SHADOW
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 some mild (very mild)
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

**********

"Gimme something smaller." The old man gruffly thrust the ten dollar bill 
back into Mulder's hand.

"What?" Fox Mulder asked vaguely, confused, taking the money because there 
is nothing else to do, really, when someone pokes it at you like that. 
Letting ten dollars blow away on the street was unthinkable. Mulder had 
stopped having his newspaper delivered to his door when one of his 
neighbors (he knew which one, or at least had strong suspicions, but could 
prove nothing) had taken to stealing it several mornings a week. Now he 
stopped off here on weekday mornings for his daily dose of world, city and 
neighborhood happenings as well as Charlie's irascible wit. He was used to 
Charlie being a little out of sorts, but today the elderly man seemed even 
more grumpy than usual.

"I don't want no tens for a fifty cent newspaper. Uses up all my change. 
Give me a smaller bill or put it back." He glared at Mulder.

Mulder rolled his eyes and dug through his wallet, irritated, searching for 
a smaller bill. "You know, Charlie, you really ought to lay off the third 
cup of coffee in the mornings," he cracked, handing the man a one.

Charlie snatched the dollar from Mulder and practically threw his change at 
him. Mulder accepted it silently, wondering what had gotten into the 
newsstand owner. "You all right, Charlie?" he asked before turning to go.

"Fine. Leave a guy alone and let me work," Charlie told him tersely, 
already sizing up his next customer, an attractive brunette woman.

Mulder shook his head and left the stand, concerned about Charlie, but soon 
forgot the man and his attitude. He headed into the Hoover building down 
the block. Another day, same old grind, he thought. He barely noticed the 
woman behind him approach Charlie with a gleam in her eye; his mind was on 
the newspaper in his hand, searching the inside pages for stories that 
might be more than they initially appeared. She was tall and slender and 
wore a long trench coat similar to Mulder's own, her hands concealed in the 
pockets.

The woman shook her head at Charlie, indicating that she wished to inspect 
his wares before making a selection, and he nodded to her and turned his 
back, leaning down to restock some of his better selling papers and 
magazines while this lull in customers continued. Unnoticed by Charlie, she 
closed in behind him and removed her right hand from her coat. A few 
seconds later, Charlie felt a sharp pain in his lower back and fell to the 
ground, gasping for air. He stared up into the cold eyes of the woman 
standing above him. She had a smile on her face. A chilling smile, one that 
he had never seen before. A smile of pure evil. His eyes drifted downward 
as his vision began to fade, and the last sight Charlie's dying eyes saw 
was her wiping his blood off the knife onto her jeans. She let her long 
coat fall closed, covering the bloodstain and when the life had gone 
completely out of his body, she quickly walked away, not looking back.

*****

"Good morning, Mulder," Scully greeted him when he entered the office. She 
was wearing the dark blue suit today, the one that made her eyes sparkle. 
Scully would have been flabbergasted if she had any idea the close 
attention Mulder paid to her wardrobe. There was the tan suit that set off 
her hair to perfection, in his opinion, and that very pale pink silk blouse 
she wore with several different skirts and pantsuits always sent his heart 
racing--the neckline of it curved downward just enough to allow a hint of 
cleavage to peek out, just enough to distract him when he was sitting at 
his desk trying desperately to concentrate on some boring piece of 
necessary paperwork. Today it was the blue one, his personal favorite. It 
molded to the curves of her body perfectly, not too loose, not too tight, 
just right for tantalizing him. Mulder often thought that he should ask 
Scully to wear that suit when she was interrogating a male suspect. A man 
would have to be either gay or dead not to be knocked out by the sight of 
her in that outfit. If he ever made such a request of her, though, he was 
certain she would cut him dead, perhaps even take a swing at him if she was 
having a bad day. Best not to antagonize Scully. For a small person she 
certainly was lethal when she wanted to be.

For that very reason he bit back the observation that wanted to come to his 
lips. Complimenting one another's appearance was something the two of them 
had carefully avoided since early on in their partnership, only straying 
outside those boundaries a time or two when the situation seemed to warrant 
it. Instead of telling her she looked beautiful, which was what he was 
thinking, he merely commented, "You're here early." He usually beat her in 
by at least half an hour, but here she sat, case file already open in front 
of her on the desk, her glasses perched on her nose, intently studying the 
pages in her hands.

"I woke up about five this morning and couldn't sleep anymore," she told 
him, neglecting to mention that it was a dream about him that had awakened 
her. Scully couldn't remember the last time she had had such a vivid dream. 
And what a dream it had been...Mulder trapped, helpless, frightened, 
calling for her. She had sat up straight in bed like a shot, hearing his 
scream of terror, and then realized with a sudden rush of relief that it 
had only been a nightmare. She had switched on the bedside lamp hastily in 
order to banish the images that still flung themselves through her mind, 
and had lain back on the pillow, sweating, breathing harshly, forcing her 
heart to slow down to a normal rate. After an unsuccessful half hour of 
trying to get back to sleep, Scully had finally thrown back the covers 
unhappily. She decided to dress and go to the office early. She wanted to 
be there when Mulder arrived. She wanted to see with her own eyes that he 
was unhurt, to be able to dismiss the trepidation the dream had left in her 
without having to tell him about it. If Mulder knew she was having dreams 
about him he'd never let her live it down, even if this particular dream 
wasn't a pleasant one (and why couldn't it be? If she had to dream about 
Mulder, why not one of those pleasant, excitingly erotic dreams she often 
had of him while she was completely awake, huh? ). "I came in and found 
this on your desk. Did you leave it here?" she asked, holding it up so he 
could see the name on the front.

He took a look at it and came closer, reading over her shoulder with 
interest. "No, I've never seen it before. Skinner must have put it there," 
he said, cracking a sunflower seed in her ear.

The case in question dealt with a series of murders by a man named Gale 
Aspen, who had actually been apprehended--several times. Each time he had 
managed to escape from jail, although no one was quite sure how. The latest 
such incident had occurred in Dallas three weeks earlier. Aspen had 
confessed to each and every crime but nobody had been able to hold him long 
enough to bring him to trial. In each case he seemed to have simply 
disappeared from his cell during the night. When the morning watch came on 
duty they found only an empty cell, still locked, no signs of disturbance, 
no fingerprints, no clues of any kind.

"Well what do you think, Mulder? Think Aspen has a way of walking through 
walls?" Scully asked teasingly. She rose from the chair, partly to face him 
and partly to get away from the smell of his aftershave, which was doing 
brutal things to her pulse rate at that moment.

"Don't laugh, Scully. With everything you've seen since you were paired up 
with me, you should know by now that almost anything's possible," he said, 
taking the file from her and taking the seat she had vacated. He leaned 
back, cracking open another seed, gazing thoughtfully at the papers in 
front of him. "Could be an accomplice of some sort..."

"I think that's the most likely scenario," Scully told him dryly, hoping 
this wouldn't turn out to be another one of those cases.

"But he's escaped from jails in Los Angeles, Denver, Baton Rouge and now 
Dallas," he pointed out. "How does his accomplice manage to gain access to 
these places unnoticed? And how does he get Aspen out?"

"Maybe he works as a guard," she suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

"That should be easy enough to check out. These crimes all occurred within 
a six month period. The accomplice would have to be flitting from job to 
job at a rapid rate."

Scully reached for the telephone and half an hour later had her answer. 
"While all of these areas have a fairly high turnover rate among their 
guards, none of them coincide with all of our crimes. It could be more than 
one accomplice, I suppose," she speculated, searching for some answer that 
would be acceptable to her scientific nature. She was perfectly aware of 
where Mulder's mind would be heading, if not already then soon, and she 
wanted to avoid a trip down Paranormal Alley today if possible. She was 
just too tired to try and explain away his theories this morning.

"Yeah, or maybe he just bribes someone on the inside every place he's 
incarcerated," Mulder mused, not really believing it but wanting to cover 
all the bases for Scully's sake before he took her carefully-thought-out 
theories away from her with a yank.

"I thought about that too, but it seems unlikely to me that it could happen 
four times. Too convenient. I also asked and found that there aren't any 
instances of guards leaving suddenly after Aspen escaped," Scully told him. 
"Except for the one in L.A. The guard responsible for Aspen's area was 
fired after his disappearance."

"Looks like we'll have to talk to quite a few people, Scully." He sighed. 
"Maybe we can do most of it on the telephone from D.C., but unless we can 
find an easy solution we're going to have to examine the scenes. All four 
of them." He shook his head, weary of the travel. They had just returned 
from a particularly grueling case in Idaho and they were both exhausted. 
The prospect of flying to four major cities in the next few days appealed 
to neither of them.

The two agents spent the remainder of the morning either talking to various 
officials on the telephone in the four cities or discussing possible 
solutions with each other. By noon they were no closer to solving the case 
than when they had started. None of the guards or jail employees had a clue 
as to how Aspen might have escaped. The man Scully talked to at the Dallas 
County Jail had told her they prided themselves on the fact that there had 
been only three escapes from their jail in the past fifty years. Including 
Aspen.

Their discussion continued throughout the trip to their favorite nearby 
taco restaurant for lunch. They were sitting at their table tossing ideas 
back and forth, when suddenly raised voices invaded their conversation. 
Scully glanced over and saw that the two men at the next table had begun 
arguing animatedly, one of them gesturing wildly as he tried to convince 
his friend to see an idea from his perspective. Mulder raised his eyebrow 
at her, perplexed at the lack of maturity some supposedly grown people 
displayed in public, and the two of them stared at each other in amazement 
as the argument escalated. Moments later the two men rose to their feet, 
facing each other down fiercely. The most aggressive of the two stood at 
least a foot taller than the other, and his face was red and scowling as he 
towered over his friend.

"Hey, calm down," Mulder said soothingly, trying to ease the tension 
between the men, but his efforts were in vain. The taller man simply glared 
at him while the other ignored him completely, totally bent by now on 
making his point through whatever means he deemed necessary. The situation 
ended abruptly when the man who had scowled at Mulder took a sudden swing 
at his friend. The smaller man staggered backwards, bumping into the table 
that held the agents' lunch, and fell to the floor. While Scully jumped up 
to assist the injured man his attacker stalked out of the restaurant. With 
a mumbled expletive, Mulder brushed away the ice from his soft drink which 
had landed in his lap and, seeing that Scully had the situation pretty well 
under control, headed for the mens' room to try and clean himself off.

Ten minutes later, after Scully had ascertained that the victim had 
sustained no serious damage, the partners left the restaurant, starting for 
their car. Their attention was drawn a few paces down the sidewalk where a 
crowd of people were gathered in a circle, their voices raised in surprise 
and agitation. Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance and proceeded to 
investigate. Crowds of agitated people on a public street were almost never 
a good thing. Pushing their way past the onlookers they got a good look at 
what had attracted so much attention.

"Oh my God!" Scully exclaimed.

On the pavement in front of them lay the man who had hit his companion in 
the restaurant just a few minutes earlier. Blood pooled out from under him 
in a continually spreading circle, staining the grey sidewalk a deep 
crimson with every inch it traveled.

Regaining her composure seconds later, Scully commanded, "Back off, 
everyone." Even before she could think she was reaching for her cell phone.

"I've got it, Scully," Mulder told her, already connected with a 911 
operator. "Can you tell what happened to him? Is he alive?"

She shook her head. "He's dead, Mulder. It looks as if he was stabbed in 
the kidney," she said. "With a very large knife or some other object--he 
must have died within minutes."

"F.B.I.," Mulder said, pulling out his identification and flashing it at 
the crowd of onlookers. "Did anyone see anything? Anything at all?" Most of 
the crowd were lunchtime people, on their way to or from their jobs, and 
they didn't really want to get involved; it wasn't as if murder was 
uncommon in Washington D.C. although this was generally considered a fairly 
safe area. Mulder suppressed a grim smile as the people around him began to 
slowly back away, almost in unison. He had seen this before. Nobody wanted 
to talk to the F.B.I.

Except one. "I saw it," said a boy of about fourteen, approaching Mulder 
hesitantly.

"What's your name?" Mulder questioned. The kid couldn't possibly be past 
seventh grade, in Mulder's estimation, and it was a school day. Probably 
the child of parents who were either uncaring or unaware--the boy looked as 
if he spent a good deal of his time roaming the streets rather than 
studying algebra.

"Shawn," the boy replied.

"Why aren't you in school, Shawn?"

Shawn shrugged, glancing away from Mulder's eyes. "I ditched," he said 
simply.

Mulder gave a small grimace but decided to ignore the indiscretion. Truancy 
wasn't exactly a Bureau matter and he needed help from this kid--best not 
to alienate him. "Can you tell me what you saw?" he asked kindly.

"There was a lady." Shawn glanced nervously around at the crowd of his 
fellow-onlookers, but they were already beginning to dissipate. He stubbed 
the toe of his sneakers repeatedly on the sidewalk, almost beginning to 
wish he hadn't spoken up.

"A lady? What did she do?" Mulder kept his voice even and gentle, hoping to 
put the boy at ease. Although he hadn't been one to cut classes much as a 
teenager, in some ways he saw himself in Shawn. The teenager had the look 
of a boy who was left too often to fend for himself. Mulder could remember 
days and weeks with little or no interaction with his parents beyond the 
standard "good morning" and "good night". Unlike Shawn, he had escaped into 
his studies, seeing them as his way to freedom. Shawn's outlet was 
obviously different--Mulder would be willing to bet the kid was a whiz at 
arcade games.

"She came up behind him and stuck a big knife in him, and then she ran off. 
That way," he said, pointing to the left.

"Do you remember what she looked like?"

"She had really short, brown hair, almost cut like yours. I remember 
thinking it was a weird hairstyle for a woman. And she was tall, taller 
than me."

Mulder ran in the direction indicated, calling, "Wait right here!" over his 
shoulder to Shawn. He hoped the woman might still be in the area. Glancing 
down alleys and into shops as he made his way down the street, it soon 
became evident to him that even were the suspect still around she would 
blend into the crowd perfectly. There must be forty tall women with short 
dark hair in the noontime rush of people, and he saw nobody with a haircut 
like his. Disgustedly he made his way back to Scully and Shawn. The 
ambulance was just pulling away with the body when he arrived.

"Nothing?" she asked him, and he shook his head in frustration. The 
question had occurred to him during his search of whether they were 
actually looking for a woman at all, but when he questioned Shawn the boy 
was adamant. She was most definitely female. Knowing the predilection of 
teenage boys for noticing the feminine form, Mulder abandoned that theory. 
More than likely it was a woman. The police had arrived by that time, and 
after telling everything they knew they left Shawn to give his statement to 
one Officer Lowery. Both a little shaken up from the events at lunch, the 
agents drove back to their office to pursue some more possible leads on the 
Aspen case.

*****

Scully sat up suddenly in bed. Gasping with shock, she reached for the 
lamp, flooding the room with welcome light. She wiped sweat from her brow 
with a trembling hand. Familiar sweat, familiar trembling. She'd had the 
dream about Mulder again, only this time it had been more graphic. This 
time she had seen what he was screaming about. Mulder, who feared fire 
almost more than anything else in the world, was trapped in a burning 
building, unable to find a means of escape. Scully shuddered. She could 
still hear his heart-wrenching cries of terror as he called for her, 
begging her to help him. Tears stung the back of her eyes--she wasn't used 
to having her dreams affect her so powerfully. Usually if she remembered 
dreaming at all it was only a vague, gossamer memory, only a hint of an 
image. But this--this was so detailed that she was able to see the 
wide-eyed look of fear on Mulder's handsome face, the trickle of blood down 
his forehead from some unknown injury.

Shaking her head to clear it of the nightmare, Scully followed her first 
impulse--she grabbed the telephone. It was just after midnight; surely he 
would still be awake. It was much too early for Mulder to be sleeping. 
Often at this hour he would be battling his own nightmares, which he dealt 
with on a regular basis, but since they were to leave in the morning for 
Dallas she knew Mulder was probably up poring over the case file, gaining 
ideas and insights that would elude anybody else. He answered the phone 
absently, distantly, and Scully smiled, knowing she had been right.

"Mulder," she breathed, relieved at hearing his voice sound so normal. The 
sound of his agonized screaming still rang in her ears.

"Scully?" There was instant concern in his voice. "You sound odd. Is 
everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Mulder. I just--had a bad dream," she said, feeling a 
little foolish now that it was obvious Mulder was safe and sound. "I just 
wanted to hear your voice, make sure..."

"Why Scully, I never knew you dreamed at all," he teased lightly. He could 
tell from her tone that she was more upset than she wanted him to know, and 
it was his hope that a little of their usual light banter would ease her 
out of it.

"I dream all the time, Mulder," she told him tartly. "It's just that I'm 
usually awake when I do."

"Ooh, and just exactly what--or should I say who--are these dreams about?" 
he asked with his very best leer.

"A lady never tells," she informed him primly. Her voice softened then. "I 
just wanted to talk to you for a minute," she said. "I'll let you get back 
to work now."

"What makes you think I'm working?" he demanded, trying his best to sound 
highly insulted.

She laughed. "I know you, Mulder."

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked, already beginning to flip through 
papers in the case file again.

She gave a sad smile into the phone. "Sure Mulder. I'm fine." After she 
broke the connection Scully held onto the telephone for a long time, 
feeling as if Mulder's energy was still coming through it comforting her. 
Eventually she fell asleep, but she left the lamp on.

*****

Mulder was examining a rack of neckties for sale at a businessman's store 
in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, waiting for Scully to return with the 
keys to their rental car. He had wandered around idly for a few minutes, 
impressed with the number and types of shops at this particular airport. He 
thought he had seen it all, but this place was really different. It sold 
everything the traveling businessman (businessperson, he corrected himself) 
might need. The ties had caught his eye, one in particular, and he had 
fingered it thoughtfully for a moment before noticing the pricetag. He 
smiled. This place obviously catered to corporate executives, not men 
living on an F.B.I. agent's salary.

"Got it, Mulder," Scully said as she approach him from behind. "Fancy 
place," she commented, looking around the store.

"Fancy prices," he answered. "Look at this tie, Scully." He held it up for 
her to admire.

"It's nice. You should buy it, Mulder, your necktie collection is..."

"Go ahead and say it," he smiled at her.

She laughed. "It's awful, Mulder, really awful." The quality of his ties 
had been a long-running joke with the two of them. Mulder wore the nicest 
suits she had ever seen on a man, and then, as if to be perverse, or maybe 
just as an act of rebellion, he would often complete the outfit with the 
most hideous neckties on the planet. She was always threatening to buy him 
one with tiny alien heads on it, but had never quite gone that far. She 
refused to admit to herself that it was because she was afraid he would 
actually wear it, and she would be forced to face the world with an 
alien-clad partner at her side.

He joined her in laughter for a moment, then carefully hung the tie back on 
the rack. "I would buy it, you know, I really would, but fifty bucks for a 
silk tie imported from Italy is just a wee bit out of my price range."

Her eyes widened as she peeked at the price tag, as if to confirm for 
herself what he was saying. "Well, enough clothes shopping, Mulder, we have 
work to do," she said, jangling the keys in his face. He made a grab for 
them and she drew back quickly. "Uh-uh, not this time. I'm driving."

"May I help you, Sir?" The respectful yet annoyed voice made Mulder turn, 
and he saw a salesman standing beside the necktie rack, none-too-subtly 
straightening the merchandise.

"Uh, no--no thanks, we were just leaving," Mulder said, giving Scully a 
raised eyebrow when the salesman wasn't looking. The man acted as if he 
might need to send the particular tie they had touched out to the dry 
cleaners as soon as their backs were turned. With a smirk, Scully strode 
off toward the exit, Mulder following behind saying, "Oh, c'mon, Scully, 
let me drive. You know I get motion sickness when I'm not driving!"

"May I help you, ma'am?" the salesclerk asked his next customer, still 
glaring at the man and woman walking away. They were not the type who 
normally shopped at his store, but this lady, tall and elegant looking, her 
brown hair styled in one of the more modern, very short styles, looked as 
if she could be an executive vice-president for a Fortune 500 company. He 
gave her his full attention.

"I've never believed that motion-sickness claim of yours anyway, Mulder," 
Scully informed him, adjusting the seat to fit her small frame. "I think 
you just like to be in control and that's why you want to drive."

"It's true!" he insisted. "If I'm concentrating on driving I'm fine, but 
when I have nothing to do but gaze out the window I get queasy. Lots of 
people have this problem, Scully, you really should be more compassionate."

"So don't gaze out the window," she told him unsympathetically. "Maybe you 
could close your eyes and imagine how Aspen might have escaped from his 
cell so that we can go home sooner."

He sighed. "I wish I could, Scully, but unless we find some obvious answer 
I'm afraid L.A., Baton Rouge and Denver are in our immediate futures."

She shuddered but said no more.

*****

"I just want a shower," he told Scully wearily, putting the key in the lock 
of his motel room and opening it, allowing her to enter first. "Meet you 
for dinner in half an hour?"

"Sounds good," she replied just as wearily as she entered her own room 
through the connecting door. The investigation at the jail had turned up 
nothing, and everyone was still just as baffled by Aspen's mysterious 
disappearance as before. Scully knew that Mulder got somewhat irritated at 
himself when he couldn't work out a puzzle, and he was having a terrible 
time with this one. Of course, the several theories he had advanced were 
completely unprovable, as were so many of Mulder's theories. Sometimes she 
wished he would learn to be a little more...well, discreet about his 
unusual beliefs, but backing down was just not Mulder's way. Not at all. He 
would continue to insist on his bizarre conclusions in the face of any 
number of people who thought he was crazy, never retreating, never 
embarrassed, and the hell of it was that most of the time he was at least 
partially right. She smiled affectionately as she thought of Mulder going 
nose-to-nose with the Dallas County sheriff that afternoon. Nobody could 
ever call Mulder a coward, that was certain.

Scully heard the water start to run on the other side of the wall as Mulder 
entered his shower and decided it was a wonderful idea. She grabbed some 
clean clothes and headed for her own shower, pausing to kick off her shoes 
beside the bed. She cursed and damned the person who had invented heels for 
women to wear at the same time she privately laughed at herself for 
succumbing to the vain practice of wearing them. When you go through life 
barely breaking the five-foot mark at the side of a man who would fit in 
with any professional basketball team it was bound to give you an 
inferiority complex about your height, she decided. To compensate, she had 
developed a tough exterior that intimidated most people, male and female 
alike, which was exactly the result she desired. Scully preferred to keep 
people at arms' length anyway.

She stepped under the warm spray and concentrated on relaxing, allowing the 
water to sluice over her body, washing away the grime and tension she had 
accumulated during the long morning and afternoon. She was starving, having 
had very little breakfast and only a quick burger for lunch, and was 
looking forward to a nice, relaxing dinner with Mulder. Maybe she could 
even keep the conversation off Aspen for five minutes, but she doubted it. 
Once Mulder got his teeth into a case he lived and breathed it until it was 
solved. Twenty minutes later, when she emerged from the bathroom fully 
dressed and feeling much better, she heard him call her name in a 
questioning voice.

"Yeah, Mulder, what is it?" she asked absently, putting one last touch on 
her lipstick.

He entered her room. "You decent? Aw darn, already dressed," he kidded.

She smiled at him in the mirror, and her eyes widened perceptibly when she 
saw what he was holding in his hands. "Where'd that come from?" she 
queried. Unless she was mistaken--and Scully was rarely mistaken, her 
powers of observation were legendary--it was the fifty-dollar necktie they 
had admired at the airport.

His look of surprise almost made her laugh. "Didn't you put it in my room?" 
he asked, confusion clouding his beautiful eyes.

She shook her head, wondering what on earth her partner was up to now. This 
had to be one of his pranks, and she really wasn't in the mood. Between the 
exhausting case they had just finished and the unfruitful day they had just 
spent, as well as the sleep disturbance she had suffered the last two 
nights, Scully didn't have much sense of humor left. "Mulder, you've been 
with me the entire time, how could I have bought that without you knowing?"

"Likewise, Scully," he answered, and she realized it was true. Neither of 
them could have made the purchase because they hadn't been separated for an 
instant. "It was lying on my bed when I came out of the bathroom."

They stared at each other, puzzled. "But how--?" she asked.

He shook his head grimly. "I don't know, Scully, but unless you're playing 
a really rotten joke on me, I'd say someone other than the two of us has 
been in my room in the last half hour." The tone in his voice told her he 
almost hoped she was pulling a prank on him.

"I swear, Mulder, I'm not responsible for this. How could I be?" Her eyes 
were honest and sincere, and he had known, anyway, that she wasn't behind 
this. It wasn't her style.

He shrugged his shoulders tiredly. "I believe you, Scully, it's just that I 
have no other explanation and right now I'm too bone-weary to try and think 
of one. Let's just go eat," he said, tossing the tie down on her dresser 
and turning for the door to his room. She picked up the tie and neatly 
folded it, laying it down where he had tossed it. No need to let it get 
ruined just because they had no idea where it had come from. A few seconds 
later she heard his voice again, this time with an unmistakable tinge of 
uneasiness. "Scully? My keys are missing!"

"What?" she demanded, going to his room to find him standing beside his 
nightstand desperately searching behind it, underneath it, and in every 
drawer.

"My keys, they're gone. I laid them right here," he insisted, indicating 
the space on top of the nightstand next to his wallet.

"They must have fallen behind. Did you toss them down? Maybe they slid 
off," she suggested helpfully, getting down on her hands and knees to help 
him look.

"I didn't toss them, I laid them here right beside my wallet. They were 
here when I went into the shower," he argued, pulling the nightstand away 
from the wall so they could get a better look behind it.

After long minutes of a fruitless search the agents decided they would 
think better with food in their systems. Mulder would never admit it to 
Scully, but he wanted to get out of that room for a little while. It gave 
him the creeps knowing that possibly an intruder had been there while he 
and Scully were both taking showers, vulnerable and unaware.

"Shouldn't we call the management, Mulder?" Scully asked as they exited his 
room. She watched as he made double sure the doors to his room and then 
hers were securely locked.

"Let's do it when we get back," he told her. "I'm starving and worn out, 
and it's not as if this person tried to hurt us. In fact, that's what has 
me confused. Why break into my room and leave a gift? I can understand them 
stealing my keys, maybe they thought I had a car in the parking lot they 
could make off with. But the tie? Now that's weird."

"It's as if this person saw you looking at that particular tie," she 
agreed. "Did you notice anyone at the airport following you around?"

"Nope. But it's not like I was on the lookout for that sort of thing." That 
made him a little angry with himself. He should have been more aware of his 
surroundings. He was a trained F.B.I. agent, damn it! It wasn't like him to 
be so negligent, but he'd been on the verge of exhaustion and his attention 
simply hadn't been focused like it should have been. He supposed someone 
could have seen him admiring the necktie, even overheard his conversation 
with Scully, and escaped his notice. Vaguely he thought he could recall 
another person standing nearby, but he couldn't say if it had been a man or 
a woman. He couldn't even swear there had been any such person. In a 
crowded, busy airport people came and went all the time.

"Well I think we should both be on the lookout now," she commented as they 
reached the rental car. "If someone is following us we need to be more 
careful. Here," she said, tossing him her own car key. "You drive."

He caught the key easily and smiled his gratitude.

When Mulder pushed open his motel room door an hour later, feeling much 
better than the first time he had entered it now that he had a full stomach 
and had been able to rest a little, the first thing that caught his eye was 
the glitter of his keys. They were lying on the floor beside the bed. The 
side of the bed that faced the doorway, not the side that was next to the 
nightstand. "What the...?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"Well, that's one mystery solved," Scully said brightly. "If only we could 
be this successful with Aspen!"

"Nothing's solved, Scully," he told her grimly. "All this means to me is 
that the person who took my keys returned them while we were out."

"Oh come on, Mulder, why can't you just admit that you dropped them on the 
floor? Not everything is a conspiracy, you know!" Scully was tired and she 
was getting angry. They had argued his theories about Aspen all through 
dinner, in spite of her efforts to draw the conversation toward more normal 
topics, and she had completely lost her patience. His most productive idea 
so far was that Aspen was releasing himself from jail through 
psychokinesis. Scully was searching for a solution far more banal.

Mulder's jaw tightened. He was beginning to lose patience as well. He'd 
spent the last hour trying to convince her that Aspen wasn't simply being 
released by an accomplice; there was absolutely no evidence to support that 
theory. Unfortunately, there was no evidence to support his own, either, 
and none was likely to surface considering the nature of his suspicions. 
"Even if I could be so careless without being aware of it, unless you're 
about to confess to leaving that necktie in my room, Scully, it still means 
somebody was in here that didn't belong."

"It's probably just a coincidence. A big one, I'll admit, but did you ever 
think that maybe it was left here by the previous guest in this room? When 
we arrived we were both so tired we just headed for our showers. I didn't 
notice if there was anything lying on your bed, and I'm willing to bet good 
money you didn't either."

He couldn't argue with this logic; he knew it to be true. The two of them 
stood glaring at each other for a moment, and then Mulder's face softened. 
"Come here," he said gently, pulling Scully to him for a quick hug, which 
after a moment she returned. "We're both edgy, we just need to get some 
sleep."

Scully wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened them for a moment, 
then released him, nodded agreement and bid him goodnight. She entered her 
own room and closed the connecting door, but not quite all the way. She 
liked to leave it open just a crack when they shared a suite like this. It 
made her feel more secure in a strange town in a strange bed to know that 
Mulder was just in the next room, close enough to call for help if she 
needed him. Not that she ever would, she assured herself, but it still felt 
better.

Mulder watched her go with a small smile. He adored his partner and could 
never stand it when they were angry with one another. Anytime Scully got 
mad at him nothing else would stay on his mind until they made up. He just 
couldn't stand to be on her bad side. Luckily for him, Scully always 
forgave him quickly when he screwed up--which he did a lot, he told himself 
ruefully. Mulder turned away from the connecting door and began to undress 
for bed, never realizing that his impulsive hug had just saved Scully's 
life.

*****

He awoke, disoriented, staring around him in the half-dark, the glow of 
static from the television partially illuminating the room. For a second 
Mulder couldn't identify what had awakened him--some sort of noise--but 
then he heard it again. It was a low moan, as if from a person in pain, and 
it was coming from Scully's room. Like a shot he was out of the bed and 
through the connecting door, kneeling beside her bed. A cursory visual 
examination indicated that she wasn't hurt, and he breathed a short-lived 
sigh of relief. Scully was sleeping, apparently in the throes of a 
nightmare, thrashing her head from side to side and muttering, "no, no." He 
shook her lightly, wanting to waken her gently. "Scully," he whispered. His 
partner didn't answer, she just kept flailing her arms about murmuring "no" 
until a moment later he was sure he heard his name on her lips. The look on 
her face was still one of terror and he couldn't imagine what it was about 
himself that could be frightening her so. Whatever it was, he decided, it 
had to end, now. He shook her harder. "Scully, wake up!" he ordered firmly 
in her ear.

"Mulder!" One last cry tore from her lips before Scully's eyes flew open 
and she stared up into his face. "Mulder?" she asked, unsure for a moment 
that he was actually sitting safely in front of her. Nightmare and reality 
melded together for an instant of disorientation. Then her thoughts cleared 
and she realized that she'd had another dream. She put her arms around his 
waist and pulled him to her, wanting to feel the solid mass of him, to 
reassure herself that he was unharmed.

"You ok, Scully?" he asked, lightly rubbing her back as he held her. As 
they did every time he got this close to her, Mulder's nerves began playing 
havoc with his sanity. Holding her like this, clad only in his underwear, 
was not a good idea, he decided. Definitely not conducive to his future 
peace of mind.

She nodded against his chest, still clinging to him, unwilling to give up 
his warmth. Her grip tightened on him momentarily as she recalled his 
panicked, screaming face in her dream. Suddenly, as if remembering who and 
where they were, she pulled back from him and took in the scene. She was 
wearing a t-shirt and panties, and the sheets were down around her ankles. 
He was sitting on the side of her bed dressed only in a pair of blue 
boxers, his hair mussed from sleep, beard stubble on his face, and Scully 
thought she had never seen him look so good.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked, rubbing his chin 
thoughtfully. "You were having another nightmare, weren't you?"

She nodded, not meeting his eyes, busying herself by pulling the sheet up 
to her waist. After their dinnertime conversation about the paranormal, the 
last thing Scully wanted to do was give Mulder a reason to believe that she 
was having psychic dreams. But Scully couldn't remember ever having dreams 
like this in her life--the same dream every night, growing more and more 
vivid and detailed with each repetition.

"Was it about me? You called my name before you woke up."

She nodded again, her eyes filling with tears that she tried to blink back 
before he could see them.

He saw.

"Oh, Scully," he said, pulling her to him again. "It was only a dream. It's 
all right now." He held her, gently rocking her for a few minutes, until he 
felt some of the tension drain from her body. "What was the dream about?" 
he questioned again, hoping he could get her to talk about it. As a 
lifelong veteran of this type of nighttime horror, Mulder knew from 
experience that one of the best ways to recover from a particularly bad 
episode was to talk it out with someone else. Scully had provided this 
service for him on countless occasions, and now it was his turn to repay 
her in kind.

"It was about you," she confirmed and he was silent, waiting for her to go 
on. "You were screaming--" her voice hitched and he rubbed his hands up and 
down her spine again soothingly. "You were trapped in a building--there was 
a fire--you were--tied, handcuffed...I'm not sure, but you couldn't get 
away."

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard at the mention of his 
being trapped in a fire. It was too close to one of his own regular, 
horrific dreams for comfort. "It's just a dream, Scully, it's not real," he 
reminded her again when he felt her small hands clutch at his arms. "I'm 
right here, I'm all right, nobody's hurt me."

Scully pulled her head back and looked him in the eyes for the first time 
since he'd entered her room. "Mulder, it's not the first time I've had this 
dream." She hadn't intended to tell him that but she had blurted it out in 
spite of her best intentions, and now it seemed easier to just tell him the 
whole truth. She knew of no one more acquainted with nightmares than 
Mulder, and if anyone could tell her how to go about ridding herself of 
this unwelcome nightly occurrence it would be her partner and friend.

"How often?"

"This is the third night in a row," she said, her voice barely above a 
whisper. "And each time..."

"It gets worse and worse?" She nodded again.

Mulder smoothed her hair with one hand and gave a small sigh. It felt so 
good to hold her like this, and he knew that pretty soon he was going to 
have to leave her alone here and go back to his own room, where the memory 
of her soft body pressed against his would effectively destroy any chance 
he might have had for more sleep that night. His heart jumped in his chest 
when a moment later she said the thing he wouldn't have dared ask of any 
god that may or may not exist. "Mulder, would you stay here the rest of the 
night?" she asked in a small voice. "I don't want to be alone, and if I 
should have the dream again...I want to wake up and find you here, see that 
you're safe."

Mulder smiled up against her cheek. "Sure, Scully, what're friends for?" he 
agreed, hoping she couldn't feel his quickening heartbeat. "I can doze off 
in the chair over there."

"No, Mulder, lay down here beside me, please," she asked, and he knew there 
was no way he could refuse her even though common sense told him to get up, 
get up and get out of here right NOW, boy! and go back to his room, 
preferably to take a very cold shower.

Suppressing the excitement his body insisted on feeling, he gently pushed 
her back against the pillow and covered her, forcing himself not to look 
below her neck. No need to add fuel to the fire that was starting in his 
groin. He stretched out on top of the blanket and turned on his side to 
face her. He was really trying to keep some appropriate distance between 
them--appropriate for two people who cared for each other deeply in a 
purely platonic way, he reminded himself, but were forced to turn to each 
other for comfort because neither of them had anyone else. If he didn't 
know better he would have sworn that Scully was determined to undermine all 
his efforts, because when he had settled himself comfortably and was 
convinced he had gotten his pulse rate under control she reached out for 
him and wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face once again 
in his chest. There was no way she could avoid hearing and feeling his 
respirations deepen, and Mulder prayed that she wouldn't press herself up 
against his lower body. If she did, she would discover his most personal, 
closely guarded secret--the fact that he wanted her so badly at this moment 
he could taste it. If she felt his arousal pressing into her soft flesh he 
would simply die of embarrassment. Mulder lay his arm across her, his hand 
on her shoulder, and rubbed the back of her neck to help her relax. He just 
hoped she would fall asleep soon so that he could extricate himself from 
her embrace. He knew he wasn't going to be able to breathe normally until 
he did.

Half an hour later, when he was certain she was asleep, Mulder quietly and 
gently tried to remove her arms from his neck. Scully murmured "Mulder" in 
her sleep and tightened her grip on him. Defeated, he let her continue to 
hold him, grateful that at least she was unaware of the difficulties she 
was causing for him. Closing his eyes, he began to silently conjugate Latin 
verbs--anything to take his mind off the woman pressed against him.

Hours later, he slept.

When Mulder awoke the following morning, Scully was already in the shower. 
He could hear the water running and imagined it splashing off her body, 
making its way in tiny rivulets down her face. The image was more than he 
could deal with at the moment, and with a muffled groan he rolled off the 
bed and started for his own room. A shower was definitely in order. Very 
cold. It had been one hell of a night.

When they met for breakfast Scully seemed reluctant to talk about the 
previous night's events, and Mulder respected her wishes, not mentioning it 
again after her first slight rebuff. It had hurt a little, really. She had 
no inkling of the endurance test she had put him through during the past 
eight hours, and he had no intention of filling her in. Knowing Scully as 
he did, Mulder realized that she was probably keeping him at arms length 
because she was embarrassed by her perceived show of weakness. Scully 
valued strength and control in herself and viewed any lack of them as 
evidence of a personal failure. He knew he just needed to give her space 
until she came to terms with it.

He could do that.



********** 

Chapter 2

**********

They arrived back in D.C., fatigued and irritable, late in the afternoon 
several days later. They had examined each and every crime scene 
thoroughly, making no progress on the case at all, and both agents were 
heartily sick of going over and over each tiny facet of it trying to puzzle 
out answers. They'd barely spoken on the plane ride home, not because they 
were angry with one another, but because they'd exhausted every possible 
avenue of thought that they could explore. Scully was almost ready to agree 
with Mulder's theory of psychokinesis just so they could close the case.

She'd had the dream every night.

Mulder opened the door to his apartment with his right hand, his left 
occupied with his carry-on bag and a sack containing greasy fast food, the 
aroma of which was making his stomach talk rather loudly to him. All he 
wanted was to eat a quick meal and crash on his couch for the next three 
days. Unfortunately he still had to be at work the next morning, but at 
least for a few hours he could relax. He kicked the door shut behind him, 
took one step toward his couch, and froze. Mulder stared around his home in 
amazement for a moment. He actually checked the front door to make sure 
that he was really in apartment 42. He was. With a dazed expression he took 
in the sight of his apartment again.

It was clean.

Not just straightened up, but spotlessly, sparklingly clean. Never, in the 
entire time Mulder had lived at this address, had his place looked and 
smelled this wonderful. Mulder sniffed and could smell the faint scent of 
pine. It reminded him of spring days on the Vineyard, before Samantha was 
taken, when he would come home from school to find the entire house freshly 
cleaned and aired and his mother waiting for them with home-baked cookies 
and milk. She had, he thought, actually been quite a good mother up until 
the time her daughter disappeared. Then she had simply seemed to lose all 
interest in life, as well as in the life of her son. He inhaled deeply 
again, letting his eyes roam over the entryway and living room. There was 
no mistake. Sometime during his absence someone had come here, 
unauthorized, and cleaned his apartment.

The thought that his uninvited cleaning service might still be there caused 
him to quietly slide his belongings to the floor and reach for his weapon. 
Stealthily he walked throughout the small apartment, checking each room 
carefully. Nobody was there but him. There was plenty of evidence that 
someone else had been there, though. He shook his head at the sight of the 
newly made bed and freshly laundered towels in the bathroom. Even the pile 
of dirty clothes he usually tossed in the corner of the bedroom had been 
washed and put away. Walking back into the kitchen, he absently opened the 
refrigerator, unable to remember but fairly certain he had one last beer 
left. God knew he needed one after this. When the door opened his jaw 
dropped. It was completely stocked with food, as, a quick check revealed, 
was the freezer. Mulder knew for a fact that when he had left town earlier 
in the week there had been two slices of cheese, a decaying apple, a 
pitcher of iced tea and possibly one beer in his refrigerator. He had been 
desperately needing to make a trip to the supermarket for days, but had 
kept putting it off and buying take-out because he was too busy to give it 
any thought. Apparently his mystery housekeeper, while scouring his 
apartment, had decided that he needed some assistance in the shopping 
department as well.

With one more look around his shining kitchen, Mulder backed out of the 
room, grabbing up the telephone and dialing Scully's number. This was too 
weird to deal with on his own. Scully was the one who always had a 
reasonable explanation; let her make what she would of this incident. It 
was a good thing, Mulder thought, that he didn't really believe in fairies. 
Scully would certainly flip out if he presented that theory to her. 
Smiling, he actually considered it for a moment, just to get a rise out of 
her, but quickly abandoned the notion. She was exhausted. She would be 
irritable. Safer for his health not to get her riled up.

"Hey Scully?" he said when she answered the phone in a low, weary-sounding 
voice. A stab of guilt struck him but he suppressed it. He really needed 
her to see this. "I know you're really tired, but could you please come 
over here? There's something I need to show you." He heard Scully's small 
sigh of exasperation and tamped down on that old guilt-devil once more. He 
knew she would do it for him. She would leave her comfortable apartment, 
possibly having to change into decent clothing after donning her pajamas, 
and drive the twenty minutes to his apartment--just because he asked her 
to. Mulder made a mental note to bring Scully a chocolate covered eclair 
from the donut shop in the morning. She was going to deserve it.

When he opened the door half an hour later, he felt still more regret at 
dragging her out this evening. She hadn't even changed, had just thrown her 
long coat on over her pajamas and come immediately. Her face was pale and 
drained looking and there were dark circles under her eyes. She entered the 
apartment, a question on her lips, and stopped in mid-sentence. With a 
wide-eyed look she took in the condition of his apartment--a condition she 
had never seen it in during the entire five years they had known each 
other. "What the heck--what happened here, Mulder?" she asked, turning her 
blue gaze on him. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. "Please tell me you 
didn't drag me over here to show me that you hired a cleaning service."

"No," he told her flatly. "I didn't. And this isn't all, Scully. Go look in 
the refrigerator." He gestured toward the kitchen and she walked toward his 
fridge, looking back at him questioningly. A few seconds later she returned 
to the living room, a worried look on her face. "Fruits, 
vegetables--Mulder, now I know this isn't your doing. I'll bet you've never 
had such healthy food in your refrigerator in your life."

"You're right," he admitted. "But Scully, how did it get there? Who cleaned 
my apartment? What the hell's going on?" He sank down on the couch, his 
legs suddenly no longer able to bear up under his weight. After the 
stressful week they'd had, coming home to this surprise was just too much. 
Why, he asked himself, couldn't he have a normal nine-to-five job sitting 
behind a desk or maybe even a computer, coming home at the end of a long 
day to a wife, dog and 2.5 children living in a nice, brick, three-bedroom 
middle-class suburban home? Why, in other words, couldn't his life be 
ordinary? Nobody else of his acquaintance had housecleaning fairies 
visiting them. They all had to pay for that service.

"Could it be the Gunmen?" Scully ventured. "Maybe they hired someone to do 
it. Maybe it's meant to be a practical joke." It was a good idea, but her 
eyes told him she didn't really believe it. Not that they were above this 
sort of thing, but it would never occur to the guys to have Mulder's 
apartment cleaned for him. It would never occur to them that Mulder's 
apartment needed cleaning.

He rubbed his face tiredly with his hands. "It could be, but as paranoid as 
they are, I don't think they'd send somebody into my apartment."

An idea occurred to Scully. "Was there any sign that the door was forced?" 
she asked, walking over to open it and give it a thorough examination.

Mulder hadn't considered that possibility, and he went to join her in 
scrutinizing the area around the lock. There were no signs of forced 
entry--no fresh ones anyway. "Whoever did this had a key," he mused.

"So, who else has a key to your place?"

"You," he told her flatly. "And--Scully! A key! My keys were missing from 
the motel room--I know you don't believe that, but they were," he 
continued, holding up a hand to stop her objection. "What if--what if that 
person who took my keys had a copy made of my apartment key? What if they 
came back here yesterday and did...all this?" he asked, his arm sweeping to 
indicate the mysteriously tidy apartment.

Scully thought carefully for a moment. "If that's the case, Mulder, then 
the necktie--"

"Probably wasn't a coincidence," he finished.

Their eyes met, exchanging a look that was at once puzzled and frightened. 
Of all the odd things that had happened to them, this was by far the 
strangest. Not threatening on the surface, but--creepy, somehow. A thought 
occurred to Scully, in fact, she thought later, it had occurred to Mulder 
at exactly the same time.

"A stalker?" she questioned.

He shrugged somberly. "Could be. I don't know what else to think."

Scully was galvanized into action at the thought. "You're coming home with 
me," she stated firmly, bending down to pick up his carry-on bag which was 
still on the floor by the entrance where he had dropped it earlier. "I 
don't want you staying here alone. Not with the dreams I've been having." 
She flushed slightly at the mention of the dreams but stood her ground. She 
might not be able to explain them, any more than she could explain the 
state of Mulder's apartment now, but they made her uneasy nonetheless. 
Scully didn't like things that made her uneasy. She liked order in her 
universe. Since she'd met Mulder, too many things had been disordered, 
unexplained, or just plain out of control. Mulder opened his mouth to 
disagree but thought better of it. When Scully was this determined, all the 
arguments in the world wouldn't deter her from her goal. If she intended 
him to go home with her, then he would be going home with her. No use 
prolonging the inevitable. He couldn't, however, keep from pointing out the 
obvious.

"Scully, if this person has my key, they probably also have yours as well 
as keys to both our cars. All those are on my keyring. So we may not be any 
safer at your place than here."

She realized that he was right, but she wasn't about to back down now. She 
wanted Mulder to be safe and in her mind, that meant being under her 
watchful eye. After the night they had spent in the same bed, if not in 
each other's arms, she had been reluctant to part from him anyway, but 
protocol demanded it. They were not lovers, she reminded herself. They 
couldn't be. "All the same, we're going to my place. We know they have a 
key to your apartment, we're only speculating that they have access to 
mine. And there is no way I'm leaving you alone tonight," she told him, 
practically pushing him out the door.

He tried one last protest as they started down the hall. "Scully, I'm a big 
boy now."

"That's right, Mulder, you are," she affirmed, putting her hands on the 
small of his back and propelling him toward the stairs. "And I plan on 
keeping you that way--a very exasperating, irritating, adorable, alive and 
kicking big boy."

"Adorable?" he questioned teasingly as they started downward.

"You have your moments. Just don't let it go to your head," she giggled, 
playfully slapping at his arm. Scully shook her head in amazement at 
herself and her behavior. Was she, Special Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I., 
actually flirting? Or, if she was, did flirting even count with Mulder? 
She'd seen him in what could be termed compromising positions so many times 
it hardly seemed awkward at all anymore to come upon him in some state of 
undress or another. Seeing him the other night in his boxers hadn't 
bothered her in the least--it was him seeing her in her underwear that had 
made her blush.

Mulder drove his car to Scully's apartment with her following, carefully 
keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. When they reached her apartment 
she pulled her car up behind his at the curb and climbed out, her eyes 
darting around the street while he remained safely in his car as per her 
instructions. Seeing nothing unusual, she motioned for him to exit his 
vehicle, which he did with a roll of his eyes. he was certain Scully was 
taking this too seriously. Admittedly someone stealing his keys and 
cleaning his apartment was weird, but it didn't seem as though the culprit 
intended him any harm. If he had to have a stalker, this was definitely the 
one to have, he decided. Maybe he could arrange for her to come in once a 
week. His apartment could definitely use the attention. He wondered if she 
would take over his shopping on a regular basis, a task he abhorred, if he 
paid her a little extra attention. Only problem was, he had no recollection 
of having paid her any attention at all. Or any idea of who they were 
dealing with.

He tried to point out to Scully when he was safely ensconced in her spare 
bedroom that she was letting this bother her too much. "You know, Scully, 
maybe I should be making the most of this opportunity instead of running 
away from it," he joked, emerging from the bedroom to take a seat beside 
her on the couch. "After all, if someone wants to clean up after me and buy 
me gifts, who am I to complain?"

"Very funny, Mulder," she commented. "We'll see how much you feel like 
joking when your stalker turns nasty."

Of course Mulder was versed in the standard Bureau information about 
stalkers, but he'd never dealt with a case involving one. Unless the 
perpetrator turned into a kidnapper or murderer it really wasn't an F.B.I. 
matter anyway, and most of the time stalkers seemed--to Mulder at least--to 
stop short of those two extremes. Most of the time the were just nuisances. 
Weren't they? "You really think he or she will?" he asked seriously.

Scully regarded him carefully, aware that he was not according this matter 
the gravity it deserved. She searched her mind for an analogy that might 
get through to him, and at last hoped she had hit on just the right one. A 
horror movie. Right up Mulder's alley. "Mulder, did you ever see a movie 
called 'The Fan'?"

"You mean that baseball one that came out a couple of years ago?" he asked, 
confused.

"No," she replied, "although that one was bad enough. This was an older 
movie by the same name. It was about an actress who had a crazy fan who was 
stalking her. Although instead of making subtle contact the way your 
admirer has, he sent her letters. Guess you're more accessible than a 
famous actress," she smiled. "Anyway, the letters were admiring at first, 
then they became angry and abusive, and finally they were serious threats. 
The stalker went from adoring this woman to trying to kill her all in the 
space of a few weeks. And do you know why?"

"Because she didn't return his affection?" Mulder guessed.

"Exactly. The only problem was that she never even knew the guy existed 
until close to the very end. You're the psychologist, Mulder. You know 
these people aren't rational. If this person is buying you gifts and 
cleaning your apartment and you're not properly grateful, she may get angry 
with you and try to hurt you. And how can you be properly grateful when you 
don't even know who it is?"

Mulder stared at her. "Do you really, seriously think that's what this is, 
Scully? Someone stalking me? Why? Why me, for God's sake? I'm nothing--I'm 
nobody--I don't even have that many friends!"

Scully squeezed his hand to calm him down, sensing that his agitation was 
getting the better of him. "I won't lie to you, Mulder. Yes, I do think 
there is someone stalking you, and I think it's a woman. Probably someone 
who has a crush on you and imagines that you are in love with her, or that 
you should be. Other than that, I have no clue, no idea as to who it might 
be."

Mulder thought desperately but was unable to come up with any potential 
suspects. Of course there was the main floor receptionist that he flirted 
with outrageously on a regular basis, but she was married, apparently 
happily so. She had a picture of her husband and three children on her 
desk, and Mulder often saw her talking to her husband on the telephone when 
he passed by. Surely it wasn't her.

"We don't even know for sure that there is a stalker, Scully. It's all just 
conjecture at this point," he insisted, anxiously running his fingers 
through his hair. He was trying to remain calm for Scully's sake but his 
inner voice was repeating over and over, this can't be real, this can't be 
happening to me! Mulder could deal with the threat of the bad guys, and he 
could deal with the dangers of day-to-day living, and he could even deal 
with the constant presence of Them in his life, but this unseen, unknown 
danger freaked him out. He fought against the desire to hide under the bed 
like a child.

"All the same, I'd take it as a personal favor if you would just be a 
little more careful for a while," she told him, patting his shoulder 
lovingly. "It would really ruin my day if anything happened to you," she 
said, rising from the couch, stretching and yawning. "Now if it's all the 
same to you, I'm going to get some of that sleep you interrupted when you 
called earlier."

"Sorry about that, Scully," he apologized, walking toward his own bedroom. 
He found himself fervently wishing Scully had a one bedroom apartment, then 
realized that only meant he'd end up sleeping on her couch anyway. And 
Scully's couch, unlike his own, was not built for those six feet tall and 
above. Best to simply make himself comfortable in her guest room.

"No problem, Mulder, it was worth the drive just to see your place looking 
that pristine. It was a sight I never thought to see."

"Ha ha," he mouthed, beginning to close the bedroom door.

"Mulder?" He stopped. "Would you mind...leaving the door open a little? It 
would make me feel better."

"Sure, Scully," he jibed. "Anything for someone who think's I'm adorable!"

Scully pulled a face at him and closed her own door partially, yawning 
again as she climbed into her comfortable bed. She felt much safer, 
somehow, with Mulder nearby.

*****

He was hearing it again. That small, distressed moaning sound coming from 
Scully's room. He had suspected the nightmare had disturbed her sleep 
several times that week, but other than the first night of their trip he 
hadn't been called on to render assistance. Which was just as well, since 
he would have had a difficult time hiding his desire from her if he'd been 
forced to spend another night in bed with her. He considered not going to 
her--after all, she'd handled it without him before and she hadn't seemed 
very happy about the one night he had witnessed her terror--but her cries 
grew more and more heartbreaking until Mulder could no longer stand to 
listen. This time at least he knew what he was dealing with, and he had the 
presence of mind to take a few seconds and throw on a pair of sweatpants 
before softly entering her room.

Mulder switched on the bedside lamp and found Scully, her face flushed and 
sweating, her hands clenching the sheet up around her shoulders, repeating 
over and over, "Mulder, no, no!"

He placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her firmly, saying, "Scully, 
wake up," in a loud voice. She gasped as she opened her eyes and saw him 
there, then quickly realized he had seen her weakness once again. Scully 
sat up in the bed and drew her knees up to her chest, burying her flaming 
face in her arms. It was simply unbearable that he had seen her in this 
situation for a second time. She wanted to be so strong for him, was always 
pretending to be tougher than she was; it had never occurred to her that 
Mulder wasn't fooled by her act.

"Scully?" he asked tentatively, one hand sneaking out to raise a tendril of 
her hair so he could see her face.

She turned her head away from him. "Please go away, Mulder. Please..."

Instead he gathered her small body up close to his and encompassed her in 
the warmth and strength of his embrace. "It's all right, Scully," he 
whispered up against her soft hair. "Don't be embarrassed with me."

"I'm not embarrassed, Mulder!" she snapped, wiping away a tear that had 
begun to slide its way down the side of her face. The only thing Scully 
hated more than him seeing her terrified from her dreams was for him to see 
her cry.

He brushed back her hair from her eyes and forced her to look at him. "You 
are, but you shouldn't be. You've helped me so many times in my life, 
Scully. Now you need help from me--let me give it to you. It's the least I 
can do for you. It's what we do for each other." The sincerity of his words 
touched her heart in a way she hadn't expected, and she found herself 
leaning into his embrace, seeking out his warmth and comfort. She allowed 
him to hold her for a time, gently rocking her, until she began to relax. 
"Was it the same dream?" he asked softly, not wanting to drive her away.

He felt her head nod against his shoulder. "But it was even more detailed 
this time." She raised her face toward his. "I could see very clearly that 
you were in a room--I think it was an upstairs room--in a very old house, 
and there was an iron ring mounted in the wall. Your hands were chained 
behind your back around the ring and you were screaming my name. Then I saw 
the outside of the house and there were flames shooting out of every window 
on the first floor, making their way up--" She stopped and raised up a 
little, staring at him in surprise. "You're in the attic," she stated. 
"You're being kept in the attic of that house and somebody has set a fire."

"Where is the house?" he asked curiously, wondering just how much detail 
she might have gotten from this dream. If she could tell him exactly where 
it was located, or who was doing this to him, he would have a better idea 
of how to protect himself. As things stood now, his stalker could be 
anyone. He realized with a sudden rush of surprise that he didn't even 
question the validity of Scully's dreams or their relation to the 
mysterious person who had left him the necktie and cleaned his apartment. 
He knew they had to do with one and the same. She just hadn't turned nasty 
yet.

Scully screwed up her face as though trying to remember some tiny detail 
that was just out of her reach, and finally gave up, shaking her head. "I 
don't know where it's located, but I can see it. I can see it as clearly as 
I see you right now. If someone showed me a picture of that house I would 
immediately know that was the one." She paused a moment more, a faraway 
look in her eyes, and then said, "Briarwood. I saw a streetsign. It's on 
Briarwood Street."

Now it was his turn to stare. "Briarwood Street? Briarwood Street where? Do 
you know of a street by that name anywhere around here?"

She thought for a moment and then said, "No, I can't remember ever seeing a 
Briarwood Street anywhere." Slumping against him with a yawn, she told him, 
"Right now I'm too tired to even think about it anymore."

Mulder made a mental note to consult some maps in the morning, and tried to 
pull away from her with the honorable intention of going back to his own 
room; there he could at least make a pretense of sleeping. He didn't want 
to spend another night like he had the last time, having to endure the 
torment of lying so close to her and not being able to touch. He didn't 
think he could stand it again. Much too hard on the heart. As before, when 
he tried to pull away from her she held him there. "Scully," he said in a 
voice that was almost a moan. "I need to go back to my own bed."

"Why?" she asked plaintively. "Why can't you stay here with me?" As soon as 
the words left her mouth she realized the double meaning of what she had 
said, and in the next instant realized she didn't care. She wanted that, 
too. Unfortunately, Scully was much too by-the-book to risk the 
consequences of beginning a relationship with her partner.

Mulder, on the other hand, had reached the end of his endurance. 
By-the-book was no longer a phrase in his vocabulary. After all, 'They' 
never played by the rules, why should he and Scully? The sound of her 
asking him to stay with her snapped the last thread of his self control, 
and even though he knew she wasn't asking him to stay and make love to 
her--only to watch over her while she slept--the images she conjured up in 
his mind forced him to give in to one urge that had been uppermost there 
for a long time. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her full on the 
lips. Mulder felt her small hands pushing at his chest for a moment, trying 
to prevent the kiss, but he had gone too far to stop himself. He could no 
more have broken off that kiss than he could have taken his own life.

He would have regained control soon--if she had continued to push him away 
he would have bowed to her wishes in the next instant, but seconds later he 
felt her hands at the back of his neck, actually pulling him closer to her, 
and suddenly she was the one kissing him, her tongue frantically seeking 
entrance to his mouth, her lips claiming ownership of his with an urgency 
that he hadn't known--hadn't dreamed--she could feel. It hit him like a ton 
of bricks that Scully, the woman he had wanted for so long that he had 
forgotten a time before--Scully wanted him. With this knowledge came the 
relief of knowing that if she felt this way, she probably wouldn't be 
filing a sexual harassment complaint against him the next morning. He had 
known that was a possibility--albeit a remote one--when he had kissed her 
but at the time the threat of a full-blown rape charge could not have 
stopped him.

Mulder easily lowered her to lay on the pillow so that his upper body was 
above hers, all the while raining kisses all over her face and hair.

"Mulder," she moaned, taking his face between both her hands and pulling 
him back to her lips for another passionate kiss that left them both 
breathless. She ran her hands down his bare back to cup his buttocks inside 
his sweats, and pulled his hips closer to hers. Responding to her urging he 
covered her entire body with his own and she ground her hips upward, 
wanting to feel him against her.

"Scully!" he gasped when he felt her heat through his clothing. Her only 
answer was to pull his mouth back to hers for another breathtaking kiss. 
Mulder began running his lips, tongue, and fingers down her body, and she 
strained upwards trying to hurry his hands but he would not be rushed. At 
last, after long, torturous moments, his lips grazed her most sensitive 
parts and she felt all the breath leave her body. Scully threw back her 
head and abandoned herself to sensation for the next few minutes while his 
mouth toyed with her until she was almost in a frenzy of wanting him. She 
opened her mouth to tell him to stop wasting time and get on with it when 
her eyes fell on her badge and weapon on the nightstand beside her bed.

Reality hit her like a splash of cold water. "Mulder, stop!" she tried to 
command him, but it came out more as a plea.

He raised his head to look at her and she could see that his eyes were 
green with passion. She wondered if the look of naked desire she saw on his 
face was reflected in her own. The last thing she wanted was for him to 
stop, but they couldn't do this. They simply couldn't. It was breaking 
every rule.

"Scully?" His voice left the question not quite asked.

"Mulder...we...we can't..." she stammered, unable to form a coherent 
sentence.

"Scully, we already have," he told her gravely. "We've been leading up to 
this for a long time. Tonight is just the culmination of an affair that's 
been going on for years."

Scully tried to push his head away from her and instead found her fingers 
running through his soft, silky hair, gently twining themselves into it.

"I'll stop... Scully," he told her, punctuating his words with feather soft 
kisses on her lips, "...if you...tell me...it's...what...you... really 
want."

Scully moaned again as his lips continued to rain tiny kisses on hers, 
arousing her to a level she had never felt before. "Mulder...I...I want..."

"Yes...?" he prompted, shifting his hips so that the length of him was 
pressed right where he knew she wanted him to be. If Scully insisted he 
would stop--he certainly was no rapist--but he was absolutely sure that 
this was what they both wanted and in his opinion the Bureau could go to 
hell.

"...please...I want...please Mulder...now..." she whispered in surrender. 
Resisting him was more than she could manage, and even though she knew 
there could be a huge price to pay later on, Scully wasn't about to give up 
what she wanted most in the world now that it was literally within her 
grasp.

"Are you sure?" he asked, stopping his kisses and drawing back a fraction, 
giving her time to really make up her mind. He didn't want any regrets or 
recriminations in the morning. If they stopped now, difficult as it might 
be, they could go on working together, continue their successful 
partnership, but once that chasm was crossed there would be no going back. 
Things would change. They had to be sure it would be a change for the 
better.

"Yes," she said, meeting his gaze squarely. "I want you to make love to me, 
Mulder. Now."

That was all he needed. Their lips met again, more frantically now that 
permission had been sought and granted, and each explored the other's body 
exhaustively, answering questions long unacknowledged, discovering secrets 
too long kept.



Soon Scully began running her tongue slowly up his chest, swirling circles 
across his skin, occasionally taking tiny, light nips of his flesh--not 
enough to hurt, just enough to drive him crazy. Finally, when he could 
stand no more, she reached his mouth and he pulled her to him for a hard, 
savage kiss, forcing her easily onto her back underneath him. He positioned 
himself over her and had one last lucid thought before abandoning himself 
to her entirely.

"Scully," he said through gritted teeth, "we can still stop if that's what 
you want. It's not too late." Even as he spoke the words he knew they were 
a lie for it was already too late, had been too late for years.

"Mulder, if you stop, you die!" she whispered fiercely, pulling him to her, 
and they gave themselves up to their passions.

What seemed like a lifetime later he felt Scully kiss the top of his head, 
felt her arms and legs tighten around him in an embrace that had nothing to 
do with passion. He raised his eyes to look at her and she said simply, "I 
love you, Mulder. I've always loved you." Scully's eyes closed in defeat. 
She had given up the last brick in her wall of self defense, given it up to 
this man who she trusted above all others. He held the key to her very soul 
now, and he could use it to uplift or destroy her, as he chose. The thought 
of being so much at someone else's mercy made her shiver.

"Scully," he whispered, willing her to look at him. She opened her eyes 
again. "I..me too," he said, offering her his own key. She accepted with a 
smile and he knew that his heart would be safe in her keeping. Scully 
realized with his words that mercy was a two way street, that she had the 
power to uplift or destroy him as well. Such a responsibility was a 
frightening thing to her, but he calmed her fears with his gentle touch. 
She knew Mulder would never hurt her, and she vowed never to hurt him 
either.

"Tell me, Mulder," she said softly, pulling him down to her chest. "I need 
to hear you say the words. I'll never be able to believe it if you don't."

"I love you, Scully," he said in a barely audible voice. "You're everything 
to me."

Smiling, satisfied, she nuzzled her face into his hair and closed her eyes 
again. Now all she wanted was to sleep here in his arms for the rest of the 
night.

*****

When Scully awoke in the morning Mulder was already in the shower. She 
snuggled back down into the covers for a moment, then with a playful grin 
decided to give in to her impulse. She rose and went into the bathroom, 
pulling aside the curtain and joining Mulder under the spray of the water. 
He didn't hear her enter, and he started in surprise when she put her arms 
around him from behind, but as soon as he realized it was her he relaxed 
back into her embrace. Scully took the soap from him and began slowly and 
sensuously running it up and down his chest, teasing him until he could 
stand it no longer.

He crushed her against him, his mouth claiming hers as the water beat down 
on both their heads. "Mulder, we have to hurry or we'll be late," she 
whispered against his lips.

"Yeah?" he answered, nibbling on her ear. "What's your point?"

*****

"I'll follow you to work, Mulder," Scully told him when they finally got 
downstairs. He stood beside her as she unlocked her car door, her eyes 
glancing around the neighborhood, searching for anything or anybody out of 
the ordinary.

"Scully?" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and turning her around 
to face him. She opened her mouth to answer him and suddenly found herself 
up against the car, his body firmly pressed against hers, his mouth 
descending toward her own. The kiss was drawn out and intense, and long 
before he ended it Scully felt her knees buckling. She clung to his arms to 
hold herself upright, wondering at how he could make her go so light-headed 
and weak with such a simple act as brushing his lips to hers.

"See you there," he told her, grinning, as he helped her into her car. The 
way she responded to him flattered his ego greatly, and he felt completely 
satisfied after their activities of the morning as well as the previous 
night.

He climbed into his own car and they headed off to work.

Down the block someone was watching.

*****

"Where's Charlie?" Mulder asked curiously. He had gone to purchase his 
newspaper and found an unfamiliar face at the newsstand for the first time 
ever.

"Didn't you hear?" The vendor stared at him.

"Hear what? I've been out of town for a few days. The last time I saw 
Charlie was Monday."

"Monday's the day it happened, sir," the man said solemnly.

"What happened?" Mulder demanded, becoming exasperated. Dimly he wondered 
what was wrong with people who couldn't just come to the point.

"Charlie was murdered. Somebody came up behind him and knifed him in the 
back. Right in the kidney. Killed him almost instantly, they said." The man 
shuddered at the memory, and glanced surreptitiously around as if fearing 
the phantom killer might be lurking nearby.

Mulder felt his face whiten as the newspaper he was holding slipped through 
his fingers. It was the same as the man from the restaurant. "Hey! Be 
careful!" the salesman said, grabbing at Mulder's newspaper before the wind 
could catch it and blow it all over the street. He missed an ad circular, 
and the brightly colored red paper skittered and danced along the sidewalk 
as the wind took it on its unknown journey. "You ok?"

"Yeah, fine," Mulder said absently, his mind already working. "Did they 
catch the killer?"

"Nope. Nobody even saw anything. Weird, too, here on a crowded street." The 
man turned to his next customer, pointedly looking around Mulder who moved 
aside to let a small, wiry man purchase the latest copy of the Wall Street 
Journal.

"Sometimes the best place to hide is in a crowd," Mulder commented, almost 
to himself, as he took his paper and turned back toward the Hoover 
building.

He was accosted on the front steps by Agent Tom Rickerson, the Bureau's 
offensive-creep-in-residence. Mulder sighed when he saw that Rickerson was 
apparently waiting for him. Rickerson was one of those people that Mulder 
always tried to avoid at any cost--the type who took great pleasure in 
unpleasant teasing and insults. He was an unpopular man, largely due to the 
fact that he appeared to suffer from low self-esteem and was unable to 
consider himself successful unless he was putting someone else down.

"Hey, Spooky!" Rickerson called, sneer evident in his voice as Mulder 
approached.

Mulder's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he managed to answer pleasantly 
enough, "Morning, Rickerson." He hoped to walk on past and avoid a 
confrontation but Rickerson obviously had a bone to pick with Mulder. He 
stepped in front of Mulder, blocking his way. Mulder sighed again. It was 
going to be a long day.

"You want something?" Mulder asked, still hoping to deter any 
unpleasantness. It wouldn't do to upset the man, and besides, it would only 
irritate Scully. Then he would get her standard lecture about how he needed 
to work harder at fitting in with the other agents in the Bureau.

"Yeah. I want to know what you're doing with my case." The hostility, 
indeed downright anger coming from Rickerson was almost tangible and Mulder 
briefly wondered if the man knew how bad this was for his heart.

"Your case?" Mulder had no idea what Rickerson was babbling about. His mind 
was still on poor old Charlie and how similar his death had been to the man 
who had punched his companion in the restaurant earlier that week.

"The Aspen case. I guess that ass-kisser Skinner wasn't satisfied with my 
normal, rational approach to solving it so he turned it over to you and the 
little woman."

Mulder felt his blood pressure rise at Rickerson's slighting of Scully and 
her abilities, but reminded himself that punching the guy out would only 
serve to get him in trouble. Besides, Scully had certainly heard that, and 
worse, said about her before. It was impossible to be a female F.B.I. agent 
and completely escape the attitudes of some of the more unenlightened men. 
He told himself inwardly that if Scully were here now she'd be putting a 
calming hand on his arm and telling him not to let this person drive him to 
lose control of his temper. He could almost feel her soft touch below his 
elbow.

"I wasn't aware that it was your case."

Rickerson pushed on as though Mulder hadn't spoken. "So what's your theory, 
Spooky? Think Aspen is in cahoots with the little green men you're always 
chasing? Or maybe he's some kind of shape shifter that can slip between the 
bars of his cell, is that it?"

Mulder decided at that point that his best option was to simply walk away 
from the man. He shook his head in annoyance and tried to push past 
Rickerson but the other agent moved, again blocking his path. Mulder felt 
his tenuous hold on his anger slipping.

"What do you want from me, Rickerson? You want the case back? You can have 
it. You just go on up and tell Skinner what you think of his delegation 
skills, tell him he's assigned 'your' case to the wrong pair of agents. I'm 
sure he'll see it your way. However, Skinner is still my direct superior 
and until he tells me differently, Agent Scully and I," he said, stressing 
Scully's title, "will be working on the case assigned to us by that direct 
supervisor. Now if you'll excuse me..." He turned and walked into the 
building, leaving Rickerson standing on the sidewalk still hurling verbal 
abuse his way. Mulder told himself it didn't matter that Rickerson hated 
his guts for no apparent reason except that he had a different way of 
thinking. He told himself that people like Rickerson didn't like anybody. 
It didn't matter. He had Scully. Nothing else mattered.

"What's the matter, Agent Mulder?" A voice broke through his mental litany 
and he looked up, startled, into the face of the lobby receptionist, 
Angela.

Mulder tried to muster up one of his usual flirtatious comments but all his 
mind could hear right now was //So what's your theory, Spooky?.// He 
sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "It's nothing, just Rickerson being his 
usual charming self."

Angela frowned. She saw a lot more deeply into people than most would 
suspect, and she knew how easily Mulder could get his feelings hurt no 
matter what kind of front he put up. Mulder was one of her personal 
favorites, always ready with a kind word if she was feeling down or to ask 
about her family. He and Agent Scully had been the only agents out of the 
entire Bureau to express sympathy to her when her father had recently, and 
quite suddenly, died, and she still had the card that had been attached to 
the flowers they sent her. She doubted if most of the other people who 
passed her desk every day even knew she had lost someone dear to her, or 
had even noticed her change in mood for the first couple of weeks after his 
funeral. It was for that reason that she now leaned toward him with a 
sympathetic smile and a wink. "Don't let Rickerson get you down, Mulder. 
It's people like him that give assholes a bad name."

Mulder barked laughter. "Thanks, Angela," he grinned, grateful that someone 
had managed to make //So what's your theory, Spooky?// disappear from his 
mind for a moment.

Angela was truly the cream of the crop, he decided as her, "No problem, 
Gorgeous," followed him down the hall to the elevator.

"What's this?" Scully asked when he plopped a paper bag he had been 
carrying on the desk in front of her. There was a stain on the outside of 
the bag that looked suspiciously like chocolate.

"Chocolate eclair."

"Really?" she asked happily, digging into the bag. "To what do I owe the 
pleasure?"

"The pleasure was all mine, ma'am," he leered, wiggling an eyebrow at her.

"Believe me, Mulder, the pleasure wasn't all yours!" Scully laughed around 
her mouthful of eclair.

He grinned. "Scully, something strange happened a few minutes ago--" His 
sentence was cut short by the ringing of the phone and he answered it with 
his usual, terse, "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, this is Angela, upstairs." Her voice sounded strange, and it 
was immediately apparent to him that something was wrong. His first thought 
was that something had happened to her husband but he realized instantly 
how ridiculous that was. Why would she be calling him if that was the case?

"Angela? What's happened?" he asked, concerned, and Scully perked up at the 
mention of Angela's name. The receptionist was a favorite with both of 
them.

Angela's voice came back, sounding oddly detached. "I think you'd better 
get up here, Mulder. Agent Rickerson is dead."