized 
sadly. He couldn't search for truth when he was afraid of the she-wolf 
at his heels.

Scully only went to the office for a few hours a day, keeping herself 
on restricted duty because Mulder still had difficulty being alone for 
any length of time. She knew the administrative powers probably had 
little patience with her drastically reduced work hours, but had faith 
that Skinner would intervene in whatever way he saw fit to protect her 
and Mulder. The most important thing right now was that Mulder needed 
her. She would leave at eight in the morning and was back by eleven 
without fail. By ten o'clock Mulder was usually pacing her apartment, 
glancing nervously out the window to make sure no suspicious cars were 
on the street, repeatedly checking the front door to make sure it was 
securely bolted, and fighting the urge to call Scully just so she 
would be a witness should anything happen to him. He would have felt a 
lot better if he had been allowed to keep his service weapon with him, 
but as long as he was under psychiatric care he wasn't permitted to 
have a gun. Some days Mulder knew that was just as well. At times he 
despaired of ever getting back to normal.

They had almost gotten into a huge battle over that a few days 
earlier. The gun thing. Mulder had insisted to Scully that he was 
competent to keep a weapon, and pointed out to her, rationally, he 
thought, that if Nancy was to appear while she was gone he would be a 
sitting duck. Scully hadn't disagreed with him--at least not to his 
face--but she cited the rules, pointing out to him that if he broke 
them and got caught there would be a disciplinary hearing which would 
delay his returning to work even longer. She knew she had rules and 
regulations on her side, so it wasn't necessary for her to bring up 
the fact that she was afraid to let Mulder have access to a weapon in 
his darker moments. There were times when she was truly convinced if 
he hadn't had her there to comfort him and talk him out of it he might 
have tried escaping from the memories and fear by more permanent 
means.

He was making progress in his recovery, though. She saw evidence of it 
every day. He had fought long and hard and had finally won what to him 
was a major battle. Gettysburg size. Mulder had at last managed to 
control his tears. The societal maxim that men did not cry was strong 
in Mulder, at least as far as his own behavior was concerned, and he 
viewed each teardrop as a personal failure. As a child he had learned 
that tears were a show of weakness that gave any tormentor even more 
satisfaction. He had learned to control them as a means of hanging on 
to the last vestiges of his pride when everything else had been ripped 
away. It had been a source of incredible humiliation to find that once 
he was free of Nancy he was unable to stop himself from crying at 
moments of high emotion or stress. When he had finally regained enough 
self-control to keep the tears in check he felt as though he had made 
real progress in his emotional recovery. The fear of being alone would 
be his next big hurdle.

It was silly to fear solitude, he told himself. Solitude had had 
nothing to do with his experiences. It wasn't as though Nancy had 
waited to find him alone to abduct him. She had the first time, to be 
sure, but the second time she had boldly rammed his car and taken him 
from the scene. If she wanted to take him again, she would. Of that he 
was absolutely certain. That was the most frightening thing to 
Mulder--the knowledge that she was still out there somewhere and could 
be watching him even now. He was constantly checking faces in a crowd 
when he was out with Scully, which wasn't often. He disliked going out 
almost as much as being alone. Mostly he just holed up in her 
apartment with her as company and protection, praying for the news 
that Nancy had been apprehended and nervously waiting for the time she 
would grab him again. Without the one, he knew the other was 
inevitable.

He was shaken out of his musings by Scully's soft voice in his ear. 
"Tough session?"

Mulder looked up at her and merely nodded. He was never, never going 
to reveal to Scully what he and Dr. Sherwood had talked about today. 
Even though Scully probably already knew everything Nancy had done to 
him due to her dreams, she didn't know how it had made him feel. She 
had no idea the self-blame he had been indulging in, and the feelings 
of shame and revulsion. Or maybe she did know those things--she knew 
him well--but as long as he didn't talk about them to her they could 
remain denied. Their lovemaking had been tentative and erratic since 
being reunited, and Mulder found, to his chagrin, that if Scully 
initiated it he withdrew in fear. He couldn't allow her to touch him 
with the intention of arousing him because of the memories it brought 
back. As a result, Scully had given complete control of their sex life 
over to Mulder. He said when, where and how, and she let him lead the 
way. If she hoped to have any kind of physical relationship with the 
man--and she certainly intended to--Scully knew that this would be the 
price. She had no idea how long his need for total mastery of the 
situation would last, but after much soul-searching she had determined 
to give in to him for as long as necessary. Scully was not normally 
the kind of woman to give herself completely over to a man, but Mulder 
was definitely worth the sacrifice.

"Where were you?" he asked tremulously. Even though his mind knew that 
Scully wouldn't abandon him here, the shock of not finding her waiting 
on him had given him quite a scare.

"I went to the restroom," she said easily. "You weren't supposed to be 
out for another ten minutes. Ready to go home?"

He nodded gratefully and stood up, following her to the office door 
without looking back.

They entered the elevator and Scully pushed the button for the lobby, 
six floors below them. Their car stopped on the fifth floor and a 
woman got on, smiling absently at the two of them before turning her 
attention to the front of the elevator. Scully didn't think a thing 
about it until she suddenly realized Mulder was no longer standing 
beside her. Turning around she was horrified to find him backed into 
the corner, his eyes huge and glued to the woman, his face completely 
drained of color, murmuring softly, "no, no, no." She looked at the 
woman again and did a double take. She looked enough like Nancy to be 
her sister.

Scully quickly pushed the button for the third floor, the next one the 
elevator would pass, and as soon as the door opened she grabbed 
Mulder's arm and physically dragged him off the elevator. The doors 
closed behind them and the woman was gone. Scully pulled the trembling 
man into her arms and held him tightly, rubbing her hands up and down 
his back to try and calm his fear. His breathing was harsh and she 
could hear his heart pounding in his chest at a rapid rate.

"Mulder. Mulder! It's all right. It wasn't her. Mulder, you have to 
calm down. Do we need to go back up to Dr. Sherwood's office? I'm sure 
he'd see you again if you need him."

That got through to Mulder and he began to come to his senses, 
realizing what had happened. When he thought of his reaction his face 
flushed. He hated this, hated the fact that Nancy had been able to 
turn him into the frightened, cowering person he was now. He 
desperately wanted to be the man he had been before she came into his 
life. That fact alone had kept him attending his therapy sessions. He 
knew, painful as they may be, they were the only way he could reclaim 
himself.

He clung to the stability that was Scully, holding her so tightly that 
it hurt her a little, but victoriously forcing back the tears that 
wanted to come.

Mulder took a deep breath and released it shakily. "I'm all right now, 
Scully. Thanks for getting me out of there, though," he said in a 
voice that held just the hint of a quiver.

"Come on, let's go home," she said, tugging gently at his arm this 
time. He followed her reluctantly back onto the elevator which was 
mercifully empty this time, and the ride to the lobby was uneventful.

They had a brief but friendly skirmish over lunch. Scully wanted 
Chinese and Mulder wanted pizza; they settled on Italian and she was 
glad to see him standing up for himself. At first he had seemed so 
listless, allowing her to lead the way in everything they did--except 
sex.

She was a naturally assertive woman, and one who liked to control 
situations that involved her personal self. Scully allowed Mulder to 
dictate which cases they would investigate, whether they would drive 
or fly--most of the time she even let him drive without 
argument--because it was important to him. He usually won the decision 
on what type of food they would eat and what motels they would stay 
in. Scully allowed him this because it made him happy. But when it 
came to sex she was more comfortable when she was the one holding the 
reins. Scully sometimes jokingly wondered if she was a dominatrix at 
heart. Not that she wanted to hurt Mulder, never that, but she did 
enjoy the occasional use of light bondage--as long as it was her lover 
who was bound. She'd been handcuffed once. It had made her so 
claustrophobic that she couldn't even enjoy the act. All her thoughts 
had been centered on wishing Danny would hurry up and finish so he 
would release her. She'd never allowed anyone to do that to her again. 
She didn't know if Mulder would care for it or not--they hadn't had 
time to try much experimentation--but after his recent ordeal she was 
pretty sure that being restrained wouldn't be high on Mulder's list of 
fun sexual activities.

Now things were turned around. He hadn't been asserting himself at all 
in the things he normally did. Of course, he hadn't been allowed to 
work, so the opportunities for his usual methods of control didn't 
exist at this time. When it came to sex, though--she remembered the 
first time she'd reached for him after they had both recovered from 
their injuries enough to move back into her apartment. She had been so 
hungry for him after all the weeks of being without his touch that it 
had been all she could do to wait until they were safely inside with 
the door locked. As soon as they put the bags down she had turned on 
him and shoved him gently up against the wall, devouring his mouth 
with her own. His hands had come up weakly and rested on her 
shoulders, not embracing, not pushing away, and it had taken her 
several minutes to realize that his trembling was due to fear and not 
arousal.

She'd cursed herself then for pushing him too hard. Even though Mulder 
refused to discuss that part of his captivity with her, Scully had 
seen in her dreams what he'd had to endure. She had withdrawn from him 
immediately and the look of sorrow and regret and self-blame in his 
eyes had gone straight to her heart. If Nancy had been there at that 
moment Scully would have cheerfully put a bullet into her head. To 
think that woman had done this, *this*, to her beautiful, sweet, 
gentle Mulder who had never hurt anyone in his life without cause... 
Scully smiled softly at Mulder and took his hand hesitantly. When he 
allowed her this familiarity she led him slowly to the couch and made 
him sit. Then she sat beside him and quietly said, "Tell me."

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. She noticed his hands, 
clasped together in his lap, tense perceptibly.

"I don't mean I want you to tell me anything you're uncomfortable 
with. I just mean...tell me what to do, Mulder. What not to do. Tell 
me what you need. Do you want me to not touch you, not kiss you--is 
holding your hand okay, maybe a peck on the cheek? I just need to know 
what the boundaries are so I don't frighten you again," she said 
helplessly.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he'd whispered, still not looking at her.

She reached out slowly and offered him her hand, which after a moment 
he took. "No, Mulder, don't apologize. You've been hurt and now you 
need to heal. I just want to make sure that I help you instead of 
hindering."

"I...just...don't know. I don't know what's going to upset me until it 
happens. I hate this, Scully! I hate not being in control of myself, 
hate being unable to--" He'd stopped suddenly and she knew he was 
fighting back the tears that he also hated.

She waited a few minutes and was fiercely glad when he was able to 
blink them back without allowing any to fall. Mulder had endured 
enough humiliation in the past few weeks to last a lifetime and she 
knew that even in front of her he was embarrassed by this weakness. 
Finally he spoke again. "I do know one thing that I want to do, 
Scully, right now." He took her face in his hands and brought her lips 
gently to his. The kiss was not passionate. Instead it was sweet. 
Loving. And then he deepened it just a bit. Just enough to give her 
hope that they might eventually be able to salvage their intimacy.

Then it had ended and they had just sat together on the couch, side by 
side, for a long time. Not speaking, just enjoying the fact that the 
other was there and alive and safe.

That had been three weeks ago. Scully had come to the decision on her 
own to let Mulder initiate any intimate action. If she leaned toward 
him suddenly to kiss or hug him he drew back, startled, and then 
allowed her to complete her action, but she could feel the tension in 
him at the same time. He wasn't enjoying, he was merely enduring. 
Because he didn't want to hurt her. Mulder, who had been hurt so much, 
didn't want to hurt her. If she hadn't been in love with him before, 
the way he treated her now would have captured her heart in no time. 
She had searched her soul and decided that the control and mastery 
that she valued so much in lovemaking would have to be sacrificed 
indefinitely if she were to maintain a relationship with Mulder. 
Scully didn't like it, not at all, but it seemed the only way they 
would get over this hurdle. At first she had hoped it would be 
temporary but now she was beginning to despair that they would ever 
get back to normal.

At least he still allowed her to sleep in the same bed with him; 
indeed, he seemed to crave her presence. It was also useful, of 
course, when he had one of his nightmares, which, thankfully, were 
becoming less and less frequent as time passed. They lay there now, 
side by side on her big bed, napping after the huge lunch they had 
eaten. He couldn't do very much and was afraid to leave the apartment 
most of the time, and Scully had placed herself on such restricted 
duty in order to care for him that an afternoon nap had become ritual.

She turned on her side to feast her eyes upon him, something else that 
made him nervous if he caught her doing it. She smiled. Mulder had 
always thought himself somewhat unattractive, for some reason known 
only to himself and God. She supposed he succumbed to the same habit 
most people seemed to have of picking himself apart instead of looking 
at the wonderful whole. His nose, which he constantly bemoaned the 
size of, fit his face perfectly, but he would never see that. The 
dimple in his chin that she yearned to be able to kiss again at will 
again, those lips that were legendary in their perfection and eyes 
that could hypnotize, all added up to the beautiful, sexy, desirable 
man that was Mulder. Scully longed to reach out and run her fingers 
across his collarbones, still too prominent, and dip her tongue into 
the hollow at the base of his neck, but she knew that any of these 
actions would likely bring on a reaction that neither of them wanted. 
Things hadn't progressed much in three weeks, she mused. They had made 
love, but every time she had felt helpless and out of control. Their 
coming together was sweet, gentle, soft, and while she loved Mulder 
completely and believed that no sex with him could ever be 
unsatisfying, Scully missed the passion and intensity that they had 
once had. The beginnings of an idea were just forming in her mind when 
she saw his lashes flutter and he turned those hypnotic eyes on her.

"You're not sleeping," he stated.

"Neither are you."

He smiled a little and started to sit up. Scully put a hand on his 
shoulder to stop him and winced a little when the anticipated flinch 
came. He allowed her to pull him back down to the bed and regarded her 
warily, wondering if the time had come when her patience had worn thin 
and if she was about to attack him with the ferocity she had displayed 
when they first became lovers. When she didn't, but merely gazed at 
him without speaking, he relaxed a little and his breathing returned 
to normal.

"Mulder, we have to talk about something," she said when he had calmed 
himself a little, and saw from the look on his face that he knew what 
it had to be about.

"What is it, Scully?" he asked after a moment, with an easiness that 
belied his discomfort.

She wasn't certain how to begin but Scully was afraid if she didn't 
take this opportunity it might not come again. "Mulder, do you...feel 
any differently than you did when we first came home?" she started 
hesitantly.

Home. He considered the word. Scully's place had been more like home 
than his own lately. He hadn't slept at his apartment in weeks. He was 
only now beginning to get some furniture in it. Up until a week ago 
the only item in the entire apartment had been the black leather couch 
that Frohike had thoughtfully obtained after Nancy had destroyed his 
old one. But location didn't matter so much as Scully's presence. Home 
was wherever she was, he had found. The thought of moving out and 
going back, alone, to his place struck terror and sadness in his 
heart. He didn't ever want to be separated from her again. Mulder 
knew, though, that the situation they were in had to change. He was 
sure Scully couldn't be satisfied with the attention he had been 
giving her lately, but it had simply been all he was capable of. He'd 
discussed it with Dr. Sherwood, who had praised Scully's handling of 
the situation and had advised Mulder to move at his own pace, no 
matter how slow it might seem.

"Not really," he finally admitted. "I'm sorry, Scully, I know you 
really aren't happy with it, but I'm still..." He made a helpless 
gesture.

"It's not that I'm not happy," she said carefully. "I love you, 
Mulder." She saw a smile flit across his lips at that. "But you know 
me. I want more. I want to be the one in the driver's seat sometimes. 
Please, don't misunderstand me," she went on, seeing the look forming 
on his face. "If we go on this way forever and I never get to take the 
lead in our lovemaking again, I'll just have to live with it. It's not 
the way I would prefer things to be, but we don't always get 
everything we want. And I'm happy to give up control, Mulder, if it 
means I get to have you. You're worth any sacrifice to me. But I want 
it all, and I believe that we can get back to the way we used to be if 
we try hard enough. Will you let me try something? Will you trust me?"

He stared at her without speaking for a moment, but she knew what he 
was thinking. He didn't want to be pushed, didn't want to be forced or 
coerced. Well, she thought, it was time to show him that none of those 
things were what she had in mind. Finally he nodded reluctantly, and 
said, "I'll try. What do you want me to do?"

"Just lie there and let me touch you. I want to touch you and kiss you 
all over, Mulder, but I promise not to touch you...there. Not unless 
you ask me to." His face had paled slightly when she said she wanted 
to touch him, but he quickly regained his composure. This was Scully, 
he reminded himself again. She had never, would never hurt him in any 
way. She had been his rock through all of the events of the past 
weeks. If not for her he would have died a horrible death not long 
ago. If it had not been for her continued presence and support in his 
life he might well have found a way to end that life during his 
darkest moments of despair. He told himself, suppressing a slight 
shiver, that the least he could do now was trust her a little. With a 
nod of his head he gave her permission to proceed.

She sat up and knelt on the bed beside him. He was dressed only in a 
pair of grey boxers, and she thought he looked just perfect except for 
the fact that his breathing had quickened slightly, and not out of 
arousal. "I'll tell you what, Mulder. I promise not to touch you 
anywhere your clothing covers you, all right? And if at any time it 
gets to be too much for you, just tell me and I'll stop. Will you 
trust me enough to try this?"

"Go ahead, Scully. I want to get past this as much as you do," he 
said, closing his eyes tightly. He couldn't leave them closed, though. 
He had to see what she was doing, had to make sure that he knew where 
her hands were and where they were going to touch him and most of all 
her face, had to make certain that it was Scully's face he saw and not 
hers.

To begin with Scully kissed his lips softly, allowing him to capture 
her mouth with his own. They had progressed to the point where Mulder 
felt more than comfortable kissing her, and at times they spent long 
hours on the sofa necking like a couple of teenagers. Scully sometimes 
thought she could just kiss Fox Mulder's lips forever, but there were 
other things she wanted to do to him as well. She covered his face 
with her tiny, soft kisses, and was rewarded when she actually felt 
some of the tension leaving his body. She massaged his shoulders with 
her fingertips, easing him even more, and began to drop her kisses 
down to his chin and neck. He stiffened for a moment and then made 
himself relax. Scully, he told himself, it's Scully.

Slowly, inch by inch, Scully worked her way over Mulder's body with 
her mouth and hands, exploring every part of him that his one article 
of clothing did not conceal. She finally reached his feet, and kissed 
the tops of them while massaging them lightly with her fingertips, 
keeping just enough pressure up so as not to tickle him. The last 
thing she wanted was Mulder kicking her away. She thought she heard a 
moan and looked up toward his face, amazed at what she saw there. Pure 
desire. Something she hadn't seen in such a long time.

"Mulder?" she questioned tentatively.

"Scully, I want this. I want you," he gasped, reaching to pull her up 
to lie on his chest.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

Mulder regarded her for a moment, her face flushed with desire of her 
own, the hope in her eyes. "Whatever you would like to do," he said 
finally. "Just--go easy on me, Scully." Grinned. A real Mulder grin. 
Another scarce occurrence, especially of late.

"I'll tell you everything I'm going to do before I do it," she 
promised, and he nodded gratefully, afraid that he had gone too far 
too fast.

She traced her fingers around the waistband of his boxers, keeping up 
a running murmur of loving words all the time she touched him. She 
wanted him to begin associating this type of touch with her instead of 
Nancy. She could feel the muscles in his belly clench when she first 
put her fingers there, so she rubbed them lightly in an attempt to 
relax him. "I'm going to put my finger just inside your waistband, is 
that all right, Mulder?" she asked, looking up to him for permission. 
Receiving it, she gently slipped one, then two, then three fingers 
under the elastic and caressed the soft flesh of his abdomen.

"Mmmmm." The look on his face told her he was pleased. Slowly she 
traced circles with one finger, and this was met with the low growl 
that she had come to recognize as Mulder's expression of intense 
arousal.

Smiling broadly, Scully informed him that she was going to pull his 
boxers down now. When he made no response, she carefully slid them 
down his legs and off, taking pains not to make any sudden moves.

"Mulder, you are so beautiful," she said softly, and he opened one eye 
to look at her. "Is it all right if I touch you now? I won't do it 
unless you say I can."

"Please, Scully, touch me all you like." His voice was almost ragged 
and Scully tamped down the excitement she felt, forcing herself to 
move slowly every step of the way, and to their mutual delight they 
found that things really *could* be as they'd been before.

Afterwards, they slowly relaxed, disentangling their limbs and 
settling into an intimate embrace. They had worn themselves out with 
the anticipation, Scully thought sleepily, and cuddling up as close to 
Mulder's chest as she could get, she closed her eyes and slept. Mulder 
lay awake, his eyes open in wonder at the woman in his arms. An hour 
ago he had been certain that their lovemaking would never again be 
exciting and passionate, but Scully had somehow seen the light at the 
end of the tunnel and managed to lead him safely to it, reassuring him 
all the way.

*****

He was pacing again. It was a habit with him, something he did when he 
was trying to work out a problem in his mind, or when he was agitated 
about something. These days he did it because of pent-up nervous 
energy. Mulder knew exactly how his self-imposed isolation was 
affecting him but he wasn't ready to give it up. If only he felt safe 
going out, he thought, it would be one more step in his recovery, one 
more stride toward getting his life and his work back. The problem was 
that every time he stepped outside the door of Scully's apartment he 
received a full force reminder of exactly why he kept himself secluded 
behind it. His fear was so strong it was almost a tangible thing, 
floating in the air around his body like an aura. She was still out 
there, somewhere. Alive or dead he didn't know, but one lesson Mulder 
had learned was not to believe her deceased until he saw a body. In 
fact, just seeing her body wouldn't be enough for him now. He wanted 
to see her body dismembered, burned, destroyed in some way. Something 
that would convince him beyond all doubt that she wasn't coming back 
again. After all, Nancy had died before.

Mulder glanced out the front window at the street on his 
twentieth-or-so trip by it. There hadn't been anything new there in 
days. He was completely familiar with every neighbor on the street and 
what type of car they drove, their usual comings and goings and the 
vehicles their friends drove when they visited. Anything suspicious 
earned his full attention until he could convince himself it wasn't a 
threat. He had been pacing in this long, convoluted circle around 
Scully's place for an hour now, and every time he passed the window he 
gave a cursory glance just to reassure himself that he was merely 
being paranoid. Of course, how paranoid could he call himself, he 
wondered, when he knew for a fact that the threat was still very real? 
This time, instead of giving his usual short glance--(there was the 
red Fiero that Scully's next door neighbor drove, parked where it 
always was; the man drove his car AFTER work but he took the bus each 
and every morning to whatever job he held; Mulder felt a tinge of 
jealousy for someone who hadn't been kidnapped and put through 
emotional hell--he could go to work every day just like a normal 
person; there was also a white Ford Explorer driven by the housewife 
who lived across the street, the one with three rambunctious children 
that made Mulder smile so much when he saw them outside playing 
together--or fighting together)--Mulder took a much longer look. Other 
than those cars, at this time of day the street was pretty empty. At 
least it had been five minutes ago. Now Mulder backed away from the 
window quickly, straining to get a look at the vehicle parked on the 
street in front of the apartment without letting its occupant see him.

Who was it? Man or woman? One person or more? He wasn't sure, and he 
wasn't about to move any closer to the window to find out. It was a 
dark green sport utility of some type; he thought it was a Jeep 
Cherokee but couldn't be sure from this distance. Nobody living on 
Scully's street drove a Cherokee. He was certain of it. Still and 
silent, Mulder stared at the Cherokee from inside the apartment, 
hidden from view by the shadows of the room. He waited, glancing 
around nervously once or twice wondering exactly how he was going to 
escape if someone tried to come in the front door. Scully didn't have 
a back door, although she had enough windows to avoid fire-code 
violations. He might not be able to walk out except by the front door 
but he could certainly climb out. At least she was on the ground 
floor, unlike his apartment, where he would be trapped in this 
situation unless he wanted to risk a broken limb from jumping out a 
window. Unconsciously Mulder flexed the arm that had been broken not 
so long ago. He was grateful that his casts were off now. If running 
was required he wouldn't have to hobble like some kind of cripple. 
Maybe, just maybe he would have a chance of escape this time.

His arms began to hurt and he realized that he had been holding his 
fists clenched for the past five minutes. The car sat on the street, 
idling, but nobody had gotten in or out of it during all that time. 
Maybe it was someone picking up a friend, he reasoned to himself, 
grasping desperately at some sense of normalcy, trying valiantly to 
convince himself that this mysterious car was not a threat to his life 
and liberty. The only problem with that theory, his more practical 
self argued, was that nobody should be home at this time of day except 
Mrs. Arlen (with the three children) and she certainly wouldn't be 
going off and leaving her kids alone. The youngest was only two years 
old. If a babysitter had arrived earlier, Mulder would have been the 
first to know. He wondered if Scully's neighbors realized that her 
houseguest had become the neighborhood voyeur.

The ringing of the telephone almost startled him into a heart attack. 
Mulder jumped two feet when he heard it, then unclenched his hands and 
consciously worked to slow his breathing. Taking another glance at the 
mysterious Cherokee, he backed up to the table that held the 
telephone. He felt uncomfortable immediately. He couldn't see the 
street when he was this far away from the window.

"Hello?" he answered absently, his mind still on the occupant of the 
car outside. Scully usually called him from work about half an hour 
before she left to check with him about lunch. He had been planning to 
ask her for pizza today, to beg if necessary. She'd been merciless 
about curbing his junk food habit and Mulder was dying for fat and 
calories. He'd even planned to make a certain deal with her concerning 
her laundry if it meant he could have pizza thick with cheese and 
pepperoni. Whatever it took to convince Scully that broiled chicken 
and steamed broccoli wasn't going to satisfy him today, Mulder was 
willing to comply.

He heard breathing on the other end of the line, but no answering 
"Mulder, it's me," as expected. When the unmistakable click of someone 
hanging up on him reached his ears, Mulder's stomach hit the floor. 
Wrong number, he told himself frantically, it was just a wrong number. 
Nothing else. He edged back toward the window and peered out to check 
on the intruding vehicle. It was gone.

Mulder's face paled and his gaze riveted on the door for a moment, 
straining to hear footsteps outside or some other sign that someone 
was approaching. The air was totally silent except for the occasional 
chirping of a bird in the shrubbery outside Scully's living room 
window. A moment later the phone rang again, and Mulder backed away in 
terror, afraid to answer, certain that the time had finally arrived.

She was coming to take him again.

*****

"Mulder? Where are you?" Scully's voice rang out through the empty 
apartment. Puzzled, she put down the pizza box she was carrying and 
surveyed the situation. Something in Mulder's face this morning had 
just screamed 'pizza' at her, and she had decided to relent a little 
on her 'no junk food' dictum. He had been very good about eating 
whatever she bought or prepared for them but she could see the longing 
in his eyes whenever a commercial for the greasy fast-food that he 
craved came on the television, and she felt he had earned a reward. 
Scully had been a little concerned when Mulder didn't answer her phone 
call earlier, but she had convinced herself that he was in the 
bathroom, or perhaps taking a nap. She refused to worry; it wasn't 
time to worry yet. Now, though, gazing around the empty room, Scully 
began to feel a tiny niggling doubt. Maybe it was time to worry.

"Mulder!" she called, louder, as she made her way into the bedroom 
after checking the guest room to find it empty as expected. Mulder 
hadn't slept there in weeks. These days they shared a bed, and Scully 
smiled a little when she thought of the activities other than sleep 
that they now engaged in on a regular basis. Feeling the cold fingers 
of fear creeping up her spine, Scully peeked into the bathroom and 
then strode purposefully into their bedroom to change. She was going 
to hunt him down if it took forever, and she only prayed that he had 
left of his own volition. Maybe Mulder had decided that it was time to 
tackle his fear head-on and was forcing himself to leave the house 
alone. Maybe there had been some sort of emergency that had taken him 
away unexpectedly. Maybe pigs had finally attained flight.

She opened the closet, reached for a sweatshirt, and almost screamed 
with shock when she heard a whispered, "Scully?"

"Mulder, what are you doing in here?" she demanded gently as she 
pulled the clothes back to get a better look. Mulder had crawled all 
the way to the back of her large walk-in closet and sat on the floor 
buried under a pile of sweaters and blouses he had pulled off their 
hangers. Now he sat staring at her, a huge pair of hazel eyes looking 
back at her from the fabric and yarn that covered him. If he hadn't 
spoken to her she never would have seen him in the darkness.

She waited while he excavated himself and crawled out of the closet, 
standing up sheepishly and facing her, almost afraid to meet her eyes. 
When no explanation seemed forthcoming she asked again, "Why were you 
hiding in my closet?"

"Is that pepperoni I smell?" he asked suddenly, a little embarrassed 
at the situation she had found him in.

"Ham and pineapple. I thought it would make a nice compromise without 
aiding you too much in your quest for an early coronary. Now answer my 
question or I feed it to the dog next door." Scully stood her ground 
firmly, refusing to move aside so he could pass.

Mulder considered his options. He could simply pick her up and move 
her out of his way, but she had a gun and he didn't. Manhandling 
Scully had never seemed like a good idea before and it didn't now. He 
could call her bluff, but he knew Scully never bluffed him and he had 
no desire to see his coveted pizza fed to that obnoxious mutt that 
lived across the hall. Sighing, he decided his best choice was to give 
her the truth, or some version of the truth. "Fine," he mumbled, "I'll 
tell you all about it if you'll just let me eat, deal?"

"Deal," she said, finally allowing a smile to touch her lips. He was 
an incredibly exasperating man but she had learned how to handle him. 
The most important thing to remember in dealing with Mulder was to 
never back down. If you did, even once, you had already lost. At least 
he had regained his appetite, an event Scully had almost despaired of 
in earlier weeks.

She followed him out to the kitchen where he had the box opened and a 
slice on a plate before she could question him further. The look of 
pure bliss on his face when he bit into the pizza warmed her heart. 
She knew this had been a good decision. Mentally, Scully made a note 
to allow Mulder junk food at least once a week. She had to keep his 
spirits up if she ever wanted the old Mulder back, and she certainly 
did want that.

"Thanks, Scully," he said happily around a mouthful of cheese and 
crust. His fright seemed to have completely disappeared now that she 
was here, but Scully wasn't letting him off the hook. Finding Mulder 
hiding in her closet required an explanation. Whatever had happened to 
send him there needed to be addressed or it could mean a serious 
setback in his recovery.

"You're welcome, Mulder. Now spill it."

He froze for an almost imperceptible second, then resumed eating. 
Frantically his thoughts raced as he tried to create some plausible 
excuse for why he had been cowering among Scully's clothing. Finally 
he gave up. There simply wasn't a credible explanation other than the 
truth, no matter how mortifying it might be. Now that he had regained 
his composure he looked back at the incident that had spooked him so 
badly and winced. Such a simple thing--a wrong number on the 
telephone, a strange car on the street--and he turned into a basket 
case. This, he reminded himself angrily, was the reason he wasn't back 
at work yet.

Scully's expression told him she was aware that he was stalling. "All 
right, Scully, I'll tell you everything," he conceded, reaching for 
another slice of pizza, "but it's pretty dumb and I feel silly about 
it now."

She settled back in her chair, munching her own pizza, and waited.

Mulder told her everything that had happened that morning, making 
light of his fear in a self-deprecating manner, but she wasn't fooled. 
This had frightened him badly, and Scully sighed inwardly, wondering 
just exactly how long it was going to take before simple, everyday 
annoyances didn't send Mulder into a paroxysm of terror. She could 
well imagine his reaction; he'd already had a heightened sense of fear 
due to the fact that he had been alone for several hours, and then an 
unfamiliar vehicle on the street coupled with an apparent wrong number 
had been more than he could handle. Thus he ended up in her closet and 
she ended up caught between a rock and a hard place, wondering whether 
or not she should insist on an extra session with Dr. Sherwood that 
afternoon. She knew Mulder would balk at the idea, but he was unable 
to conceal the slight trembling in his hands that had returned when he 
told her about his morning's adventure. If Mulder couldn't cope with 
these tiny disruptions, how would he ever be able to function as an 
independent person again? The idea of him spending the rest of his 
life relying on her for safety and security made her uneasy. Not that 
she didn't love him still, but this just wasn't Mulder. Her Mulder was 
strong and brave and she wanted him back. She was sure he wanted 
himself back.

Making a decision, Scully reached for the telephone.

"What are you doing?" he demanded suspiciously. Damn. He'd known she 
would pull this on him, insisting that he visit Sherwood because of 
this little episode. If there had been any way at all to avoid telling 
her about it he would have, but threatening him with the loss of his 
precious pizza had really been below the belt. "Scully, I'm fine now, 
can't we just let it drop?" he pleaded as she dialed the number. "I 
don't want to go there today. I don't want to talk about this with 
him. I don't need to." His voice began to take on an almost desperate 
tinge and Scully looked up at him thoughtfully as he began his pacing 
again, this time in tight little circles around her kitchen. "Scully, 
please, don't make me do this."

The softness of his tone and the liquid of his eyes were her undoing. 
She replaced the telephone, cursing whatever quality it was in Mulder 
that made her unable to resist him at his most basic level. She could 
hold her own against him in any argument or discussion, and she could 
be as hard-nosed as necessary about things like the junk food, but 
when he turned that quietly begging tone on her she caved in every 
time. Muttering profanities under her breath she wondered if he knew 
this and used it deliberately or if it was sheer happenstance. She 
decided on happenstance when she saw the look of total relief on his 
face. If there had been even a hint of triumph there she would have 
made the call to Dr. Sherwood immediately, even if he'd thrown himself 
on his knees at her feet. As it was she just covered his hand with 
hers for a moment when he sank back into his chair. His whispered, 
"thank you, Scully," was almost too faint to hear, but she squeezed 
his fingers before returning to her meal.

*****

"I understand you had a little trouble yesterday, Mulder." Dr. 
Sherwood's voice was gentle but firm. When Scully had called him from 
work that morning he'd almost let himself get angry at her for not 
reporting Mulder's state of mind as soon as she had discovered him 
cowering in her closet. The hesitation in her voice had stilled his 
wrath. She was doing the best she could, and Sherwood knew how much 
she cared for Mulder. She still wasn't certain she was doing the right 
thing in calling him, he could tell. He was also aware that Mulder 
possessed an entire range of manipulative expressions that he used on 
Scully regularly, and he was certain Mulder had exercised all his 
talent in that area the day before.

Mulder liked Dr. Sherwood, for the very reason that he glared at him 
now. The man would let him get away with absolutely nothing. Anytime 
he caught Mulder deflecting, denying, or just plain old refusing to 
deal with something, he pointed it out to him in a kind but cut and 
dried manner that forced the agent to admit the truth. Sherwood's 
no-bullshit attitude had earned Mulder's respect immediately, and his 
continued caring demeanor had almost, but not quite, gained his trust. 
Mulder wasn't feeling very friendly toward his therapist right now, 
and he had to tamp down on his sudden bolt of fury at Scully for 
betraying him. If he hadn't been so convinced she had his best 
interests at heart he would have given her hell about it.

"It was nothing," he said offhandedly, knowing his casual tone 
wouldn't work with Dr. Sherwood but feeling he had to give it the old 
college try anyway.

Sherwood nodded his head with a wry smile. "You make a habit of hiding 
in closets underneath women's clothing, then, do you Mulder?"

Mulder treated him to a baleful stare and turned away, refusing to 
answer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of your fear," the doctor 
apologized, and Mulder indicated with a slight wave of his hand that 
all was forgiven. "On the other hand, if it was nothing, can you tell 
me why it bothered you so much?" he asked bluntly.

Mulder rose from the chair he had settled in and walked slowly toward 
the window. He often spent a good part of his session here, looking 
out at the city, and more importantly, keeping his back to Dr. 
Sherwood. Most of the things they discussed were easier talked about 
if he didn't have to look his doctor in the face. Mulder supposed it 
was another way of hiding from the issues, distancing himself from 
them, but he didn't care. It was the only way he could get through 
some of it.

"It really was nothing," he finally said. "There was a car on the 
street that I had never seen before, sitting in front of the apartment 
idling. Nothing threatening in that, right? And then the telephone 
rang and nobody spoke, they just hung up after a minute. Nothing odd 
about that either. Wrong number. People get them every day."

"Most people would wonder about the car for maybe two minutes, and 
most people would be irritated at the caller who hung up without 
identifying himself for maybe two minutes, and then would go on about 
their business, Mulder. It sent you into a terror. Why?"

Mulder found he was clenching his fists tightly again and made a 
conscious effort to relax them. He took a deep breath and halfway 
turned toward Dr. Sherwood. "I know what you're thinking," he accused. 
"You're thinking I'm some kind of psychological cripple because I'm 
unable to cope with these simple, common annoyances. Everybody who 
knows me thinks that but nobody understands..." His voice faded away 
as he faced the window again.

"Just for the record, I don't think you're a psychological cripple, I 
think you're a man who has been subjected to a terrible experience and 
is fighting very hard to reclaim his life. If you believe I don't 
understand, then help me. Help me to understand, Mulder. Tell me what 
it is about these things that affected you so strongly." Dr. Sherwood 
stood up and walked over to where Mulder stood, seating himself on the 
windowsill and looking up at his patient. He sat silently and waited. 
He had learned after two sessions that Mulder had a trick he would 
play when the questions got too hard. He would refuse to speak, 
waiting for Dr. Sherwood to decide that no answer was forthcoming and 
change tactics, thus avoiding the tough questions altogether. Dr. 
Sherwood had almost kicked himself when he'd realized what he was 
letting Mulder get away with. After that he would wait as long as it 
took, never moving his gaze from Mulder's face, until the man was 
forced to either give an answer or verbally refuse. He hoped a refusal 
wasn't forthcoming this time. The fact that Mulder was unable to 
conquer his fears of the little things like a ringing phone was Dr. 
Sherwood's greatest concern. He had been delighted when Mulder and 
Scully, separately and unknown to each other, had reported that their 
sex life had slowly returned to normal. Mulder had finally learned to 
stop associating any erotic touch with his tormenter, and now allowed 
Scully to initiate lovemaking as often as he did. This had been a 
relief to all of them, and he was glad that the man had regained a 
little happiness and normalcy. Mulder couldn't go back to his job, 
though, until he learned to deal with the everyday annoyances that 
popped up in everyone's life. There were no good hiding places in 
Mulder's basement office.

Mulder's shoulders slumped and he rubbed his hand across his brow. "I 
have told you," he said glumly. "I've told Scully, too, but nobody's 
listening to me."

Sherwood waited, unspeaking, for Mulder to continue.

"I'm not dealing with an irrational fear, Dr. Sherwood, just a 
hypersensitive one. If I was afraid of something that couldn't hurt me 
it would be different, but the threat hasn't gone away." He stepped 
forward and pressed his hands against the window, eyes searching the 
street below. "She's still out there somewhere, and nobody knows 
where." His voice had dropped almost to a whisper and his face had 
lost a little color, Sherwood noted. "Nobody knows if she's dead or 
alive, if she's in hiding or if she's just gone on to the next 
activity in her insane little life." He turned to Dr. Sherwood and his 
eyes bored into the other man's with steely intensity. "Nobody knows, 
I don't know, if she's finished with me yet."

Sherwood felt a chill run through his body at the cold terror in 
Mulder's voice. It wasn't a screaming, shrieking terror, the kind that 
could be let out and dealt with, the kind that could be expressed and 
overcome. It was the quiet terror of despair, the kind that comes from 
knowing that there really is a monster under your bed that's planning 
to kill you with its big, sharp teeth and claws, but you have no idea 
when or where the monster will strike and nobody, not your parent or 
your therapist or even your best friend and lover can save you from it 
because nobody sees it but you. It was a terror that Sherwood had 
never encountered before in a patient. Because in spite of the 
difficulties he was having, this was not a man afraid of a monster 
under his bed or a werewolf in his closet. This man was afraid of a 
(presumably) living, breathing human being who had tried on two 
occasions to kill him in a most horrible manner. How could he not be 
afraid that it would happen again?

Finally, at a loss as to what he should say, Sherwood asked, "Well, 
Mulder, you're a psychologist as well--can you tell me what you think 
would help you? How can we move you past these fears and help you get 
your life back?"

Mulder stared off into the distance for long moments before answering, 
and when he did Sherwood sighed. The man was asking the impossible.

"Show me her dead body."



**********

Chapter 2

**********

"You want me to do what?" He turned onto his side and propped his head 
up on one hand, staring at her, hoping against hope that he had not 
heard correctly.

"I want you to go Christmas shopping with me, Mulder. At the mall. 
Tomorrow." Scully had tried to break it to him gently but over the 
years she had learned that the best way to present bad news to Mulder 
was all at once. That way he could see exactly what he was facing and 
could form a plan of attack. She had just never expected the object of 
his attack to be her.

Mulder was shaking his head 'no' before she even finished. 
Emphatically shaking his head 'no'. Scully reached her hand out and 
softly cupped his face with it, pulling close to give him a gentle 
kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her small 
body up against his, deepening the kiss for a moment, then drew back, 
giving her a quick peck on the tip of her nose. "Forget it, Scully."

She sighed. "Mulder, you know what Dr. Sherwood said. You're supposed 
to make yourself get out of the house at least once a day."

He rolled onto his back wearily, pulling her with him. Settling 
Scully's body on top of his comfortably, he ran his fingers through 
her hair and held her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes. 
"Fine. I'll go out somewhere tomorrow. Somewhere less crazy than a 
crowded mall. I'll tell you the same thing I told Dr. Sherwood. If I 
could see her dead body I'd be fine in a second. I just need to know 
that she's not a threat to me anymore before I can get back into 
things the way you want me to."

"Mulder," she said impatiently, pulling herself up until they were 
almost nose-to-nose, "what if we never find her? Have you considered 
that? What will you do if we never find out where she is or what 
happened to her? Are you planning to spend the rest of your life 
hiding in my apartment, denied the work you love, living like a 
hermit?" When he didn't answer she pressed on. "That's not you, 
Mulder. You're alive, vital, intense. This is tearing you apart and 
you're the only one who can stop it. You may have an even higher than 
usual awareness of your surroundings, but you have to confront the 
fact that we may not ever find her."

"Then she'll find me," he said positively. "I know she will."

She stared at him for long moments, an idea forming in her mind. 
Mulder saw it, read her mind, knew exactly what she was thinking, and 
his grip tightened almost painfully on her arms. "No!" he insisted. 
"Not that, Scully. It's just too dangerous. She's too dangerous. I 
won't do it."

Scully was struck again by how out of character this was for Mulder. 
He usually disregarded his own danger when an opportunity presented 
itself to catch a suspect. To hear him flatly refusing her proposal to 
set a trap for Nancy before she had even made it was nerve wracking 
for Scully. She wanted the old Mulder back. She searched carefully for 
the right words to say, finally settling for, "This is so unlike you."

He wanted to make her understand but was beginning to despair of ever 
getting anyone to see the situation from his point of view. "Scully, 
if it was someone else in danger I'd be happy to play the bait. That's 
my job. We're supposed to protect the public. But this time it's me in 
danger. What can possibly be gained by placing myself at even greater 
risk?"

"Well," she said, leaning forward to place tiny kisses on his face, 
"we might be able to catch her. Smoke her out. If we had plenty of 
backup, in a crowded place like a mall--"

"In a crowded place like a mall some innocent person could be hurt," 
he reminded her. "And don't try to soften me up just because we're in 
bed. It won't work."

She continued with her quick little kisses, working her way down to 
the base of his neck and dipping her tongue provocatively into the 
hollow there. She heard him let out an audible gasp and smiled to 
herself. She'd used sex as a means of coercion before on a couple of 
occasions, when she was much younger, and although she would normally 
never resort to such an underhanded tactic with Mulder, she had a 
suspicion that it was the only way she would get him to agree to her 
plan. It was for his own benefit, she told herself. He just couldn't 
see that now because he was blinded by his fear.

Scully worked her way slowly down his chest, covering every inch of it 
with her lips and hands, concentrating solely now on seducing Mulder. 
Even if he didn't give in to her, they could still have a good time, 
she thought impishly. Occasionally he let out a small whimper of 
pleasure, responding readily to her attempts to drive him wild, and 
Scully smiled to herself. She loved the way Mulder was putty in her 
hands; it gave her a feeling of power that she secretly thought might 
be a little unhealthy but still she relished it. Luckily, she was a 
benevolent mistress and Mulder's heart and soul were safe in her 
keeping.

When she reached the waistband of his boxers she glanced quickly up at 
him to see his expression. Even though their sex life had apparently 
returned to normal, Scully was still sensitive to Mulder's fears and 
wanted to be sure she wasn't pushing him too fast. Especially since 
she was trying to convince him to do something he really didn't want 
to do. There was a second of visible apprehension on his face and then 
it cleared and the only thing left was love and trust. She traced the 
outline of his erection through the fabric with her fingers and was 
delighted when he gave a quick intake of breath and she felt his hips 
move, thrusting slightly upward with a desire for more. Scully had 
every intention of giving Mulder just exactly what he wanted, but 
their discussion wasn't finished yet.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" he asked, never opening his eyes, his fingers still lightly 
threaded through her hair.

"We'll go tomorrow."

His hazel eyes peeked lazily out from under his dark, thick lashes. 
"No."

She stared for a second. She had been unaware that he still had that 
much self-control left. With an exasperated exhale she lay her head on 
his chest. "Fine, Mulder. I give up."

"Good," he remarked, flipping them over suddenly so that he was lying 
atop her, slowly moving his hips over hers, lightly grazing their 
bodies together, teasing her.

She should have been amazed at how quickly he had turned the tables on 
her, but somehow she had known it was coming. Now Scully was a little 
apprehensive at what he might do. She had, after all, attempted to 
blackmail him using sex as a weapon.

"I can't believe you tried to do that," he commented, reading her 
thoughts as he languorously began to kiss her in that little spot 
behind her ear that always made her writhe. He planted kiss after kiss 
there and on her sensitive face and neck, light whispers of kisses 
that made her yearn for more but he refused to give her more, refused 
to even quicken his pace and she was going mad with wanting him, mad 
with need of him and uncertain whether or not she had pushed him too 
far this time and now it was she who was putty in his hands and she 
only hoped he would be a benevolent master. She had known it was a 
rotten thing to do but had pursued her course in spite of her niggling 
conscience and now she was learning the reason for the niggling.

"Mulder..." It came out as almost a moan and she fought for 
self-control.

"What, Scully?" he breathed into her ear as his teeth nipped gently at 
her earlobe.

"I'm sorry?" she offered uncertainly, afraid he would tell her it was 
too late to apologize, afraid he would continue this torment 
indefinitely.

He stopped immediately, drawing back a little to look her directly in 
the eyes. "Never do anything like that again, Scully," he commanded 
softly, and she mutely shook her head. Not likely she would try it 
again. Especially considering the guilt she was feeling.

"Good. Now shall we continue?" he asked, and prevented her from 
answering by claiming her mouth with his lips and tongue until she 
felt she was falling into him, joining with him body and mind and soul 
and they were one, they were meant to be one, they had always been one 
and nothing and nobody could ever separate them again.

*****

"I'll do it."

His statement came while they were sharing a shower, Scully still 
uncertain if she had made him angry with the trick she had tried on 
him the night before. He hadn't said a word since then; after having 
made love thoroughly to her until she was breathless and weak he had 
rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and fallen asleep. Scully 
had snuggled up against his back and put her arm over him but he had 
merely tolerated it, had not returned her embrace or shown 
reciprocation in any way. She had begun to fear that she had truly 
made him angry, and was already planning her abject apology. She 
really was sorry for her actions but, as she intended to explain to 
Mulder, she had been desperate to get him to agree to what she saw as 
the only feasible plan to get him out of the house for more than five 
minutes. The added benefit that they might actually capture Nancy 
(although Scully didn't believe for one moment that the woman was 
anywhere in the D.C. area) was just gravy on the biscuit, as her 
grandmother used to say.

"You'll do exactly what, Mulder?" she asked carefully, not clear on 
what it was he was agreeing to. The Trip? Or the Trap?

"I'll go to the mall with you. But Scully--no trap. I'm afraid if 
anything happens, innocent people will be hurt. I'd rather just turn 
myself over to her again than let that happen." He was rubbing shampoo 
into his hair when he said that, not looking at her, so he didn't see 
the shiver that shook her for a moment when she heard the chilling 
resignation in his voice. He was so certain that she was still alive, 
still a threat to him, and Scully found herself wanting to comfort 
him, console and reassure him. Sadly, she knew he was right. Until 
they found Nancy--or preferably, Nancy's body--Mulder was still in 
danger. The question was, how much danger? There was no way to know.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and hugged him from behind. 
"Mulder, I'll handcuff you to me before I'll let her take you again. I 
promise."

She felt him relax, if only slightly. "Could be fun, Scully, but I 
think I've had enough of handcuffs for one lifetime," he teased. Then 
his voice turned serious. "Don't try and trick me again, Scully. I 
have to be able to trust you. I can't trust anyone else."

She turned him around then so she could look him in the eyes, make him 
see the sincerity in her own. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said 
truthfully. "I should never have tried that type of 
coercion--certainly not with you, who I never want to hurt. I promise 
you I'll never do anything so deceptive again. Can you forgive me?" 
Her voice caught, a little, and he could hear the tears she was 
carefully concealing.

Mulder pulled her into his embrace, resting his cheek on top of her 
head while the water continued to beat down on them. "Of course I can 
forgive you, Scully. At least I know your motives were pure even if I 
didn't care for your method."

She looked up at him and he could see the tears swimming, unshed, in 
her eyes. He kissed what might have been a stray one that she had 
inadvertently released from the side of her face, just below the eye. 
"I know you only wanted to help me, and I never want to lose you."

"You'll never lose me, Mulder. I'll be here for you as long as we're 
both alive." She gave a sad little smile. "However long or short a 
time that may be." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper and she 
tightened her embrace of him. "I love you so much. More than I ever 
thought possible. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."

He ran his hands up and down her wet back, feeling the vertebrae of 
her spine, the bones of her ribs, the strong, well-toned muscles. "If 
we don't know how long we have, we'd better not waste a moment of it," 
he whispered, nipping at her ear again in that special way he had of 
driving her mad with desire. Scully nuzzled closer to him, feeling his 
hardness against her belly. She reached for him with her soft hands 
and soon they forgot about Nancy, and about the improbability of 
sharing a long, happy life together--forgot that the bad guys existed, 
even if it was only for a little while.

*****

Mulder had already dressed, and Scully was in the bathroom drying her 
hair, when the phone rang. Neither could see the other, but both of 
them froze at the identical moment, and both relaxed at the same time, 
she completely and he to a degree. He picked up the cordless telephone 
and stared at it, starting involuntarily when it rang again in his 
hand. Scully emerged from the bathroom, still naked and lovely, a look 
of apprehensive curiosity on her face.

"It could be my mother," she ventured.

He nodded, listening to the phone emit its fourth ring.

"Do you want me to answer it?" she asked, reaching out her hand for 
the phone.

At that Mulder snapped out of his trance and, with a look of extreme 
irritation at himself, savagely pushed the "talk" button and answered 
the telephone. There was a moment of silence on the other end, and 
then a sickeningly familiar laugh assaulted his ears. Scully knew 
instantly who was calling, because Mulder's face went translucent.

"I'm waiting for you to leave, Fox," Nancy informed him. "Just waiting 
for you to leave the safety of your den. That's when I'll finish the 
job I started all those weeks ago. I shouldn't have tried to drag it 
out, I should have been stronger, but I was hoping--"

She was cut off as Scully took the phone from his limp fingers and 
determinedly hung it up. Mulder stood staring straight ahead, much as 
he had the last time he had received a call from Nancy. Half an hour 
after that call Mulder had been on his way to Idaho, held prisoner by 
Nancy, and he had believed Scully dead. She could see him slipping 
into memories as she pulled him close and held him, felt the trembling 
that he didn't even try to control. He was cold, his body in shock, 
and Scully rubbed her hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm 
him.

"Come on, Mulder," she said gently, pulling on his arm to lead him 
back into the kitchen. She sat him down at the table and placed a cup 
of hot coffee carefully into his hands, then disappeared. She returned 
a few moments later, wearing her bathrobe, holding the afghan from her 
couch which she wrapped around his shoulders. Since the time the phone 
had rung Mulder had not spoken a word save for "hello" when he 
answered it. He looked up at her now, his eyes finally focusing, and 
gave a wryly twisted smile.

"Scully, you gotta get Caller ID." She smiled. At least his sense of 
humor had not fled. "I wonder how it'll happen this time," he went on 
conversationally. His casual tone chilled Scully to her bones. He had 
already accepted, given up the fight. If Nancy had knocked on the door 
in the next moment and told him to come with her, Scully had no doubt 
that Mulder would obey, if only to limit the danger to herself. Scully 
knew she had always been a leverage point with Mulder, at least since 
he had begun to care for her so many years ago, and apparently Nancy 
knew it too. It was the only way she had gotten him to cooperate with 
her the first time around this ride.

"Nothing is going to happen this time, Mulder," Scully told him 
firmly. "I am not letting that woman get her hands on you again. 
She'll have to kill me first."

He shook his head and lay it down on the table, nestled in the crook 
of his arm. "You know I can't let that happen, Scully. I'll go with 
her voluntarily before I'll place you in danger."

"Mulder, unless her original goal has changed, I'm already in danger," 
she insisted. "She wanted to make you suffer and she has. Perhaps not 
enough for her taste, but she has at least partially accomplished that 
goal. She wanted me dead, and here I still am. What makes you think 
she won't try and come after me again?"

He repeated to her, finally, the words Nancy had said to him on the 
phone. About leaving his den. About watching him. Waiting for him. He 
had known, though, hadn't he, all along? He'd tried to tell Scully, 
tried to get Dr. Sherwood to listen to him, even tried to tell Skinner 
at one point, but they were all so convinced that all he needed was to 
overcome his fears that they hadn't paid much attention to the fact 
that all those fears hinged on one thing--she was still out there. Now 
Mulder knew he had been right, could even prove it to Scully, but 
there was no satisfaction. Only gut-wrenching terror. This time, he 
knew, would be the last time. This time she wouldn't waste any 
precious moments dragging him off somewhere and torturing him. No, 
this time was the Grand Finale, the Big Finish, the End Game. This 
time he died. Quickly or painfully slowly, it didn't matter, because 
in the end weren't you just as dead? When you floated up to the 
ceiling and saw your lifeless body lying there (as all the near-death 
experience survivors Mulder had talked to reported) did you care how 
you had died? Once your heart stopped beating, your lungs drew their 
final breath, your brain sent its last feeble signals to the rest of 
your body to slow down, slow down boys, easy...steady...STOP!...at 
that point didn't the mechanism of your demise become moot? Mulder 
thought it probably did. He thought it very, very likely.

"Scully, I want you to go on and do your shopping," he said suddenly, 
shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. "Call your mother and 
have her pick you up and you two go on and have a good time."

Scully stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted cabbages from his 
ears. "Mulder, are you crazy? I'm not leaving you alone after that--"

"She said she was waiting for me to leave," he interrupted. "Well, I 
won't leave. Look, Scully," he continued, covering her hands with his, 
"if she wanted to break in here and snatch me she's had ample 
opportunity. You're away every morning and I'm here alone. I think, in 
some weird, twisted way, she wants to tell herself that I came to her. 
She wants me to leave the protection of this place so she can convince 
herself that I came to her willingly."

Scully sighed, exasperated with herself, feeling that Mulder was 
backing her into a corner. She knew there was something not quite 
right about the logic he was using but was unable to put her finger on 
it at the moment. "If that's the case then why call to threaten you?" 
she asked pointedly.

"Maybe it wasn't a threat," he responded immediately, having foreseen 
this line of questioning. "Maybe it was a simple warning. That way, if 
I leave here and she grabs me, she can tell herself that I knew the 
risks, so I must have been agreeing to go with her." He simply had to 
get Scully out of the apartment for a little while so the game could 
play out. It would be hard for her, he knew, but he was so tired, 
exhausted with the watching and waiting, with fighting and losing. It 
was time for surrender. Perhaps with his complete capitulation she 
would be quick and merciful. Either way the board would be cleared. 
Because he had every intention of taking her with him. He couldn't 
leave her alive to be a threat to Scully.

"There is no way I'm leaving you now--" she began but was interrupted 
by the telephone ringing. They both jumped in surprise, and then 
stared at the phone, which sat on the table between them, as if it 
were a snake that might attack them. This time Scully was the one to 
answer.

"Yes?" she asked coolly, wondering what would be the quickest way to 
hunt this woman down and end her life without being accused of murder.

"Dana honey? Are you all right? You sound upset." Maggie Scully's warm 
voice came over then line and immediately Scully's mood changed; the 
feeling of an evil presence was overpowered by the kindness in her 
mother's tone.

"Mom! I--yes, everything's fine..." she started, not quite knowing 
what to say. Although Mrs. Scully was aware of Nancy and the threat to 
Mulder, she had been kept somewhat in the dark about the continued 
existence of that threat. As far as she was concerned things were 
getting back to normal for Fox.

Mulder considered the call from Mrs. Scully to be fate, stepping in to 
lend him a hand, finally on his side. He scooped the phone out of 
Dana's hand and smoothly interrupted the conversation. "Mrs. Scully, 
how are you this morning?" he asked affectionately.

"Why Fox! I'm wonderful, dear, how are you?"

"I'm doing all right. Mrs. Scully, I need to ask you a favor. Will you 
please come pick up your daughter and take her Christmas shopping? She 
had asked me to go but I'm afraid I'm just not feeling up to it today, 
and--"

"I thought you said you were all right," she interrupted anxiously. 
"You're not ill, are you Fox?"

"No ma'am, I'm just not up to facing a crowded mall loaded with 
hostile holiday shoppers," he told her earnestly. "If you'll get me 
off the hook on this one I'll owe you forever."

She laughed. "Well actually, that is the reason I called," she told 
him. "I was hoping I could get Dana to go out with me. I wanted to get 
her opinion on a gift I'm thinking of giving her brother's family. Are 
you sure you don't mind her being gone, Fox?" she added, knowing at 
least that he still had trouble with the solitude.

"Not at all. Scully needs to get out and this sounds like the perfect 
solution." He ignored the glare Scully was giving him, her arms 
crossed and one knee beginning to jump the way it did when she was 
agitated.

He hung up a few moments later and told her, "Your mother will be here 
in twenty minutes. You'd better get dressed." The wolfish grin he gave 
her almost made her forget her anger, but she could see that his face 
was still pale and his hands retained a slight chill.

Scully stared at him intently for a moment, until he finally gave up 
and dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, Scully, but you need to go," he 
mumbled. "I'll be fine here."

She grabbed his chin with both hands and forced him to meet her eyes. 
"Mulder, if I think for one second that you are planning to step one 
foot outside this apartment while I'm gone, I'll handcuff you to the 
bed myself."

The ice in her tone told him how serious she was, and he knew he'd 
better convince her quickly that he meant no such thing. The last 
thing Mulder wanted was to be completely helpless when Nancy arrived. 
He wasn't that ready to give up. He had to at least put up a token 
resistance, if only to salvage his own masculine pride. "Relax, 
Scully," was all he said. "I'm going to lock the door behind you and 
nobody but you is getting in here. I promise." Which wasn't quite 
true, he knew. Nancy would get in. She would find a way, in fact quite 
probably already had a way planned out, but what he meant by his 
promise was that nobody would enter the apartment with his assistance. 
That he could promise with a clear conscience. He may be a dead man, 
but he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for the bitch to take 
him out.

Finally Scully gave in, knowing that when her mother and Mulder put 
their heads together she might as well save herself the trouble of 
arguing. "I won't be gone more than an hour or so," she told him when 
she emerged from the bedroom, the stunningly dressed woman of now 
giving no hint of the stunningly nude woman she had been a few minutes 
earlier. "I want you to lock the door as soon as I'm on the other side 
of it, and don't answer the phone."

"Don't worry," he told her fervently. "And don't hurry, Scully. Spend 
some time with your mom. You're gone at least three hours every work 
day with no mishaps...well, not many anyway," he added, remembering 
the closet incident.

"And you're a basket case half the time I'm away," she reminded him, 
reaching up to kiss him. "Mulder, I just don't feel right about this." 
She broke off as her mother knocked on the apartment door.

"It'll be fine, Scully," he whispered, letting her go so she could let 
Mrs. Scully in.

He practically had to shove Scully out the door, but finally the two 
women took their leave. Once he saw Maggie Scully's car pull away from 
the curb, Mulder took a deep breath. Now. Now it could begin. He 
scanned the street but saw nothing and nobody suspicious. With a wry 
smile he reminded himself that this was Nancy they were talking about, 
Nancy who had inexplicably survived a killer fire, a near-killer 
collision, and who knew what else, in order to get her hands on him. 
Certainly a locked door wasn't going to impede her now. Just because 
he saw no evidence of her presence didn't mean she was nearby. He 
could feel her. He could smell her.

He followed his usual pacing route for the first hour, and finally, 
after nothing untoward happened, began to let himself wonder, even 
hope; perhaps he was wrong, maybe nothing at all was going to happen 
today. He eyed the couch longingly. It had been a long night of not 
much sleep, and even though it went against his nature to admit it, 
Mulder was tired. He was drained from the stress of the past few days 
and the lack of sleep which had ensued due to the increased 
nightmares. Making another round, taking another quick look out the 
window, he decided that maybe he could relax for a few minutes. Mulder 
dropped down onto Scully's couch and positioned himself as comfortably 
as he could, reaching for the remote control, and soon was flipping 
channels, only occasionally letting his eyes flick toward the door or 
window. Eventually he settled on a rerun of an ancient horror movie, 
and pretty soon he felt his lids grow heavy as sleep crept up on him.

Mulder was sure he had only closed his eyes for a few moments when 
something startled him awake. He would never know what had roused him 
but when he opened his eyes he was staring right into hers. Deep green 
eyes, filled with hate, filled with madness, were just inches away 
from his own. It only took him a second to get his bearings and he 
realized what was happening at the exact moment he saw the glint of 
the knife that she raised over her head, intending to plunge it into 
him. In that second Mulder discovered that he wasn't ready to 
surrender, give up the life he was just beginning to make with Scully, 
leave her to cope with his death--wasn't ready to die, dammit! Not 
now, not until he could reclaim his life from this monster was he 
ready to lose it completely. As she brought her arm down he brought 
his up, and the knife glanced off his forearm, slicing it open, but 
not deeply. Mulder never even felt the pain from that wound.

He launched himself at her, shoving her backwards, but she was ready 
for him and he wasn't able to get sufficient leverage from the couch. 
Nancy stumbled backward but regained her balance quickly, and before 
he could push himself off the couch she sank the knife deeply into his 
thigh. Mulder caught his breath, the sudden pain ramming its way 
through his entire leg, and for a moment he was certain that the game 
was over after all. Then anger set in, all the pent-up anger that he 
felt at this woman for the wreck she had made of his existence. 
Ignoring the pain in his leg, ignoring the knife she still held in her 
hand, the knife which now dripped his blood, he grabbed her by the 
arms and threw her across the living room. She hit the front door with 
a THUNK and Mulder felt an evil grin stretch his face when he saw her 
head connect satisfyingly with the wood. She wore a stunned expression 
as her body slid to the floor, but her eyes never closed and she 
didn't lose consciousness. Instead, Nancy pulled herself to her knees, 
then, amazingly, stood up. There was blood dripping from her arm now 
where the knife had cut her during her crash landing, and hers mixed 
with his on the blade which was no longer gleaming silver but a dull 
red.

Nancy took two steps toward him and Mulder, considering whether to 
fight or run, stepped backwards. He felt himself going down as his 
foot caught the leg of the coffee table, and the side of his head 
connected sharply with the edge of it, then slammed to the floor. Only 
semi-conscious, he moaned and rolled onto his back, reaching his hands 
up to grasp his head. In a second she was on him, straddling him, and 
he looked up at her and knew. This time it was really over. He had 
given it his best shot, really tried this time to fight her off, but 
fate, the gods, and the damn furniture were all out to get him. 
Resignedly he gazed up at her and waited, hoping the next slice of the 
knife would be directly through his heart. All the breath left his 
body in a shock when he saw the expression on her face. She was 
looking down at him with sadness, tenderness, and--Mulder was 
certain--love, in her countenance. He suddenly was able to comprehend, 
with a flash of startling insight, just how insane this woman really 
was.

She held the knife high above her head, both hands grasping its handle 
in a classic pose, and the moment seemed suspended in time. He didn't 
try to speak; there was no point. The last pawn, knight and bishop had 
been taken, and now here they were--check, Mulder, you lose. His last 
thought before the blade descended was of Scully, sorry, Scully, 
please forgive me, I tried to win but I never was much of a chess 
player.

*****

Maggie Scully sighed. "Let's go, Dana." Dana glanced sharply at her, 
wondering if her agitation had been that obvious. Her mother smiled at 
her. "I know your mind has been on Fox since we walked out the door. 
I've done all I need to do here, let's go home so you can see that 
he's safe and sound." The grateful smile she gave her mother went 
straight to Maggie's heart.

"Thanks, Mom," she murmured as they headed for the exit.

The ride home was made mostly in silence, with Scully leaning slightly 
forward in her seat as if urging the car onward at greater speeds. 
Maggie drove as fast as she dared, maneuvering the shortest route to 
Dana's apartment.

Something was wrong. Scully could sense it. The sooner she was able to 
see Mulder with her own eyes, see that he was safe, the better she 
would feel.

When the car pulled up in front of Scully's building she didn't even 
wait for her mother to cut the ignition. She jumped out and ran toward 
her apartment, bent on getting to Mulder and reassuring herself that 
the only thing wrong was a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. As she 
approached her front door, Scully heard a loud noise, like that of a 
person falling, and she was certain it was followed by a groan of 
pain. Instantly she drew her weapon and braced herself before opening 
the door as quickly as possible.

She was just in time to see Nancy sink a very large, very sharp 
looking knife into the fleshy part of Mulder's upper arm. She would 
have gotten him right between the ribs but he had managed to twist out 
of the way just in time to save his life.

"Get away from him!" Scully ordered in a loud voice. Nancy looked over 
at her, an expression of total surprise on her face, and in the next 
instant there was a loud report as Scully fired her weapon. A second 
later Nancy's lifeless body was falling onto Mulder and her blood was 
staining his shirt. He had turned his head, amazed at the timing of 
the calvary, when Scully had hollered, and now he collapsed back on to 
the floor, eyes closed, fighting to stay conscious. Scully still 
stood, staring at Nancy's unmoving form.

I had to do it, she told herself. Mulder would never have been free as 
long as this woman lived. Although Scully knew that Nancy was just 
crazy enough to have tried again to kill Mulder even with a gun 
trained on her, at her core she knew that her shot had been, 
technically, unnecessary. Although it might have become necessary in 
the next instant. To hell with technicalities, she told herself 
coldly.

Mulder and Scully were both jarred at the sound of Mrs. Scully's 
voice. "Oh my sweet lord, it's Nancy!" With that, Mrs. Scully fainted 
dead away.

********** 

Chapter 3

**********

Scully watched her mother crumple in a heap on the floor for a moment, 
completely stunned by the words she had just heard issue from the 
woman's mouth, and then ran to her. Mulder weakly shoved at Nancy's 
body, attempting to free himself, and was finally successful. He 
crawled over to the couch and rested his head there, surveying the 
scene before him.

Blood was everywhere, but thankfully most of it wasn't his, although a 
goodly portion of it was. His leg and arm throbbed painfully, as did 
his head where he had banged it, and he fought to quell the nausea 
rising up in his middle. Mrs. Scully's eyes fluttered open as Dana 
gently patted her face, and moments later she was helping her mother 
to a sitting position.

"I'm all right, Dana," she said dully, staring in horror at Nancy's 
corpse. She stood shakily and Scully helped her to her feet.

Turning her attention to Mulder, she saw that he was still lying half 
on, half off the couch, bleeding profusely from a couple of injuries, 
but other than that he seemed largely unharmed. "I need to bandage 
your wounds, Mulder, just let me get Mom onto the couch," she told 
him.

"Scully, I'm ok, really, none of the cuts are very deep," Mulder 
insisted shakily, still gazing at Mrs. Scully in concern. Scully just 
shook her head in irritation at the man who lay slowly bleeding to 
death on her living room carpet, insisting that there was really 
nothing very much wrong with him. How typically Mulder, she thought. 
He could be having a heart attack in the middle of a crowded 
restaurant and he would worry that he might be disturbing someone's 
dinner.

Scully walked her mother to the couch, helping her sit down and lean 
her head back against the pillows. "I'll be fine, Dana, take care of 
Fox," she insisted, moistening her lips and glancing again over at 
Nancy's dead form lying on the rug, then looking quickly away. Scully 
gave her an odd look, but there was no time for explanations just now. 
She hurried to the bathroom and retrieved gauze and an antibiotic 
solution. Taking them back to the living room she helped Mulder remove 
what was left of his shirt and jeans. She quickly cleaned and bandaged 
his wounds, keeping her eyes on her mother when she could.

"You lucked out, Mulder, you're only going to need stitches in a 
couple of them," she commented dryly as Mulder grimaced. Now that the 
adrenaline was wearing off he was really starting to hurt, and not 
just in the two major wounds either. She had gotten in a lot of little 
scratch-like cuts that stung like hell, and he still hadn't told 
Scully about his head. She noticed, though, that his eyes weren't 
quite focusing the way they should and that he seemed more out of it 
than she thought appropriate, so she questioned him and at last 
received an admission that he had, in fact, cracked his thick head 
once again, please God let's pray there's no concussion or they would 
make him stay at the hospital.

Scully called the police to report yet another incident in her 
apartment (getting to be quite a habit, pretty soon the local police 
will have 'Scully Residence' marked in red on all their maps!) and 
assured Mulder that they were on their way. He nodded wearily, leaning 
back against his end of the couch. She noticed the slight shudder that 
ran through his body when his eyes fell on the body at his feet, and 
saw the way he drew them up under himself. He was wearing only his 
boxers, and Scully quickly went into the bedroom and rummaged through 
his drawer, returning with a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. 
She helped Mulder dress, which wore him completely out after his 
trauma, coupled with the amount of blood he had lost, and settled him 
back as comfortably as she could. Then she turned her attention to her 
mother, who appeared to have made a complete recovery, although her 
face was still a bit pale and her hands a tad shaky. "Now, Mom," she 
began. "Want to tell me what's going on here? How do you know this 
woman?"

Mulder stared at her questioningly as well, and Mrs. Scully faced the 
two of them, swallowing hard. "It's--it's rather a long story, I'm 
afraid, and--somewhat personal." She turned to Mulder and asked 
tentatively, "Fox, is this the woman who's been...hurting you?" He 
nodded painfully.

Scully glanced at her partner and noticed his pallor. He was beginning 
to break out in a sweat and she knew that shock was going to hit him 
full force in a few minutes if she didn't do something. She was trying 
to decide whether or not to load him in her car and drive him to the 
hospital herself when she finally heard the wail of sirens outside. 
Glancing out the window she saw two police cars and an ambulance 
arriving at the curb. "Mom, I have to take Mulder to his favorite 
hospital. Will you be all right here? You should go lie down. The 
police are going to want a statement but it'll have to wait until I 
see to Mulder."

"Go, Dana, I'll be fine. I'll tell the police what I know and then 
join you at the hospital in a little while." Seeing her daughter's 
worried look, her face softened. "I'll be fine, dear. I've just had a 
bit of a shock is all."

Scully wanted to know more, much more, but right now it would have to 
wait. The paramedics had entered and were examining Mulder, concerned 
both with his head injury and the amount of blood he had lost.

"Do you happen to know your blood type, Sir?" she heard one of them 
ask him.

Since Mulder seemed too dazed to answer, she did it for him. "This is 
my partner, Fox Mulder. Your hospital has a chart six inches thick on 
him, I'm sure. His blood type is O-negative." The paramedic grimaced 
and she smiled at him. "Yeah, I know, but nothing is ever easy with 
Mulder."

"Scully?" Mulder's voice came tremulously from the gurney as they 
began to wheel him out the door. "Are you sure she's..."

"Yes, Mulder, she is definitely dead. My bullet went right through her 
heart," Scully reassured him. "You'll never have to worry about her 
again, I promise."

She took his hand and squeezed it for a moment, and was relieved to 
see him relax back onto the pillow and close his eyes. He still 
trusted her.

*****

Two days later, Mulder and Scully sat in Maggie's kitchen sipping 
cocoa, waiting for the explanation they had both been aching to hear 
ever since they realized that she knew the woman who lay dead on 
Scully's living room floor. Mulder had been released from the hospital 
after an overnight observational period. It hadn't been another 
concussion, but his head still ached badly if he moved too quickly, as 
did his arm and thigh. He had steadfastly refused his painkillers, 
however, and Scully was afraid that somehow, deep in his subconscious, 
he wasn't convinced of Nancy's death. He still didn't want to find 
himself helplessly under the influence of any type of drug, even 
prescription ones.

Mrs. Scully leaned back away from the kitchen table, setting her mug 
carefully down. She looked at the young, expectant faces across from 
her, both intensely interested in her story. "It was a long time ago," 
she started, gazing over their shoulders as if seeing years into the 
past. "It was just about the time I found out I was pregnant with you, 
Dana, when my youngest sister came to me with a problem. Mary and I 
were always close and I suppose she felt she could confide in me." She 
paused and Mulder leaned forward, resting his chin in the hand of his 
good arm, never taking his eyes off her face. "It wasn't the kind of 
problem young, unwed Catholic girls wanted to find themselves with, 
and our parents weren't the most understanding in the world."

"Aunt Mary was pregnant," Scully guessed, and Maggie nodded sadly.

"She was afraid to tell our parents, and she wanted me to help her 
out. Your father and I were living in California at the time and Mary 
asked if she could come and stay with us until the baby was born." She 
smiled through the tears that were beginning. "Your Dad always had a 
soft spot in his heart for Mary, and he agreed to let her move in. We 
even discussed taking the baby to raise, but we were so poor back then 
and we already had Missy and Bill Jr., and you on the way. Pretty soon 
Mary and I were visiting the doctor together for our prenatal visits 
and our due dates were within two weeks of each other."

Maggie paused, gathering her thoughts. Dana's eyes widened and she 
motioned for her mother to please go on with the story. "Anyway, to 
make a long story short, Mary went into labor and a few hours later, 
so did I. You came early, Dana, and you and Mary's child were born on 
the same day." Her tears were rolling freely down her face now and 
Mulder removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her 
silently. "She never even got to hold her baby. The adoption agency 
already had a family lined up to take her, and Mary never even saw her 
own child." She wiped away her tears and smiled a little. "That's why 
she always doted on you, Dana. I think she felt you were a substitute 
for the daughter she had given up."

"So what does all this have to do with--oh no, tell me it's not true!" 
Scully's own tears began to form as she realized what her mother was 
leading up to.

"Nancy came to visit me last year; her adoptive parents were both dead 
but her mother had told her the story of her birth before she died. 
I'm afraid her adoptive parents were...quite abusive. I got the 
feeling, talking to her, that she hadn't mourned their deaths at all. 
Once they were gone she felt free to pursue her biological family. She 
found that your Aunt Mary was dead, so I was the next best thing. And 
I told her..." She put her face in her hands and began sobbing, and 
Dana reached across the table to lay her hand on her mother's 
shoulder. "I told her all about our family, you, your job, and you, 
Fox. I told her about you, and I showed her pictures! She even 
commented that you were very handsome but I never dreamed--if this is 
all my fault--" Mrs. Scully broke off then, unable to continue.

Mulder was on his feet and pulling her into his arms in seconds. "Shh, 
no, no, nothing is your fault," he crooned into her ear. "Nobody could 
have known, you didn't do anything wrong, it's not your fault."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through it all, Fox," she sobbed, clinging 
to him and wetting his shirt front with her tears. Mulder looked 
helplessly over at Scully, wondering what to say. He was awful in 
these situations, always awkwardly certain that whatever platitude he 
uttered would be absolutely the wrong thing.

"Oh, Mom, don't," Scully said, leaning her head on her mother's 
shoulder comfortingly. "Don't blame yourself. None of this is your 
fault. How could you have possibly known?"

"I should have known, Dana. After all that's happened to you and Fox 
in the last few years, I shouldn't have been so trusting. Only--"

"What?" asked Mulder softly.

"She really was who she said she was, of that I'm certain. She had her 
birth certificate, and pictures of her adoptive parents as well as my 
sister."

"Mom," Scully said, taking her hand and leading her to the living room 
couch. She leaned her head again on Maggie's shoulder and asked 
quietly, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"She asked me not to mention it to anyone. She just wanted to meet me, 
to see what her other family was like, she said. We spent the 
afternoon together and I showed her all the pictures and told her all 
the family stories I could think of. She seemed to have a wonderful 
time, but when the day was over she told me that she didn't want to 
disrupt our lives, didn't want to tarnish Mary's memory. Nobody knew 
that Mary had a child out of wedlock all these years except her, your 
father, and me. And the adoptive family, of course, but we never 
expected to hear from them. Mary left a week after the birth to go to 
secretarial school, and while she was here she kept to herself. She 
was a very small woman like you, Dana, and even in her ninth month it 
was difficult to tell she was pregnant if she was wearing loose 
clothing."

"But what about Missy and Billy?" Dana was amazed that her older 
brother and sister had lived in the house with their aunt during her 
pregnancy and not known of this mysterious cousin's existence.

"Oh, they were so young, it all just went right by them. Missy was not 
quite three, and Billy was barely walking. They didn't know anything 
about it."

The idea that she had been, even marginally, responsible for Mulder's 
ordeal would not leave her mind, and she turned to him with sorrowful 
eyes. "Fox, you know I love you like a son, don't you?" she asked 
earnestly.

He grinned. "I've gotten that impression a time or two," he admitted.

"So you understand why this is so upsetting to me."

He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his face. "Mrs. 
Scully, if there's one thing I've learned in the past few months it's 
that sometimes things just happen to you that you have no control 
over, and blaming yourself only makes it worse. There's no way at all 
you could have known that she was going to do what she did. I 
certainly don't blame you in any way, you know that don't you?"

She gave him a small smile and nodded. "I knew you wouldn't, you're 
much too sweet for that."

He stood up and stretched, then leaned over to give Scully's mother a 
quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry yourself about this," he told 
her, cupping her chin in his hand, gently forcing her to meet his 
eyes. "Any atonement you may feel is necessary was taken care of when 
you came out west to stay with me. I know you really wanted to be with 
Dana, and it was incredibly kind of you to sacrifice like that for 
me."

She nodded slightly and bid them goodbye.

*****

"Scully, I have to ask you to do something for me. Something 
unconventional--maybe even unethical--and I need to know that I can 
count on you." Mulder put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to 
look him in the eyes, to see the earnest need his held.

"What is it, Mulder?" she asked cautiously, almost afraid to learn 
what unorthodox request he would be making of her now. Mulder, she had 
learned, was capable of asking anything, and he would wait patiently 
until she came to the decision on her own to follow him, which they 
both knew she would always do. Still, a token protest was part of the 
ritual.

"Autopsy," he said softly. "Cut her up for me, Scully. And let me 
watch."

"An autopsy!" she exclaimed. Scully couldn't have been more surprised 
if he had asked her to commit cold-blooded murder. "Mulder, there's no 
need! She died from a direct bullet wound to the chest. I should know, 
I put it there."

"Scully, she's been dead before!" His voice shook as he swung away 
from her, unwilling for her to see the pain etched on his face. She 
stood silently, waiting for him to regain his composure. "I need to 
know she's never coming back," he told her quietly. "Maybe it's not 
rational, but after all I've been through I need this, Scully. Will 
you give it to me? Will you bend the rules for me one more time?"

Scully heaved a deep sigh. She hated being unable to resist him, his 
liquid eyes, his pouting lip, his tone of supplication. Hated this 
part of herself but could not deny its existence. "Mulder, what you're 
asking me to do amounts to fraud. There is absolutely no reason for me 
to perform an autopsy."

"Manufacture one. Oh come on, Scully," he said impatiently, fearing 
she was about to refuse him, knowing that his future peace hinged 
entirely on her acquiescence to his request. "It wouldn't be the first 
time we've lied to protect ourselves. They don't play by the rules; 
this time we won't either."

"Mulder, They had nothing to do with this! This is not some quest for 
a truth, this is just your own insecurity talking! She's dead, Mulder. 
I promise you, this time she is truly dead and she is never coming 
back." Scully placed her hand gently on his arm, trying to convey her 
sincerity to him, but he turned away again and combed his fingers 
desperately through his hair--a sure sign that he was more upset than 
he wanted to let on.

"Scully, please." His voice was flat, as if he were attempting to 
conceal the emotion there, as if she didn't know that he was in 
turmoil. "I need this. I know you don't understand but I need this. 
Please--don't make me beg."

She knew she would do it. He knew she would do it. Keeping up the 
pretense a moment longer, she tried once more to talk to him 
rationally. "Tell me why. Why do you need to see it, Mulder?"

He didn't answer, just turned those eyes of his on her. Scully waited, 
steeling herself against the effect it had on her heartbeat. The last 
thing Mulder needed right now was her pity. She was trying Dr. 
Sherwood's trick of waiting him out. To her immense surprise, it 
worked. Running his hand through his already thoroughly mussed hair 
one more time, he swung around to face her almost viciously. "I want 
to see her cut up, destroyed!" he said in fierce whisper. "I want to 
watch while you rip out her heart and lungs and brain. I want to know 
that there is no way, barring the paranormal, that she can ever hurt 
me again."

She stared at him in wonder. She wanted to remind him that he believed 
in the paranormal, but decided that given his state of mind she 
probably shouldn't. She had never seen Mulder this way. Of all the 
after-effects of his ordeal she had seen him fight his way through, in 
spite of what he thought she thought, this was the only one she had 
ever found irrational. His other fears she had been able to pin 
logical reasons on, point to the cause and say that's it, that's why 
he's afraid of being alone or that's why crowds of people frighten 
him. This time she reached deep into her mind to search out an excuse 
for Mulder's bizarre request and was able to turn up nothing. Nada. 
Zip. This was simply an out-and-out weird thing he was asking her to 
do. Weird and illegal. It occurred to her briefly that perhaps this 
time Mulder wasn't playing the game--that maybe he truly thought she 
would refuse him.

"I just don't understand this, Mulder."

"You don't have to understand, you just have to do it!" The fierceness 
in his tone startled her. "I'm haunted by these memories and unless I 
can see for myself that she's dead--as dead as I need her to be--five 
sessions a week with Dr. Sherwood for the rest of my life won't change 
things. This is what I need. Just this, and I can lay the memories to 
rest." Suddenly realizing how unstable he must appear to her, his 
hands loosened the grip he had taken on her arms and his face changed. 
In the space of a second he went from frightening intensity to 
helpless entreaty. "Please, Scully. Help me. You're the only one who 
can."

She was his. She knew she was his and she cursed the day she had 
fallen in love with Fox Mulder. There was no other man--no other 
person on the face of the earth that could persuade her to do what she 
was about to do for him. Shrugging her shoulders at last, she nodded 
her agreement. It saddened her to see his look of overwhelming 
gratitude. And abject relief. Pulling him into her arms, Scully lay 
her head on his chest and closed her eyes. If this would save him, she 
would do it. Of course she would do it. This was the man with whom she 
would willingly share heaven or hell. Her heart had long ago made that 
decision and now she had no choice but to follow. If she had the power 
to take away a little of the hell, of course she would do it. For him.

*****

Mulder watched impassively as Scully cut into the dead flesh of the 
woman who had been her biological first cousin. He had been certain, 
when they first entered the morgue, that the body would be missing, 
was almost surprised to find it tucked safely into its little drawer 
where it belonged, unchanged from when it had been placed there. The 
hole Scully's bullet had made in Nancy's chest was a testament to the 
fact that this living, breathing human was no more. Blood that had 
welled out of the wound as her life faded away was now crusted and 
dark against the pale skin. The only thing Mulder could bring himself 
to feel was anxiety. He was searching for deliverance.

He had known just how big the favor was that he was asking of her, and 
had already determined that he would spend the rest of his life 
repaying her for it. He didn't even want to know the lie she had made 
up in order to be able to perform this autopsy. He suspected it had 
something to do with checking for traces of drugs in the body, but he 
would never ask and Scully had not volunteered the information. That 
she had never known this woman in life did not change the fact that 
she was Scully's actual blood relative, either, and Mulder was well 
aware of that. It had weighed heavily on his conscience and he had 
done a huge amount of soul searching before finally reluctantly 
reaching the decision that he would never sleep peacefully again 
unless Scully helped him out. She had lied for him before, and engaged 
in activities of one sort or another that were perhaps outside the 
boundaries of the law, but Mulder had never asked her to do it. She 
had voluntarily placed herself in compromising positions because she 
had chosen to follow him. This time he'd had to ask, and he knew she 
had only given in because she loved him and couldn't refuse his 
pleading. Mulder had been on very thin ice with her and he was well 
aware of how precarious the situation was.

The dissection of human corpses had never ranked among Mulder's top 
three list of spectator sports; he had tried to avoid viewing the 
actual cutting in the past, always managing to show up just in time 
for Scully to review her findings with him, but usually after the body 
was safely wrapped and covered. It was funny, he reflected, the things 
that didn't bother him and the things that turned his stomach upside 
down. Scully had looked askance at him a time or two at the beginning 
of the procedure, but he had remained grimly determined to view the 
entire grisly happening and so far he had stayed with her. When she 
had made the first cut he had bent over slightly, and Scully thought 
for a moment he was searching, watching, listening for any sign of 
life from the corpse. With a shiver she realized that what Mulder was 
feeling was a depth of emotion of which she could only speculate. She 
had already made up her mind that if Mulder passed out on her the 
autopsy was finished, but he showed every sign of sticking with her to 
the end. Mentally detaching herself from the situation at hand, Scully 
resolutely pressed forward, anxious to finish her task.

Much later, when she finally completed the final step in her procedure 
and removed her apron, goggles and latex gloves, she looked up to find 
a difficult-to-read expression on Mulder's handsome face. Was it 
relief? Satisfaction? Triumph? She thought uncomfortably that it might 
have been a combination of the three, as well as something else she 
couldn't quite identify. Perhaps something she didn't want to 
identify. Something akin to glee. Something she didn't want to see in 
Mulder. Not now, not here, among the shells of humanity that 
surrounded them.

"Dead, Mulder." Scully's voice was a monotone. She had been completely 
drained by this experience. "Never coming back. Are you satisfied 
now?"

His eyes shone his thanks at her as he took her face in his hands and 
kissed her softly on the lips. "I know how hard this was for you, 
Scully," he whispered in her ear as he pulled her close for a 
comforting hug. "I only hope you realize how important it was to me." 
His eyes drifted over to the body of the woman who had caused him so 
much physical and emotional torment in the last few months. She was 
nothing but a wrapped white parcel now, one whose organs had been 
removed and replaced for the sole purpose of reassuring him of her 
true demise. If Mulder had ever doubted that Scully was the best thing 
to ever cross his path, those doubts were erased now. She clung to him 
for a moment longer and then pulled back.

"I've got the paperwork still to do," she told him wearily. "I'll meet 
you back at the apartment in a couple of hours." She tried to keep her 
voice even as she spoke, not wanting to betray the emotion she was 
fighting right now. This woman had been her cousin. If things had been 
different they might have grown up laughing and playing together. 
Having been born on the same day they would have felt a special bond, 
she thought, that would have made them closer than most first cousins 
would be. They might have had certain nicknames for each other, or 
code-words that would have sent them into peals of secretive laughter 
while the adults in their lives looked on in puzzled amusement. 
Perhaps Nancy would have married, and Dana could have been maid of 
honor at her wedding. She might have gone into a highly trained 
profession as well--perhaps becoming a doctor like Dana, or a lawyer 
or a physicist. All of the wasted potential now lay on the table 
before Scully wound in a white cloth, ready to be prepared for burial, 
and suddenly she wanted to cry and scream out her frustration at the 
injustice in the world that had taken this person, who had once been 
an innocent child, and turned her into the monster that had almost 
killed the man Scully loved.

*****

"I thought I'd find you here," the voice behind him said easily. All 
traces of the strain of the last few days had disappeared from her 
voice and her face, and she was once again the woman he had come to 
know and rely on as his rock. Mulder rose from where he had been 
squatting beside the grave and brushed the dirt off the knee of his 
pants. Scully noted that lying in front of the tombstone was a single 
white rose. She cocked an eyebrow at it and waited for an explanation.

He shrugged. "I guess it was my way of telling her all is forgiven."

"Is that the truth?"

He shook his head slowly, considering her question. "I really don't 
think it was her fault, Scully. I think her mind was so twisted by her 
experiences as a child that she was incapable of rational thought. She 
developed an attachment to me based on no more than a photograph. To 
her distorted way of thinking she was showing me affection by her 
abuse. She truly wanted to help me, to make me happy, but in her world 
that meant pain and eventual death."

Scully gave a short laugh. "Only you, Mulder. Only you would find a 
way to forgive a person that had put you through so much."

He smiled briefly. "I think she wanted help but was so far gone she 
didn't really know how to get it. She had a special connection with 
you, maybe subconsciously she felt you were her last hope."

"A connection with me?" Scully was puzzled. "Mulder, we never even 
knew each other. The only words I ever spoke to her came just before I 
put a bullet through her heart. Not what you'd call a formal 
introduction."

"I've been thinking a lot about that, turning it over in my mind," he 
told her as they began their walk back to the cars. "Those dreams you 
had, Scully--we both thought they were because of the bond you have 
with me, because of our love for each other, but now I think we were 
mistaken. They were a link to her. Somewhere deep inside herself, I 
think Nancy recognized that what she was doing was wrong. I think she 
wanted you to rescue me, maybe even to rescue her from herself. 
Somehow she formed a...togetherness...with you all those years ago 
when the two of you were born, on the same day and in the same place 
and to two mothers who were sisters."

Scully considered this as she reached out for his hand. He had become 
more precious to her lately, and she found she wanted to touch him 
often simply for the sake of reassuring herself that he was flesh and 
blood, and still hers, and safe. "If that were true," she found 
herself arguing, "why didn't she reach out to me during all those 
years of her childhood when she was being abused? Why not call out for 
help then?"

He played with her fingers lightly, leaning up against his car and 
pulling Scully into his embrace to rest his chin on top of her head. 
"Maybe because she didn't know of you then," he suggested. "Her 
subconscious couldn't call out to you because she didn't know about 
you. By the time she discovered your existence it was too late. Her 
parents were dead, the abuse had ended, but she had already traveled 
so far down her road of insanity that there was no turning back."

"But she planned to kill me too, Mulder," she reminded him. "Why would 
she do that if what you're saying is true?"

"Scully, our unconscious minds think things every day that our 
conscious selves don't know about or understand. I think somehow Nancy 
was operating on two different levels at the same time. Rational and 
completely irrational." He cupped her face in his hands and gazed down 
at her sadly. "I don't want to think about it anymore," he told her. 
"It's truly over now. I just want to forget about it and move on with 
our lives; maybe Skinner will assign us a nice little mutant serial 
killer case now. Something to ease me back into work gently."

Scully laughed as she pulled him down for a quick kiss. "You really 
don't believe in doing things the easy way, do you Mulder?" she 
teased, and felt immeasurable relief when she saw the answering gleam 
in his eyes.

She embraced him again, a wave of sadness for the woman in the grave 
washing over her. "How could anyone do it, Mulder? How could a couple 
go to all the trouble of adopting a baby only to mistreat her to the 
point of turning her into a madwoman?"

He sighed, feeling her sorrow and sharing it. "I don't know, Scully. I 
guess there are monsters out there that even our investigations will 
never explain."

He opened the door and climbed into his brand new car, the one she had 
helped him pick out only the day before. This afternoon they were 
going furniture shopping so he could begin making his empty apartment 
into a home again. He wasn't completely recovered, and maybe he never 
would be. Perhaps the scars that didn't heal he would bury along with 
the rest of the battle wounds he lived with on a daily basis. One 
thing Scully was certain of, though. Mulder, the real Mulder, her 
Mulder, was back. She was determined to make sure a bed was his first 
major purchase. Although they weren't ready to deal with the 
inevitable complications, mostly in their work lives, that living 
together would bring, she intended most of their nights from now on to 
be spent together. And someday, maybe....she even allowed herself to 
dream.

THE END