The Wasteland Series by prufrock's love A Moment's Surrender An Age of Prudence Each in his Prison Against My Ruins Epilogue Summary: Told alternately from Mulder's, Scully's, and Skinner's perspective over the course of a decade, The Wasteland chronicles the repercussions of a single choice - a moment's surrender with another woman - that will test the bounds of Mulder and Scully's commitment to each other. What happens when a man gets almost exactly what he thought he always wanted? He has to learn to live with it forever. Classification: Story, Angst, MSR, UST, RST, Mulder/Other, Mulder/Scully, Scully/Skinner UST, Character Death Rating: Strong R Spoilers: Through season 7 Feedback: No. Really. Just enjoy. Distribution: However you like. Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue. Author's notes: Follow part 5 Begin: A Moment's Surrender Friday On so many levels, Mulder was not a happy man. Maybe he too was a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though he had no stoutness of the tum. He did like little fur hats, although he seldom had an opportunity to wear one. One more idiotic question, one more jerk-off excuse about protocol, or one more glassy-eyed traveler stupidly blocking his trajectory, though, and Mulder was going to dig out his little furry hat, locate his battle ax, and open a big can of whoop-ass on Delta Airlines at large. He didn't like Texas. He didn't like the heat, the humidity, or the accent. He didn't like abandoning his partner. He didn't like flying coach. He didn't like missing children. He didn't like looking like an idiot. At least he was an idiot with a badge, but those weren't exactly rare. Flopping down in the seat number corresponding to his sweaty ticket stub, he sprawled his legs into the aisle, daring the plasticized flight attendant to say anything. Futilely running his fingers through his hair, he tried to compose himself. Ten minutes to make it through the Dallas airport, running like he was about to rip open his shirt and reveal a big red "S." Running like he actually wanted to go to San Antonio. The alternative was spending the night in a Dallas no-tell motel, so he flashed his badge at everyone in sight and ran like a man possessed. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, he made the 2:20 flight at 2:23 and collected dirty looks from the men he had delayed three whole minutes. He didn't like the Dallas airport. He didn't like Dallas, but he'd listed that he despised Texas in general, and there were so many other things to add to his mental diatribe that he didn't want to count anything twice. He didn't like the stupid plane safety movie he had seen several thousand times and could lip sync along with. He didn't like whoever decided they should pass out Bridge Mix instead of peanuts. And he didn't like people who automatically thought they should recline their seats all the way back so he got to sit with his knees under his chin. Mulder was up to not liking astroturf and the itchy tag in his dress shirt when he lost his staring contest with the flight attendant and put his feet back where they were supposed to be. he thought, throwing her a kiss-my-ass grin. Why did he work so hard to create a private Hell for himself when the FBI would do it for him? Skinner had cornered him with the file first thing this morning: children had been disappearing outside of San Antonio and local law enforcement had requested an FBI profiler immediately. Immediately Agent Mulder. No, it can't wait until Monday, why - you didn't have plans did you, Agent Mulder? No-sir-I-live-for-your-jerk-off- assignments-sir. No bodies had been recovered, no ransom demanded. And the kicker: there were reports of mysterious lights in the sky. Send in the cavalry! Mulder's telephone call to the County Sheriff that morning was rewarded with "You come on down - I be waitin' out front." Yee-fuckin'-ha. Skinner had said he felt Mulder's profiling skills and paranormal experience would be "beneficial to the investigation." Mulder thought it was just an excuse for Skinner to make him miserable for the weekend. He turned his head to say this to his partner - the words almost tumbled out of his mouth before he remembered she wasn't in her usual place at his side. Hopefully, she was still curled up under an afghan on the couch at her mother's house where he had left her. Once she'd finally succumbed to the flu - she wouldn't admit it until he had to make an emergency stop so she could puke into the weeds on the side of the interstate - he'd descended on her apartment and "helped" her until Scully called her mother in self-defense. Mulder didn't exactly relish hearing her vomit; he just wanted to reassure himself that it was only the flu. A vivid imagination combined with a vast repertoire of horrors and an excellent memory is not always a good thing. Chanting helped. Even with his mantra, Mulder was still uneasy leaving her. His Scully, his touchstone, was hurting and he couldn't help her. Same song, different verse. his inner voice lectured him. There for him? Needy son-of-a-bitch, wasn't he? Ignoring his right knee, which was reminding him that dress shoes, airport floors, and sprinting don't necessarily mix, Mulder leaned back against the scratchy upholstery, closed his eyes, and mentally reviewed the status of his favorite X-file - the one involving a small redheaded pathologist. In that moment, he floated away from his cramped plane seat and into serene rightness. To one candle shining brightly in a demon-haunted world. He'd realized he needed her as he stood alone in her apartment after Duane Barry took her and had felt an icy wind blowing through his chest because he was not whole anymore. Alone, he was only half a person, and he needed Dana Scully in this world to complete him. From that moment, it was just a slow progression toward the inevitable. Or was it? Contrary to what Scully seemed to think, he actually could survive more than an arm's length away from her. As long as she was within cellular range, Mulder was content. She was his center, his anchor. Without her steady hand, even for the weekend, he felt dangerously adrift. His life was divided by a clear boundary - Before Scully and After Scully. An agnostic's version of B.C. and A.D. He liked the After Scully- Mulder much better. He ate better, dressed better, and was less lonely and more stable. Of course, he got laid a lot less. The businessman occupying the seat beside him looked offended by the snorting noise he had made. His happy place always started out so benign - a friendly montage of interesting cases, cute quips and good fights. All the times Scully had saved his ass, tended his wounds. Then his id remembered the warmth of her fingers playing over his skin as she changed a bandage, and over his superegos' protests, his happy place became an adults-only source of entertainment. Despite his first reaction to her, which was "cute, not my type," saying that Mulder found Scully attractive these days would be like saying he found blow jobs pleasant or breasts interesting. He walked into things he was so busy staring at her. Scully usually felt his forehead for fever and mumbled something about residual neurological impairment. Wonder if Uncle Sam knew how many CT scans he'd payed for because Agent Fox Mulder wouldn't admit to having a hard-on? It tended to get worse when he was miserable. Remember the vampire chick, Mulder? Scully was completely unaware of the effect she had on men or she was really good at not showing it. Considering she couldn't lie for shit, she probably had no idea how many eyes followed her down the hall - including those of a certain Assistant Director that had better keep his hands to himself. No matter how many bad guys she collared, how many lives she saved, the other agents still pitied him for having a female partner. It didn't stop them from making lewd jokes about her in the locker-room. Pretty little redhead starts dating her instructor and ends up teaching at Quantico. She must be awful good at something to merit that - wink, wink. Then they break up and she gets sent to the basement with Spooky Mulder. Too bad fucking him couldn't or didn't help her career. He flinched every time he heard it. The entire FBI could make fun of him over the building intercom for all he cared - he'd earned those remarks. Anyone who insulted his partner only did it once in front of Mulder, which probably didn't help the rumors about the two of them. He was a man that searched for the truth. The truth was that Scully was brilliant and beautiful and dedicated and trustworthy and he loved her with all his heart. No, that wasn't a recent revelation. No, not platonic, friendly love, either. Forever, let's-adopt-babies-after-extensive-efforts-to-make- our-own, love. Of course, he had no idea how to go about convincing her of that. She tended to assume he was delusional and order more blood work. Getting stuck with a needle every time he kissed her or told her he loved her tended to dampen a fellow's Amor. Maybe if "Marry Me Scully" showed up on his next x-ray, she'd get a clue. He'd have to get it to show up twice, since Scully would immediately order a second series of films. And they called him obtuse. When other women asked him if he was with anyone, he would say "yes." Between working and goofing off, he WAS with Scully almost every waking hour, unless she ran him off. Of course he knew how she liked her coffee and what size clothing she wore - that was easy. His cherished tidbits of information were about her most private self. He knew when she got her period - spend enough time in close proximity to a woman with PMS and a scalpel and you'll keep track, too. He knew where they kept changes of clothes and toothbrushes in each other's apartments. He knew her neck hurt after doing several autopsies in a row, and that even though she wouldn't admit to it, she'd let him massage it if he didn't say anything. He knew where the spare toilet paper was in her bathroom and that she'd been saving Betty Crocker points for years. Considering that Scully couldn't really cook, soon she'd have enough points for a spoon. Sex was the final frontier. Not that she would refuse him sex, if he asked her the right way. Like all good mommies, Scully couldn't deny her favorite wayward child much of anything. Show up at her house late one night, look needy, cry a bit, and she would probably offer. He knew how that game went - you got laid, but you usually lost a friend afterwards. So what if he scratched this little itch that was a full-blown rash some days? He stood to lose his partner, his savior, his confidante, and his best friend. Given that choice - Christ, it was just an itch, after all. Mulder wanted the passion, but he would settle for the safe way. It wasn't that itch to bury himself in his partner that bothered him so much - impulses like that had been constant background noise since he was twelve. It was that the two if them had stretched the elastic boundaries of friendship and partnership until they were beginning to fray like an old rubber band. There was no room left inside those confines to grow, and there was a lifetime of space outside the border. It was convincing and enticing, dragging Dana Scully out of the sacred "friend" circle that was presenting the problem. A series of losers seemed to have no difficulty separating his partner from her panties, but Mulder had never gotten one glimmer of interest. She tolerated, but she did not reciprocate. Maybe she never would. He shifted in his cramped seat trying to find a comfortable position now that his seat was safely "full and upright." Looking around, he saw row after row of similarly dressed businessmen. There was one difference, though, and it made him feel very lonely. There would be wives and girlfriends in soft silk blouses, sons and daughters draped with backpacks and band-aids waiting for the other men at the gate. The only thing waiting for Mulder in Texas was a headache. The plane bounced twice on the runway indicating Mulder had arrived in San Antonio. True to his word, the deputy sheriff was waiting in his patrol car "out front" of the airport. The deputy greeted him by squinting across the car from the driver's seat and asking "You Mulder?" As much as Mulder wanted to lie some days, he nodded his head affirmatively. The car's trunk popped open. Mulder sighed, tossed his bag in the trunk and got in the car. It was going to be a long weekend. Scully had promised to fly down if he was still there when she felt better, but with no bodies to perform autopsies on, he was probably stuck by himself. ********** Mulder flipped through the file as the sullen deputy drove him out of San Antonio and into the vast hill country. The deputy had driven into the city to meet him and had said it was "about an hour" back to Blanco. "About an hour" was quickly turning into three, thanks to rush hour traffic. Three hours, about five hundred cows, and twelve words from the deputy later Mulder had started to chafe. He'd tried to discuss the case and had only received polite, one-word responses that committed to nothing. The Deputy wasn't being evasive, he just wasn't chatty. He was at least avoiding hearing that awful twangy Texas accent, so he put on his best serious FBI face and reviewed the file. Four children - three boys and a girl - ages four to ten, missing from their backyards and playgrounds in the middle of the day. It wasn't likely that these kids were on the same baseball team; all the children's histories noted serious developmental problems. Some he recognized - autism, Down's syndrome, retardation. Some were more mysterious - Fragile X, Prader-Willi. He'd have to ask Scully about those when he called her tonight, but the fact that all the kids had problems was a place to start. What would kids with disabilities all have in common? He checked for the same pediatrician - no. Neurologists, geneticists, speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, special education teachers, nutritionists, cardiologists, psychiatrists . . . And then he found a common name. Well, that was easy. Maybe if they turned around right now, he could catch the same plane back to DC and be home in time to tuck Scully in. "Did you notice that all the children have the same psychologist?" "Yep.." Mulder tried again, "Has anyone questioned him?" "Her," the deputy replied, never taking his eyes off the tractor- trailer full of cattle in front of them. "What?" "She's a her." Such a definitive answer must have taxed the deputy. Apparently there are only a finite number of words available for usage each day and the deputy was sharing his ration with a New York City gossip columnist and a DC politician. "A developmental NEUROpsychologist." He rechecked the file - yep - Dr. "Elizabeth" Matthews. He tried again. "OK, has anyone questioned her?" he said with the proper emphasis and awe on "her" "She didn't do it." Mulder felt that headache coming on. He located his most nonthreatening tone. "Has she been questioned?" "She didn't take no kids," the deputy replied. Mulder's whining temples were beginning to scream. His preliminary profile was a little hazy, but he saw a lonely and bitter, middle-aged woman no one suspected of kidnapping and killing her clients. She'd drive a Subaru Legacy and wear baggy jumpers and vests. She wouldn't have children of her own and would see this as a way of creating a family for herself. Or of curing the children. Either way, Mulder was smelling the first real female serial killer. Plain woman except for the requisite big blonde Texas hair. She had a leather fetish and gave good head. Well, it was his private profile and he was bored and he was staring at a cow's ass and his head hurt. He could make it up any way he wanted. "I would like to interview her as soon as possible," Mulder said. "She'd be at the school. I'll take you over," the deputy replied indulgently. His solicitousness annoyed Mulder even more. Wide-eyed questioning looks at the deputy got him no answers. "How do you know she's at the school?" Mulder finally asked, rubbing his temples. The deputy (Eden?) waited a few seconds before answering. Mulder tried to take in every nuance- he hoped the man might finally say something helpful. Finally the deputy answered, "My boy's coming home soon. She's helping us get ready. Besides, dinner isn't until eight." ********** The patrol car pulled into a dusty parking lot surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped building. Apparently the Elementary, Junior High and Senior High School. Mulder saw miniature playground equipment beside a building on the hill which he assumed was a kindergarten or preschool. "She'd be over there," the deputy said, gesturing to the yellowed building on their left. Probably the High School. "You go on in." Besides the patrol car, there were only three vehicles in the parking lot. A gold Lincoln, a red Suburban, and a battered green Legacy. Mulder crunched across the gravel parking lot and up the ancient High School steps, working an afternoon's worth of kinks out of his legs and back as he went. The old building smelled of decades of teenagers' hormones and pep rallies. Only the office and one room at the end of the hall had lights on, giving it a Stephen King-prom kind of atmosphere. Walking past rows of dented gray metal lockers, he switched his senses into heightened-observer mode. He was about to meet the woman most likely responsible for or connected to the disappearance of four children, whether the deputy thought so or not. He was close. Kind of turned him on, actually. Light and voices were spilling out of a room at the end of the dark main hallway. It was man's insistent voice followed by a young woman's voice, low and throaty. Mulder slowed his pace so he could gather information - often known as eavesdropping in layman's terms. "We feel this classroom will best meet John's educational needs for the time being. When we're more certain of his social skills, we can consider another placement." "He's not going to spend his days locked in the mop closet!" The woman's voice was neutral, but Mulder got the feeling she meant what she said. "I promise you, John will receive the best quality education available here, Liz. We're not trying to slight him, but there just isn't any other space." The man's deep voice was polite but patronizing; using the same tone police detectives used with Scully. The woman's response was soft, but it snapped like a whip. "First, YOU don't get to call me 'Liz' and second, we can put John in your office and move your desk in here if you're so fond of this room. Would you want to spend your days in here, Todd?" The man switched tactics - his words were calm and measured. "We hold your recommendations in very high regard, and we want the best education for all our students." "What's this 'we' stuff, Todd? You are the superintendent and my client's current classroom has a drain in the middle of the floor and a sink in the corner. Either 'we' can find another room or 'we' can go to Court. Again. Remember how well it went for the school system last time?" Mulder thought. He'd been on the receiving end of speeches like that one enough to know that resistance was futile. You had to stand your ground a little, though, until she got flushed and started gesturing wildly and you got a glimpse down her blouse. And he wondered why Scully's brother thought he was such a sorry son- of-a-bitch? There was a pause before the man's voice replied. "Fine, DOCTOR Elizabeth, you win. The football team loses their equipment room. Is that acceptable?" The words were tinged with humor, as though the man had been forced to try to sell her on a bad deal and was attempting to make amends. "Acceptable and appropriate. That boy has grown about a foot since you last saw him. If we can teach him to knock only certain people down, Blanco High will have a star football player. Can the room be ready for Anne to get settled in by Tuesday?" The woman's voice also relaxed. "We'll have it ready, Elizabeth, honey." < 'Elizabeth, honey?'> Mulder thought. Pretty friendly all of a sudden. The woman's voice continued, purring like a contented cat - she'd gotten exactly what she wanted. Intelligent, well-educated, and very warm. And the accent wasn't what he'd expected - distinctly Southern without being harsh. His mental computer was whirring away storing these bits of information as he walked towards the glorified mop closet. A second female voice spoke - older, less certain, "If everything is settled, I'd like to be gettin' home." Mulder added to himself, Mulder was only about ten feet from the room when a woman emerged. She was dead-on what he had been picturing - dumpy, plain, worn. Huge blonde hair. Animals could nest unnoticed in that hair. He was mentally patting himself on the back when a big voice called out from behind him. "Is everything ready, Miss Anne?" Mulder realized it must be the deputy. Maybe he'd stopped to take a wiz in the parking lot. He turned to locate the voice and saw one of the biggest men he'd ever encountered outside the NFL standing by the front doors, humbly holding his hat in his hand. He hadn't seen the deputy standing before; he'd just gotten in the car at the airport. Unfolded, the man must be at least six and a half feet tall. Two- fifty, two-hundred seventy-five pounds, Mulder guessed. He was amused at whatever Texas tradition dictated this man address people as "Miss Anne." Miss Anne didn't seem worried about being face-to-face with a stranger wearing an Armani suit in a high school hallway at 6:15 at night. Mulder thought. He was quickly sorting out names, faces, and plot points. A small woman stepped into the shadows, silhouetted by the light from the room behind her. She was still dictating directions to the teacher and superintendent and didn't immediately react to Mulder, giving him precious time to collect his thoughts. His mind worked on several levels, and all of them jolted into high gear. Well, everyone has an id. Eat it, kill it, or fuck it. Ego had kicked in. The superego was still present, but heavily influenced by his groin area. He processed rapid fire: She was attractive, young, polished, but so were millions of other woman. His first impression of her was only His eyes flitted over her trying to decide exactly what reminded him so much of his partner. Maybe the height - the two women were both small. Scully was positively tiny these days, though. Dr. Matthews probably has about ten or so pounds on Dr. Scully, concentrated, thankfully, in breasts and hips. Her hair was blonder, but still reddish and cut in a similar style. Eye were dark blue. Fair skin. The resemblance was enough that Mulder could have picked her up in a bar for a one-night stand and easily pretended she was Scully. That last thought made Mulder cringe at himself, but his headache had vanished. "Folks, this here is Agent Mulder, from the FBI. Agent Mulder, this here is Mr. Todd, our county superintendent, Miss Anne, my boy's new teacher, and Dr. Elizabeth Matthews." The deputy's proud pronunciation of FBI definitely required capital letters. Maybe he wasn't such an asshole. Lips politely smiled and hands were shaken all around. Mulder got to flash his badge. He lived for that. "Deputy Edmonson, we were just getting the final details worked out for John. You still expecting him Wednesday?" Todd asked, as though he wasn't standing in the presence of profiling greatness. Mulder was not used to being overlooked. The men continued to discuss the deputy's son, leaving him to stand there looking at either his shoes or Dr. Matthews. He preferred Dr. Matthews. He saw a brief wave of shock, or maybe recognition, pass over her face before her poised expression returned. He filed that look for further rumination. "Agent Mulder, would you like to join us for dinner?" a voice asked. A quick reality check revealed the voice belonged Dr. Matthews. "Dinner? Um, I'd, um, like to ask you some questions about the, ah, the children..." he said, tripping over his tongue. For Christ's sake, Mulder - there's appreciating a lovely woman and then there's making an ass of yourself because you're alone and frustrated. "You're welcome to ask them on the drive over." The deputy retreated to his patrol car for reasons of his own and Teacher Anne also slipped away, leaving Mulder, Todd and Dr. Matthews standing on the cracked school steps. Mulder noticed the Subaru belonged to Anne. He also saw that Dr. Matthews positioned herself on the step above him and Todd so she didn't have to tip her head so far back as they spoke. A way to equalize herself when others thought she was inferior. "Todd, just for not being an ass again, maybe you and Carol can each merit your own piece of shortcake tonight," Dr. Matthews teased. Her teasing was friendly, without sexual undertones. Todd's wasn't, but she didn't seem to be picking up on that. Or else she was ignoring it. "You making the kind with your strawberries and real whipped cream?" Todd inquired. Todd's kind wasn't subtle. Mulder hadn't realized this was an invitation to dinner at her home. Although his warning lights flashed, his train of thought was chugging into a wet tunnel far away in the distance. If she was the kidnapper, she'd just invited him to comb through her home for clues, however inadmissable. Although he currently doubted this woman had any children hidden in her basement, one excuse to check her drawers was as good as another. How could Skinner object - well, never mind. Skinner could always find something to object about. It was like a mission for the man. Mulder was aware that no one was speaking. The silence probably meant a question had been directed at him. "I'm sorry..." he started. "Do you have any luggage?" Dr. Matthews was asking, smiling an enigmatic Scully- smile. God help him. His things were transferred from the patrol car to the trunk of the new Lincoln and Mulder was buckled into the passenger seat before he could object. It was like a strong tide was sweeping him along - he seemed to be alone in a car with the woman that, ten minutes ago, he had pegged as a psycho kidnapper. Keb Mo was playing his steel guitar on the fancy stereo and the sun was dying in a thousand shades of burgundy. Dr. Matthews was smiling a Mona Lisa smile and apparently going to feed him dinner. If this tide involved his pants down around his ankles at any time this evening, he'd decided just to go with it. Can't turn down Southern hospitality. It hadn't dawned on him that he was 60 miles away from civilization without a vehicle or a place to spend the night sharing a car with a strange woman, that, enchanting or not, was somehow connected to four missing children. He'd exchanged exactly 33 words with the local law enforcement before jaunting off. Amazing how selective the male mind could be. His thoughts were simple: He took a deep breath and discovered she was wearing perfume. Didn't help. "Dr. Matthews..." Then he forgot what he was going to ask. "Elizabeth, please." "Okay- Elizabeth. I'd like to ask you some questions about the missing children. You seem to be a possible link between all of them, so you might be considered a suspect. Do you understand what that means?" His efforts to seem calm went a little overboard. He sounded like he was explaining this to a child. Maybe she wouldn't notice. Maybe she'd think all FBI agents spoke like that. "Maybe if you talk real slow and explain it using small words..." Yep, she'd noticed. Sounded like she might be teasing, but he couldn't tell for sure - reading women socially wasn't Mulder's strong suit. Time to back peddle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting." He was ready to apologize from the bottom of his heart. Mulder knew he did apologies very well. He had to - he screwed up a lot. She spoke quickly before he could launch into his usual penance: "I want you to find the children. I will do anything I can to help you." Elizabeth's voice was pressed, emotional. It was like that switch had been flicked again, briefly, just like when he'd met her. The poised woman was replaced by a frightened girl for an instant. She was more upset than he'd realized. He had two thoughts: That was a good indicator that she didn't view herself as a suspect. His other thought was more base. He'd better stop before she got annoyed. It was a long walk back to town. "Tell me what you know about the children and the disappearances." Sadly, she did not mention alien abductions. Mulder listened as she spoke. He was impressed - she'd given this a lot of thought. Her presentation was concrete and neutral - she'd make a good FBI agent. Hell, she'd make a good partner for him. His tongue moved before he thought: "Tell me about you." Elizabeth looked over at him - her expression was a combination of stunned and politely annoyed. He realized too late that his request sounded like a bad pick-up line. "I was sent down to create a profile of the kidnapper. To create a profile, I need a connection between the children and you could be the connection. I need to know what about you would make you a target. Why the kidnaper is taking your clients. Who is he to you? What does he want?" "What would you like to know?" she asked as she turned the car onto a narrower road. It was fully dark now and there were no lights except the car's headlights. Any clouds had vanished and the late-winter stars were out in full force. It made Mulder feel very alone in the universe. Alone and horny - not a good combination. "What might be important?" He was hedging. He knew it and she knew it. He wondered how long she'd play. Probably a little longer; the kids were very important to her. There was a wedding band on her right hand. A widow? He was probably hoping for too much. "I moved here last year after I finished school. My father left me the house. I thought it would be a good place to exorcize some demons and make a fresh start." The car turned into a long driveway and Mulder saw said house. he thought. He made another mental Post-It note to ask about those "demons" later. The timber frame house was large, estate-like. Even in the dark, it was impressive. "I've decided to put it on the market when the weather gets warmer. It's too big for just me." Elizabeth was either very trusting or very naive - Scully would have known better than to admit she lived alone to a strange man. Either that, or it was an invitation. The looks he was getting from the corner of her eye were curious, but not exactly "come hither." He had no real intention of "coming hither" anyway. She was cute, but she wasn't his Scully. They left the car in the vast garage and walked toward the back door. A chorus of barking and horse sounds greeted them. "Wait just a second, please," she asked and opened the heavy wooden door just enough to slip her body through, shutting it behind her and leaving him standing on the back porch. His worrying ceased as he saw her leading a very excited German Shepard past him toward a run behind the garage. Another dog, an old Border Collie walked up beside him stiffly and sniffed suspiciously. "Sam Dog. Sit!" Elizabeth ordered from the yard. Sam Dog sat. She returned and held open the back door for him. "I inherited Sam Dog - he's pretty calm these days. Lucille is still young and bouncy. Sorry." He had to smile. "Lucille? As in 'fine time to leave me Lucille?' There has to be a story behind that." He followed her through a sparkling clean laundry room and stationed himself on the kitchen stool she indicated to, tangling his long legs in the rungs. The old dog rested his head on Mulder's knee - a kindred spirit. His smile was returned. "Lucille as in B.B. King's guitar. My husband was a huge blues fan." He waited. Most people won't wait more that a few seconds before they are compelled to say something. Unfortunately, she probably knew that. "You could just ask if you need to know." "What if I just want to know?" Elizabeth missed the voice and answered earnestly, "He died a few years ago. Of cancer - he was diagnosed while I was in the Ph.D. program. We had been together since I was in high school. I finished grad school and wanted to run. My father died and left me this house, so I ran here. I thought two wrongs might add up to a right." She'd just laid her soul barer to him after an hour than Scully had in seven years. Although there was nothing flirtatious in her manner, she radiated warmth and ease. He watched her as she hung her suit coat over a dining room chair and stepped out of her high heels. Standing at the stereo, she wiggled her toes in the carpet, glad to be free of her shoes. Soon Jimi Hendrix was softly playing the blues while she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. She turned around, drying off her hands on a towel, ready to answer any questions he asked. It was as though she were laying herself naked before him, welcoming him into her most private self. He wanted Scully to bare her soul to him as easily one day, so maybe he should be taking notes. So this is how normal people live. A small voice whispered in his brain: <"Don't you ever just want to get out of the damn car Mulder?"> ********** "Elizabeth, I don't know what information I'll need from you. We'll need to talk tomorrow after I interview the families." Elizabeth opened a bottle of Guinness and set it in front of him. She hadn't asked if he'd wanted a beer she'd just delivered. Mulder took a sip, surprised at her choice of beverages, and remembering another pint with another woman in another country. He hoped this evening turned out better. If it didn't end with him drunk, alone, and sitting on a curb crying over Phoebe, it would end better. "Thank you. I'm not supposed to drink on the clock..." "Oh, I'm sorry." She looked like a guilty child. Elizabeth grabbed the beer off the counter and had the refrigerator open reaching for a pitcher before he could finish his sentence. "...so I'll take myself off the FBI's time. There isn't anything specific I can accomplish until morning anyway. Can I have that beer back?" He was reshuffling his Scully-forever fantasy to include getting a cold drink when he walked in the door. She'd shoot him again for that chauvinistic thought. Of course, she'd shoot him for his bent-over- the-desk-in-a-black-garter-belt fantasy, but that hadn't dampened that one. Elizabeth smiled a polite smile and returned the pitcher of tea to the refrigerator. She handed the bottle back to him and turned on the oven, then looked anxiously out the kitchen window, scanning the black horizon. It took Mulder about a minute before he realized he was making her uneasy. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. What can I do?" He stood up and tried to appear more helpful and less predatory. Elizabeth stopped her bustling around the kitchen and looked at him with big, frightened eyes - a little too frightened for the situation. He had on overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her and assure her it would be okay - whatever "it" was. "You didn't plan this out very well, did you?" He was stating the obvious with a sympathetic grin. What the hell was this lovely woman doing alone, out in the middle of nowhere? Just waiting for him to walk into her life? Ten, even five years ago, Mulder would have taken it as a sign. Now, it only made him uneasy. "Don't doubt that you are welcome - this is just unreal to me." Her poised masked had slipped again. Mulder had no idea what she meant, but he caught a glimpse of her soul before her placid smile reappeared. "Could you light a fire in the fireplace? I've already laid it, just light it with the long matches. It still gets cold at night in March." The fireplace was on the living room wall behind him. Hell, it WAS the wall. The hearth was ten feet wide and the brick climbed up through the exposed cedar beams to the ceiling, which had to be thirty feet high. Hendrix sounded like he was playing his guitar from every corner of the huge room. "That is some sound system," Mulder said, for lack of a more original thought. "After I bought the car a few months ago, my old Wal-mart tape deck started to sound wimpy. I actually have no idea what all those little knobs and buttons do. I just put in the CD and push 'Play'. Works the same as my old Fisher-Price cassette player I found in the attic." She seemed to be searching for a topic of conversation as well. That was a longer answer than was required. He lit the wood and stood back. "How old were you when you left?" "About ten. My mother left and took me with her. That's how I know Todd and Carol, and Edmonson and Jeanette - I went to Elementary School with them. It's odd that they're so grown up now." She didn't seem bothered by his questions, but she didn't make anymore small talk either. Elizabeth seemed to either say something important or be very silent - there was almost no middle ground. As the fire caught, he glanced at the pale oak bookshelves that lined the wall beside the fireplace. Provided these were her books, she was well read. He recognized old favorites: Jung, Skinner, Freud. Text books indicating undergraduate and graduated studies in psychology and liberal arts. Other shelves held classics - he'd never actually known anyone who'd read "War and Peace"; might be there just for show. There was what looked to be a first edition copy of "Gone With the Wind." Several T.S. Eliot and Rainer Maria Rilke. Carl Sagan and Thomas Harris. If she was a setup, someone had done a damn good job to make her look legitimate. And to create a woman he would like, but only of they knew he liked Scully. Tucked in one corner, he noticed another section. Spec manuals for military vehicles and weapons, well-used. Several fantasy and spy novels. "Intro to Organic Chemistry." He'd bet money those books weren't hers. Elizabeth followed his gaze. "Those were Scott's. It's silly to keep them, I know." Her voice was soft. "Was he in the military? A mechanic?" Mulder was guessing from the repair manuals. "He was a Marine with the Special Projects Consortium. Did you know him?" She sounded hopeful. Mulder shook his head "no" but he jumped at the word "consortium." Her tranquil expression hadn't changed. There were probably lots of consortiums, most of them not conspiring against him personally. "Do you still miss him?" he asked, matching her soft tone. He thought of what his life would have been like without his Scully. If the darkness had swallowed her... "I can feel the wind blowing through my soul, I miss him so much sometimes. When he was alive, I couldn't imagine my life without him. I thought it would be just an empty expanse of time. I didn't die with him, although I thought I would. It's only bad now when I notice I've put beer for him in my grocery cart or scooted over to my side of the bed in case he comes home in the middle of the night. I'll hear a good joke or the car will make a funny noise and I'll think 'I'll have to tell Scott.' When I realize that I can't, that cold wind starts again." Mulder couldn't even begin to process how close to home that hit. "I didn't mean to pry." "Yes, you did. It's okay , I needed to tell someone." She was amazingly calm. Just standing there, watching him, unreadable as the Tolstoy book on her shelf. She was stronger than he thought. He sipped his beer and decided to be quiet and digest for a while. "Do you want to come chop veggies? You might think better if you're busy." He obediently washed his hands and started on the carrots she put in front of him. She handed him a bunch big enough to feed an army - an army that really liked carrots. "How many people are coming to dinner?" "Whole damn town. It's Friday, after all." He couldn't tell of she was joking or not, so he just sliced and diced. Time to change the subject, lighten the mood. "I should warn you, my partner doesn't let me have sharp objects. She gets tired of me leaking all over her suits." Elizabeth must be experienced with reluctant kitchen helpers. That got him a smile, but it didn't get him out of kitchen duty. "Please don't bleed in the salad. I'm a vegetarian." ********** Superintendent Todd - Mulder didn't know if that was his first or last name - finally arrived - alone. He brought something called 'Lonestar' beer and said tightly that his wife wouldn't be joining them. He was followed by, as Elizabeth termed them, the whole damn town. All of them also seemed to have only one name. Elizabeth hadn't exaggerated, but the town wasn't that big. They were joined by the sole Blanco police officer, who was the brother-in-law of the mayor, who was sitting beside Deputy Edmonson. Edmonson's round wife Jeanette was sitting across from her brother, the local doctor, and his cousin, the Baptist minister/ volunteer fire chief. Over his blood-free salad, Mulder asked Edmonson what would happen if there was an emergency, since all the law enforcement and emergency personnel were at dinner. The deputy looked at him like he'd grown an extra head: "They know better than that." There was probably a schedule posted somewhere. Small town gossip ensued and dinner passed pleasantly. Edmonson's wife was the talker of the relationship. She'd told Mulder intimate details about people he didn't even know by dessert, so he felt free to pose a few questions. When he asked what Elizabeth's father had been like, her answer was both priceless and illuminating: "The General? He was the kind of man who went bear-hunting with a stick." Elizabeth seemed to be feminine times two, the kind of woman accustom to a very masculine man. He made a mental note to wear flannel and let Elizabeth see him shoot something. Just for fun. Give him some interesting ideas for his Scully-file. During dinner, Mulder caught several curious glances from her in his direction. Soon her guests were leaving, juggling heavy foil-wrapped plates and doing the kiss-kiss thing. Mulder had to go to the bathroom and wash the lipstick off of his face by the time the four women finished telling him goodbye as they left. If he was still nine years old, he would have made yuck-faces when middle-aged woman he didn't know insisted on planting wet kisses on him, but these days it was considered a date. The deputy's wife had pinched his cheek and called him "cutie." Federal Agents carrying concealed weapons frowned on being addressed as "cutie." Except for Todd, who had staked out a corner on the couch and was on his second six-pack, the house was quiet the way only a huge empty house can be. Mulder hadn't realized how late it was or how tired he was. Maybe he'd get the kiss-kiss from Elizabeth as he left. He was ready to stretch out and go to sleep. They just looked at him when asked where the nearest motel was. Todd's square features looked puzzled, Elizabeth's looked amused. Mulder suspected she'd consumed about two too many beers. She finally answered, "There's no motel for an hour's drive." he could hear Scully scolding in his ear. He hadn't called her since he'd left DC. "Take the first bedroom upstairs. You can call Edmonson in the morning and decide what you want to do tomorrow." She said it like it was the most logical thing in the world. Mulder stared at her open-mouthed. "It's no trouble. Please stay - it will make me feel safer." Todd crossed his arms and glared at Mulder like a sentry guarding a gate. From the balcony at the top of the stairs, he looked down on Elizabeth and Todd, still telling stories on the couch in front of the dying fire. They looked comfortable together, right. It reminded him again that he should call Scully. The first bedroom was directly across the hall from a balcony with a telescope pointed south. Curious, he looked out at the sky and saw lights flickering over the hills. "Elizabeth - have you ever noticed lights in the sky at night?" he called downstairs. "They've been there for years. We're in the flight path. You can watch them land and take off through the telescope." She was coming up the stairs to show him, a little unsteady on her feet. Obviously she was unaware he was about to jump out of his skin. How could she be so calm? "What do you think the lights are?" Always useful to ask the obvious. "Whatever they're training on at the Air Force base. It's really loud when they fly over during the day, but they can't get that low at night. The lights look pretty cool, though. People sometimes think they're UFOs" He flashed her his best heart-melting grin and she leaned on the wooden railing, returning his smile. She was definitely feeling her alcohol. This trip to Texas might turn out okay, after all. A tipsy Scully- twin. This could be interesting. There was still that itch he hadn't been scratching recently... No; he'd never do that to Scully - make love to another woman and pretend it was her. "I'm sorry it isn't one of your X -files, Agent Mulder." The majority of his brain functions were occupied with the smooth white skin of her neck, and it took a few seconds for her words to register. He assumed he was just famous. Or infamous. "How did you know my division is called the X-Files? I never told you." He wouldn't have reacted if her expression hadn't screamed "caught." He repeated himself, his words more clipped this time, "How did you know?" No answer, but her eyes were the size of saucers. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into the house and deeper into the hall, away from Todd downstairs. "Who are you? Who set this up? What do you want? Tell me, goddamn it!" With each whispered question, Mulder got angrier and angrier. He'd been fucked with enough for one lifetime and one of THEM in a pretty package was still one of THEM. She wasn't giving any answers, but she clearly had them. He wrapped his hand around her slender throat to stress the importance of her cooperation. With her pinned against the wall, his hand starting to choke her, he wondered if he could actually bring himself to kill a woman with his bare hands. He thought he probably could. She must have sensed that, because she finally whispered, "I am who I say I am. I didn't lie to you." "How did you know about the X-Files?" "My husband knew about you." Now Mulder felt like a fool. Maybe everyone was right - maybe he was nuts. He'd just assaulted this woman because her dead husband had heard of the X-Files. Her husband that was part of the Consortium... No, he wasn't that crazy and he wasn't letting go of her just yet. She could already end his career - another three minutes wouldn't change that. "How did he know me? Why don't you tell me about this consortium, Elizabeth?" "It doesn't have anything to do with the children, I swear. If I told, he would just kill me." "If you told what?" She had tears running down her cheeks now. "Scott told me what he did, once he got really sick. That they gave him that brain tumor. The Smoking Man warned not to repeat anything Scott said. He was...very persuasive." Mulder took his hand off her throat, stunned, but he didn't let her go. "What did your husband do?" "Anything they told him to. 'Wet works,' whatever project that is." He was a killer. That was what 'wet works' meant. That means her darling hubby was one of the men that killed his father or Melissa or, Christ, how long was the list now? What this woman must know just from listening to hubby talk in his sleep could solve half his X-files. "Why did they give him cancer?" "He said he wouldn't shoot the little boy. He wanted out, so they let him out. He was dead within three months." "Gibson? Gibson Praise?" She shook her head in the dark. "I won't tell you, Agent Mulder. Not ever. Whatever I know, it's not worth anyone else dying for." "I can make you tell me." He meant it. She raised her head to look him dead in the eye. "He got nosebleeds and headaches, Agent Mulder. Nothing to worry about, right Agent Mulder? Except the nosebleeds got worse and worse. Then, some days, he couldn't remember where he was or who I was. Then he started to get mean. He'd never hurt me, Agent Mulder. Never, not even when..." She stopped to sniff. "It is very difficult to convince an ER doctor not to report domestic violence or rape to the Police more than once. The second time, they took Scott away from me and put him in the hospital." Was that what would have happened to Scully? Would she have descended into a hellish nightmare of confusion and paranoia? As much as it had hurt him to see her beautiful body suffer, he was grateful her mind had been spared. He was grateful she was spared. "Do you know how red eight pints is, Agent Mulder? It's a gallon. A gallon of blood pouring out of his nose and mouth while he lay there choking. It soaked through my blouse and the bed sheets and finally made a big pool in the floor like someone had spilled red paint, because that much blood couldn't possibly have come from one person. The government doctor just stood there and listened to me scream while my husband died." She paused to take a shaky breath. "Can you think of something worse than that to do to me, Agent Mulder? Because if you can't, that smoking bastard has taken all he's going to take from me." Mulder was overwhelmed by the imagery in his mind. Love, lust, terror, rage, guilt, loneliness, and regret all painted with a blood-red roller brush were reflected back in her wet eyes. His instincts told him to hold her, so he did. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth, back and forth. To his surprise, she didn't resist. Elizabeth rested her head against his chest and sobbed silently, as though she was embarrassed to disturb the night with her grief. He stroked her head and murmured, "I'm sorry. So sorry, Elizabeth. Your smoking man has also taken...too much from me. I'm so sorry." He didn't know if he was apologizing for frightening her or for the sins of men like his father. Eventually, he just held her in the heavy darkness, feeling its weight pressing down on their shoulders, pushing them together in order to stay upright like the joists supporting the roof above them. Downstairs, he heard Todd getting up to come search for Elizabeth. She pulled away from him at the sound, taking several more deep breaths. "My husband wasn't a bad man, Agent Mulder. He did what he did to protect the future for everyone who couldn't protect themselves, just like you do. He said you are a good man. Sometimes it's hard to tell who those are, but he thought you were one. So do I." Then she wiped her eyes and went downstairs to meet Todd, leaving Mulder standing alone in the dim hallway. He stood there for a long time, trying to process what he was feeling. He listened to Todd yap at Elizabeth in front of the fireplace, totally unaware of what had just happened upstairs. Mulder's brain was full for the day - could he be excused? Pulling on his sweat pants and stretching out across the comfortable bed, he reached for his cell phone. Scully's "Hello, Mulder," was sleepy. "Guess what Scully? I solved the mystery of the lights in the sky." "Does that mean no more midnight flights and cheap motels in Podunk?" "It's good that you already associate midnight and cheap motels with me, Scully." He leaned his head back off the side of the bed to help the pervasive images of her drenched in blood drain out. Wishing his partner a benign, friendly goodnight instead of the words that were heavy on his tongue, Mulder closed his eyes and heard his own teenage voice inside his mind, reciting a poem learned two decades ago: His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world. As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of his powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly- . An image enters in, rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles, plunges into the heart and is gone. How odd the things a man remembers when his higher brain is too tired to police the careful boundary and the primal mind roams free. His last conscious sensation before sleep came was hearing Todd's slurred voice loudly asking, "So when do I get to call you Liz?" ********** Saturday Mulder lingered in the arms of Morpheus. He stretched and scratched without opening his eyes. One of the greatest indulgences in a man's life was that first good scratch in the morning. One scratches what one can. Opening his eyes a millimeter, he determined it was the quiet time of morning right before dawn. Returning to consciousness, he did as any man does when he awakens in a strange bed: he played possum until he could determine where he was. In a bed. Soft, clean sheets. Seemed to be alone. No stickiness in tell-tale morning-after areas. Scully's apartment? Was he shot, sick, or drunk? No, the furniture wasn't right. And the sheets didn't smell like Scully. The fog in his brain cleared and he remembered. He'd found a bathroom down the hall last night and he headed that way, carrying his shaving kit and clean t-shirt and boxers. He doubted anyone else was awake at this time of morning, but he pulled a shirt over his head before he opened the door of his bedroom anyway. Mulder felt good; rested and relaxed. Staying last night had been a good idea. Now for a quick shower and then breakfast with the lovely Dr. Elizabeth. The woman with the answers. His little fantasy of breakfast for two collapsed when he rounded the corner of the long hall. At the end of the hallway was an open door. Her bedroom. And inside that doorway was a rumpled bed. Her bed. And in that bed was a soundly sleeping and very undressed Todd. Mulder stripped away his clothing as though it burned and stepped under the scalding shower, his mind racing. The protectiveness he felt for Scully had inexplicably begun to include Elizabeth. Well, not inexplicably, but right now he didn't feel like thinking about that. Right now, he felt embarrassed, ashamed, betrayed. His usual method of self-flagellation involved standing under the burning shower until the hot water ran out. The house must have the hot water tank from Hell, because the hot water outlasted his pain threshold. Mulder finally stepped out and toweled off. He finished his usual routine and headed back to his bedroom in just his boxers - no sense in covering up for Elizabeth. Not like he had anything she hadn't seen before. Recently. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Mulder's assessment of Elizabeth last night was that she wasn't a barfly or a flirt. Either she and Todd had an established affair or... Todd was too sure of himself for Mulder's taste. He shook his head as he dressed. No one owed him an explanation unless they wanted to press charges. Since it was Saturday and he was stuck in Bumfuck, he decided on jeans and a soft dress shirt. Timberland boots for tramping across cow fields - an investment after his first case with Scully. Mulder stepped out of his bedroom and hesitated. It was barely dawn. Normal people who had sex with other normal people were still asleep. What was he going to do - go drag Elizabeth out of her lover's bed and start questioning her about missing children and conspiracies? The thought appealed to him at the moment. Fate saved him from making an even bigger fool of himself. He looked out the window across from his bedroom and saw Elizabeth astride a light-colored horse in a large meadow below the house. He toyed with the idea of watching her through the telescope, but it looked complicated and expensive. He contented himself with leaning on the railing and engaging in a little long-distance voyeurism. At the violet hour, she was a ghost racing against the shadow of the trees. Elizabeth rode well and she was pushing the big animal hard. As the horizon grew bright crimson, he imagined he could see the muscles of her thighs flex as she raised her hips off the little saddle, preparing to take flight. Her gold hair peaked out from under her hat and shimmered, with several strands sweaty against her flushed cheeks. The hyperactive German Shepard chased after the horse, while the older collie waited at the edge of the field - taking in her every move. So did Mulder - waiting at the edges and watching her every move. He and the dog had the same old man's gaze. Eyes that have seen too much. They were privy to a woman making peace with her world before the rest of the planet came to life. What an odd thought to occur to him while watching such a beautiful woman. Coffee. Mulder needed coffee. ********** When he saw her leading the big horse toward the red barn, Mulder went to the kitchen and made coffee. Actually, he flipped a switch, but that counted. He carried his cup and a steaming mug out to her, meeting her in the dewy back yard. he thought. She accepted the cup, but didn't speak, her expression calm. Mulder examined her out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't showered yet. Her face was a little shiny and her helmet had flattened the top of her hair. He smelled the perfume he'd noticed last night, the sweat from the horse, and ... She sat on the back steps outside of the kitchen. He sat down a few steps below her, examining his frosty breath in the morning air. She finally spoke: "The more upset I get, the more of a workout Skinner gets," she said, gesturing to the red barn. She obviously meant the horse. Behavioral psychologist - horse named after B.F. Skinner - not a big stretch. Still, Mulder's overactive imagination quickly replaced the animal with his Assistant Director. He preferred that mental image to the one of Todd being the one getting the workout. he thought. "My boss has the same problem." he replied, forcing a grin. He sipped his coffee and waited. Thank God for coffee; it gave him something to do with his hands. He stared into his mug as though it were an oracle for defining the mysteries of the universe. "Walter Skinner is your boss?" Her eyes were wide again. When her guard was down, she didn't hide her reactions very well. He nodded. "You going to tell me what you know about him?" She shook her head at him, mimicking his puppy-dog expression. Well, it couldn't hurt to try. If threatening to kill her and boyish good looks failed, Mulder was probably out of luck. Resigned, he would have happily spent his day right there with her, sipping good coffee and stealing glances at her dirty little face. There was no falseness, no pressure as they watched the sun burn away the last of the night to their left. He should say that - she liked T.S. Eliot. Mulder was making his own peace with the world, provided he blocked out the thought of the naked man in her bed upstairs and the image of her husband pointing a gun at a child's head. He heard her soft voice reciting, almost dream-like: "Be not too curious of Good and Evil; Seek not to count the future waves of Time; But be ye satisfied that you have light." "Enough to take your step and find your foothold." Mulder finished for her. Eliot. She was looking into him - deep into him as though she could scan his soul with her intense gaze. "Don't ever let them take your light, Agent Mulder." Then the fire in her eyes was gone, replaced by the practiced, placid expression of expensive schools and old Southern blood. The moment had passed into ethereal rumors in his mind, and he wasn't certain it ever existed. "If you'll wait while I shower, I'll take you to meet the Sheriff in town for breakfast," she said. "How do you know where he is?" "Same place he always is." Her face indicated this was an obvious answer. Just like Friday meant dinner at her house and no emergencies were allowed to happen during dinner. Must be comforting to be so certain of how life would flow. How short the time of tension between birth and dying - we who were living are now dying with a little patience. "What about Todd?" Mulder asked. He didn't breathe while he waited for her response. "I think he'd rather I be gone when he wakes up." Elizabeth didn't seem embarrassed. She could have been discussing her dry cleaning for all the emotion her voice belayed. The mask was up again. Mulder didn't understand exactly what she meant except that things weren't perfect between her and Todd. Any man who wouldn't want to wake up next to her was a fool. He exhaled. After a few minutes of silence, curiosity got the better of him. "Is anything wrong?" he asked. She shrugged. "When he got home last night his wife wasn't sick; she had left him. That happens a lot out here. Often people don't see anyone but their families for weeks. It puts a strain on a marriage. Anyway, he was upset and he had too much to drink..." She hesitated, blushing, and Mulder stopped breathing again. "...he was the first boy I ever kissed. Did you know that? No, you wouldn't know that. I like him; he's my friend, but... I just couldn't - it wasn't right. I don't want him to have to face me when he wakes up. He's going to feel like a big fool." She stopped speaking and Mulder nodded dumbly. Elizabeth stood and went into the house, leaving him to muse. ********** The day passed uneventfully. Mulder and Deputy Edmonson reviewed the case file over breakfast then spent the day looking productive. He had a suspicion that the deputy was more cooperative because Elizabeth had stayed. She accompanied them while they interviewed the families and visited the crime scenes. Mulder wasn't wild about someone who wasn't law enforcement being involved in an investigation, but Edmonson didn't seem bothered. She smoothed the way for him to question the families, and didn't get under foot. Mostly, she stayed in the back seat of the patrol car, staring out the window when she wasn't needed. It struck Mulder again how very alone she was. By late afternoon, Mulder was revisiting his theories. The children were only linked by the fact they were her clients. Even their disabilities weren't a connection - some of the children had multiple and severe disabilities while others, according to their parents' description, had much milder problems. Children were disappearing simply because they knew her. The deputy took Mulder and Elizabeth back to the diner where they'd had breakfast. Mulder didn't say a word as they got back into her car - unless she told him specifically that he couldn't spend another night with her, he wasn't leaving. He'd tell Skinner he'd slept in a tree if anyone questioned him about his lack of a hotel bill. Mulder's best conversations tended to take place in cars and hospital rooms. And since he hadn't been hospitalized in over three months... "Elizabeth, I'm pretty sure you're the link." He tried to sound as professional as possible. "I know that," she said. Her mask was slipping. "Do you have any idea why that would be?" "No. I'm sorry." It was a very small voice. "Since there's no evidence that the children wandered off, we can assume that they were kidnapped. Even though no bodies have been found, we can't be certain they're still alive. Most children kidnapped by strangers aren't found alive." Elizabeth paled visibly. Mulder did not pursue that part of his developing profile. "Whoever has taken the children wants to have something that's important to you and probably to control you with it. I need to know who that person is and why these children were chosen." She turned off the car and stared at her garage wall, tools hanging in perfect organization. "If you can help me figure those two things out, I can find them. I promise." She looked at him like a child that wanted so hard to believe. He'd seen that look in his own mirror. ********** She sat on the couch in her office while Mulder paced, peppering her with questions. Any odd or threatening letters or phone calls? Any relationships that were abusive or ended badly? Anyone trying to be too friendly, too soon? Any men that are too possessive about you? Daily routine? Age-range of your clients? Missing any personal items? What were you seeing the kids for? Anybody new in town? She answered each question dutifully. He was getting nowhere so he tried less obvious areas. What was her birthday? <29.> Natural blonde? Any surgery or medical problems? Hobbies? Vacations? College? Boyfriends? Lovers? Elizabeth turned scarlet and stared at her lap, so he let it drop. He wished he would have gotten a chance to ask about her underwear. Mulder was not a nice man, sometimes. "How about the children's relationships with you - the deal with calling you 'Liz.' All the parents call you 'Dr. Elizabeth,' but some of them referred to their children calling you 'Liz.' Could there be a link in which kids used your nickname?" Todd had been gone when they returned to her house. An envelope with "So sorry. Call me when you're ready" written on it was stuck to the front of the refrigerator. "Any of my clients can call me Liz. It keeps me from hearing 'whiz- butt' and 'little-bit' all day. Matthew and Sarah called me Liz, Cody could say Elizabeth, and Tony didn't... doesn't speak." It wasn't the link he was looking for, but Mulder sensed it wasn't the whole answer either. "Anyone else get to call you 'Liz'?" he asked "Not these days." She sounded sad. "Who called you Liz?" "I really don't think it has any bearing on your case...it's just an old joke" Now Mulder was hooked. "When you get to be the FBI agent, you can decide what is and is not important to a case." He towered over her, hands on his hips, enjoying himself immensely. She looked him dead in the eye. "I hate being called 'Liz.' Scott said that the only people who got to call me Liz were the ones not capable of intelligent speech because of brain damage or blow job. So I never let anyone else call me that." She stood up and walked quickly out the door and down the stairs, her arms hugging her body. he thought. Wonder why Scully was hesitant to commit to him for the rest of her life? He was such a kind, unselfish man. Mulder was standing in her office alone, hands still on his hips, feeling like a total ass, when his cell phone's shrill ring startled him. "Mulder," he answered. "I haven't heard from you all day. Is anything wrong, Mulder?" Scully asked. "No - it's just been a busy day." "How's the case?" "Disappointing - no alien abductions," he answered, trying to keep it light. "How are you feeling, Scully?" ********** He closed his cell phone and went back to pacing, his mind replaying the interviews of earlier today. All the families had been comfortable with Elizabeth, intimate even. She seemed to be an important part of their lives. Two were married couples, one was a single mother, and one was a single father that probably gave Elizabeth a hard time when he got her alone. She's said she preferred to see that child at school rather than in her home office, if possible. Then he knew. Mulder jogged down the stairs and into the house, looking for Elizabeth. She was curled up in a ball on the couch in front of the vast empty fireplace. He regretted his conclusion already. Sometimes being brilliant has its downside. "Elizabeth, did you see all those kids here?" He got a blank look. "I'm sorry, I know you're upset, but did you see them all here - even once?" She nodded "Yes." He spoke slowly. "Someone has been watching your house and those were the children he saw. Any kids you have seen here could be in danger - their parents need to be notified. And you need to cancel any appointments here until I figure out who the kidnapper is." She didn't argue. Elizabeth nodded, stood, and moved robotic-like toward the back door. She stopped in the kitchen and turned back toward him, bracing herself against the granite counter. "What if you don't ever find him?" she asked. He didn't have an answer he was willing to share with her. After a few seconds, she turned and continued out to her office. She didn't emerge until late in the evening. Mulder suspected she'd canceled all her appointments, not just the ones at her home. When she came out, she went upstairs and returned wearing riding boots and carrying sheets, which she stuffed in the washer without comment. Then she walked purposely across the field to the barn and hid for a while from the new demons he had just loosed on her life. Mulder didn't pursue her. What could he say to help her? "Sorry I'm ruining your life and your career." He may not know her but he knew Scully. And Scully would come back when she was ready. He wondered if Scully would ever be ready. He built a fire in her fireplace, got a beer from her kitchen and waited. At about ten she came back inside. Bathroom first, then she sat down on the other end of the couch, her hair still damp from her shower and her skin scrubbed squeaky clean. She seemed calmer. She'd stopped shaking, anyway. It was an intoxicating mix of strength and fragility - Mulder felt it affecting him more than his beer did. "Mr. Mulder?" "Just Mulder, please." "What -is- your first name?" "Fox." He even flinched when he said it himself. The look on her face was priceless. "Mulder, am I wrong? Is the Smoking Man doing this?" "No, I don't think so. It's not his style." "Will you tell me what you know? I have bits and pieces, but I don't know how they all fit together." Neither of them had mentioned their hallway conversation since this morning. He understood what it was like to lose someone and feel like you were owed some answers. As the fire crackled, Mulder remembered another night years ago with a frightened little redhead in a hotel room in the very plausible State of Oregon. The same calm trust in him, in his genius and his madness. Trust he would betray, causing her to suffer again and again. Elizabeth listened without judging, asking only a few questions to help her understand. It reminded him so much of Scully, except that this woman believed him. Encouraged him. No "You're crazy, Mulder!" Somewhere in the night he pulled off his boots and sprawled his big feet on her coffee table. She tucked her cold bare toes under his thigh, oblivious to what a turn-on that was. He concluded she was pretty naive- about men, anyway. Elizabeth seemed fairly unaware of the effect she had on men, just as Sully was. Mulder felt a similar relationship developing between them, although he'd prefer this frosty- toed woman not file him as "platonic friend" just yet. "What about Scully? Is she more than your partner?" "Scully is my best friend, but it's not a, um, physical relationship." He unconsciously licked his lips. "Do you want it to be?" "Sometimes. But I also don't want to screw up our partnership in exchange for one night." An honest answer. Thinking of her telescope upstairs, he continued, "Scully is my Polaris. My pole star. The rest of the universe crashes through space while she stays still. Calm. Distant and beautiful and bright. She is always in the future for me, always living in a time that I have to catch up with. She is so far from me that I can't see her flaws, only her pure brilliance. And I can always trust her to guide me, where ever I am." Elizabeth leaned back to listen to him, clasping her hands behind her neck, her face thoughtful. When she turned to look at him, he saw an angry brownish-pink mark high on her neck - his thumbprint from the previous night. Without thinking, Mulder reached out and touched the bruise - shocked. He'd never purposely and needlessly hurt a woman before and it made him uneasy that he had done it so readily. The bruise could easily be mistaken for a hickey - her fair skin must mark easily - but he remembered how the flesh of her neck felt under his hand the night before. At his touch, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back further, offering herself to his hand. He allowed his fingers to brush over her warm velvet skin twice in silent apology before he pulled away. Mulder was suddenly very aware that he could see the outline of her nipples under her men's v-neck t-shirt. She opened her eyes to look at him: "Must be lonely trying to hold distant brilliance in your arms," she said. "It is." ********** Sunday It was almost two in the morning. Mulder stared hypnotized into the dying fire. Elizabeth had taken his hand in hers and they sat silently, fused by the loneliness intrinsic to souls with truths the world isn't ready to accept. He rubbed his thumb against the smoothness of her wedding band, wishing some other woman felt so certain in her commitment to him. He liked the dark. He liked her. He liked this. He'd searched for truth and safety for so long that now that he'd found it, even temporarily, he was unwilling to do anything to pollute it, so he just sat and basked in the warmth. Finally, Elizabeth stood up, still holding his hand. He looked at her and started to say "good night." "Do you want to stay?" "Yes," he answered. "Do you want to make love to me?" It sounded like an invitation, not mere curiosity. Now that wasn't an offer he was expecting. He was stunned for a second. Mulder stood up and faced her, one hand still in hers. She dropped her gaze when he looked at her. Maybe she was shy, maybe she was reluctant. Either way, he waited. "I don't want to feel alone or afraid anymore. I want to forget." "But do you want to make love to me?" He wasn't going to take advantage of her vulnerability, and he wanted to be wanted for himself. Desperately. Her smile was almost embarrassed as she nodded yes. He stroked her cheek with his hand and she leaned her face into his palm. "Are you sure?" "Yes." She meant it. Mulder wanted to save that word and have it bronzed. "There's no reason you have to do this." Something in the back of his mind, far from the part that controlled his groin, wanted her to know that. Sleeping with him wouldn't bring back those kids or absolve her husband's sins. "I know that." Mulder waited for the demand - what did she want? She waited with him. "We haven't even kissed." His mind was still spinning. "Can you fix that?" He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. Electricity sparked through his body and he pulled back. She looked up at him with big blue eyes and spoke softly, "No, I meant a real kiss." She leaned in to him and he knew her. Mulder had always heard that phrase - 'knowing a woman'- but he'd never experienced it. Sex and women always involved tension: rules, games, power, and control. Embarrassed fumbling as a teenager. Phoebe's hot and cold running psychosis in grad school. Diana's power plays. Desperate faceless women in bars looking for healing he couldn't give. Making love had always been more like negotiating a surrender with the enemy. But he knew this woman. She accepted him and, for tonight, she wanted whatever he could give. Her surrender to him was unconditional. Forgetting that morning would ever come, he led her up the stairs and into his bedroom. ********** He wasn't sorry yet, but he'd only just woken up. She was laying beside him in bed, lost in her dreams. She sensed him stirring and laid a small hand across his bare chest, silently asking that he stay. He rolled over on his side to look at her, letting her hand slip down his side to his waist. The room had cooled and he pulled the white sheet up over her body. He watched her. That was another of life's pleasures - watching a beautiful woman sleep. Mulder hoped the answer wasn't because he was there. He could see himself falling hard for this quiet, contained, woman. True. But he loved Scully, so whatever this was, it wasn't love. It was filling a void inside him, though. He'd had no trouble not calling her Scully, of gasping the wrong name. That was not what his fiery partner would be like in bed. Elizabeth reminded him of cheesecake, of all things. No harshness, no resistance - just soft, sweet, creamy, accepting wetness. He couldn't imagine ever getting tired of being enveloped in that sensation. Just keep telling yourself that, big guy. Everyone knows you're famous for not getting emotionally involved. It had been a slow and sweet; two people discovering each other. Not what he would have predicted given his recent celibacy and usual impulsive tendencies, but he hadn't wanted to hurry. If it was the only time he would get to be with her, he had wanted it to last. Feeling her hips rise up to meet him was one of the sweetest sensations he's ever experienced. It wasn't the act - it was the acceptance. The Earth hadn't moved, but the tides had definitely rippled. The thought made him chuckle and he rolled over on his stomach. He heard a soft, playful voice in the dark: "What are you laughing at?" She stretched lazily like a cat, scooted over, and straddled his back, her hands beginning to knead the muscles of his bare shoulders. "If you're going to make fun of me while I sleep, you'd better be more subtle. If I catch you, you pay." The soft hair between her legs rested against the small of his back and her lips had found the fleshy part of his ear. "So what do you want in restitution?" he asked, already calculating the possibilities. "What can you give? I drive a pretty hard bargain." Her low voice was like chocolate melting onto fingers on a hot day. Mulder shivered. "So do I, but you'll have to let me roll over first." No, he certainly wasn't sorry yet. ********** She was still there when Mulder awoke the second time. She was sitting in bed beside him in a t-shirt and panties, drinking coffee and reading a paper. Elizabeth pointed to a cup on his nightstand when she saw that he was awake. He stretched and resisted scratching anywhere below his chest. He propped his head up on his fist and watched her. She looked over to meet his gaze. "Are you sorry?" she asked. The woman wasn't subtle. "Are you crazy?" Looking at her, Mulder was as far from sorry as humanly possible. She fished out the sports section of the paper, laid it on the bed, then returned to whatever she'd been reading. He continued to watch her. He could read the sports page any day; sharing a bed with a woman was an event. Later: "Are you going riding this morning?" He just wondered. No reason, really. "No, not this morning, Mulder. I don't feel like it." < PIG Mulder. You are a PIG.> He had been a little worried about her the first time, but the second was better. He'd managed to teach her a few words to increase her bedroom vocabulary he was pretty sure had never passed her lips before this morning. A grin made its way to his lips before he could stop it, and to his surprise, he saw her grinning back. Maybe she wasn't as shy as he had thought. Or as inexperienced. Just very, very different from what he was accustom to. Finally he succumbed to caffeine addiction and nature. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sipped his coffee. Then he stood, stretched, and walked bare-assed towards the bathroom. He looked back to see her watching appreciatively. Even later: "Hurry please, we have to beat the Methodists." Several hours and two showers later - one together, one apart - Elizabeth was getting dressed. Mulder preferred the way she looked nude, but he thought it might offend the Methodists, so he didn't object. "Is there a contest 'Lizabeth?" he asked, buttoning a cuff. Mulder felt that after three mutually satisfying times, he should get to use "Liz" in some context. She didn't object. "Everyone meets for Sunday dinner at 12:30; as the resident backslider, I'm in charge of getting the table. The Methodists get out at noon and if we're late, they get all the good ones." "Everyone?" he asked. "Whole damn town. If you're ready in five minutes, you can drive the car," she promised. He was ready in two. She was standing at the back door, holding the keys out to him. "Good boy," she said. "Lizabeth, you spend way too much time with children." "Wait until I get you conditioned to drool uncontrollably," she flirted. He liked her flirting. "You already have." Mulder was enjoying driving her car. Her directions were to make a left each time he ran out of road and then pull in where everybody else was. Good Southerner directions. He had been wearing pants now for longer then he had in almost twelve hours, and his higher brain functions began to work again. Elizabeth was looking out the car window. He wondered what she was thinking. Apparently, it was the same thing he was. "I don't want you to get in trouble because of last night," she said. "I won't. The FBI doesn't encourage getting involved, but it isn't forbidden. I don't make a habit of it either." He'd been wanting to tell her that last part. "Really? It doesn't show," she replied. ********** All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance, All our ignorance brings us nearer to death, But nearness to death is no nearer to God. Where is the life we have lost in the living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in the knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in the information? The cycle of Heaven in twenty centuries Bringing us farther from God and nearer to the dust. Sunday lunch with "the whole damn town" had been interrupted by the news that one of the children had been found. Apparently, someone didn't get the memo about not committing crimes while the sheriff was eating catfish. Three hours later, Mulder felt like he was leading a goddamned parade to Hell. The deputy pulled into Elizabeth's driveway, followed by the local volunteer fire department, two FBI agents on loan from the San Antonio office, all the National Guardsmen that could be rounded up, and a posse of male neighbors either riding or bringing horses and ATVs. Once her driveway was full, the vehicles spilled over onto her lawn and finally into the pastures. Elizabeth was standing on her front porch with her mouth open. The fire fighters carried ladders into her living room and the guard members and other men headed out into the hills around her property. The last of the men had vanished into the scrub brush and the FBI agents were climbing up toward her roof when Mulder was alone again, free of being important to the case for a moment. He couldn't bring himself to go into the house. He stood in the backyard scanning the landscape. After a few minutes, Elizabeth came out to him. He could envision her in a hoop skirt, locking the front door before the Yankee's overran Atlanta. "Come walk with me," Mulder said. They walked down through the field where he had seen her riding and sat beside a small creek. Once they were out of sight, Mulder thought about taking her hand. He decided against it. "Tony's safe. He's a little beat up and dehydrated, but there is no evidence he's been sexually assaulted. He's going to spend the night in the hospital for observation, but he should be fine." Mulder gave her a few minutes to organize her thoughts. "Why are the men here?" she asked. "Tony had something pinned to the back of his shirt." Mulder took an evidence bag out of his file and handed to her. It contained a black and white photo of Todd and her from Friday night. Todd was reaching across the couch, his body partially covering Elizabeth. His hand was on her breast and his face buried in her neck. Her hand was on his shoulder, pressing him away and her head was turned, her mouth open, lips saying "no." On the back of the picture was scratched "Be Warned." Elizabeth sat for a long time wrapped in her cocoon of silence. Mulder let her think. He was hoping she wouldn't realize what the future held for her. He wasn't planning on telling her yet. He had also seen John Douglas books on her bookshelf. He knew she was bright - how bright was she? "He's already done it - you're looking for the body," she said quietly. Mulder thought sadly. "Since Tony wasn't severely beaten, I'm hoping the kidnapper won't have the nerve to kill the next child outright. Tony was found wandering, so maybe the next child is out there too. We just have to find him." That wasn't the whole truth, but it was probably enough to hold her. "How did he get the picture?" "It's a printout from a video feed. From the angle, the camera is probably mounted on one of those ceiling beams. It's sending a signal to a remote receiver somewhere. The agents will come get us when all the cameras are disabled." "All?" she asked. "To watch someone's private life, why put just one camera in the living room?" "Oh, God." The full implications of those words hit her. She looked stunned. <... and Hell followed with him.> "Agent Mulder - we're ready." The FBI rent-a-goon was walking towards them. "How many were there?" Mulder asked. "Two in the living room, one on the office, one in each bedroom and bathroom. Top of the line spy stuff, but video only. Fancy set-up." He had to lead Elizabeth back to her house. ********** "The kidnapper will be between 25 and 35. He'll be a white male, above average intelligence. He's a loner, very emotionally contained. He will be socially immature, sexually inexperienced. He either lives with his mother or lives close by. He holds a professional job, maybe in the technology or computer field. He does not have a wife or a girlfriend. He has an active fantasy life and imagines he was extensive relationships with women he barely knows. He's frightened women by stalking them in the past. He has a history of paranoia..." Mulder trailed off, tired. His profile wasn't complete yet - he was having trouble thinking straight. He was just organizing his thoughts out loud. "That's Beck," Elizabeth mumbled from the corner of the couch. The doctor had made a house call to sedate her and she was mumbling. He'd told Mulder to "watch her." Mulder had no idea how he how he was supposed to act as her designated protector and head an investigation at the same time, so he'd stationed her on the couch to sleep while he worked. The room was full of men returning from the search for various reasons, and Elizabeth had been tucked in about fifty times. She certainly brought out the protective instincts in men, Mulder included. "What 'Lizabeth?" "You're talking about Beck." Her soft accent was even more liquid. "Who is Beck?" "Scott's best friend. He's always nice to me. Used to get mad if Scott hit me - once he got sick." "Tell me about that," Mulder said. "He'd get confused, mad. Sometimes he thought people were out to get him. He started to hit me, to be more rough. I finally told him no because it hurt too bad, and he didn't like that. He forced me. Beck got mad. Told me to put him in the VA hospital, but I wouldn't. I wanted to take care of him. I couldn't though." That wasn't exactly the question he'd wanted her to answer, but it solved some mysteries about last night. Mulder knew he'd have to be specific; she was pretty loopy. "Tell me about Beck." "He's a nice man. Works with computers. Single. They were in the Marines together, but Beck got out real quick. All the things you said. He used to call me and send e-mails, but I haven't heard from him in a month or so. Not since he put my surround-home-sound- theater thingy in" "What's Beck's name, 'Lizabeth?" "Murphy Becker. It's in my Rolodex. I want to sleep now, Mulder. Will you stay with me?" "Just close your eyes. I'll be right here." She closed her eyes and relaxed under his hand like a small kitten. She looked like a sleeping child. How was this the same woman who'd been with him this morning? His watch said it was only a few hours ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. There was such a contrast between the poised professional he had met, the lover he had been with last night, just beginning to discover her own passions, and the frightened girl escaping her nightmares in the hazy fog of pills. In her drug- induced dreams, there was no old friend stealing children, no dead husband beating and raping her, no THEM in the shadows. "How do you live with it, 'Lizabeth? How do you get through every day knowing what you know?" She didn't open her eyes as she spoke. Even as heavily sedated as she was, she was careful to keep her voice low so the other men milling around couldn't hear her. "I don't know anything you don't. Just lists of names and projects. I live with it the same way you do. I don't let them take my light." Mulder smoothed her hair, wondering how he did live with it. How did he live with it? Not well. The New Orleans police reported Murphy Becker's apartment was empty. He had been fired from his job a month ago for "conflicts with co- workers" and his family hadn't seen him since. They thought he'd gone out of State to look for work. The officer Mulder spoke with said Becker's bedroom was littered with pictures of a petite strawberry blonde - yearbook and Christmas photos mostly, but some candid shots of her and a man with his face blacked out. The officer had faxed a picture of Becker to Elizabeth's fax. Mulder sat at her expensive desk, looking at the picture. He wished he knew what Scott Matthews looked like, but Elizabeth was out cold in the house. Where would she keep a picture of a dead husband? On impulse he opened a few meticulous desk drawers. Nothing. It wouldn't be in her office. Bedroom. She'd remade the bed - he noticed that. Sam Dog was asleep in the center of it - he looked up when Mulder came in the room. Her clothes hung neatly by color in the open closet. Scully had several identical suits, except in a size 4 instead of a 6. Scully. He hadn't been allowing many thoughts of Scully to float to the top of the septic tank that was currently his conscience. What the hell did he think he was doing? Just a little fling to get it out of his system so Mulder could go back to idolizing his partner like some schoolboy? This wasn't another bimbo whose phone number was going to magically get lost in his otherwise-perfect memory after one night. She was a little fragile right now, but this alpha-female that was everything he had thought he ever wanted and then some, except that she wasn't his Scully. But he'd been proposing to Scully on a weekly basis lately and she always looked at him like he was a fool and walked away. There was a bookcase in her bedroom - that's where it would be. He opened an old photo album. There was a decade worth of pictures of Elizabeth and Scott - embracing, dancing, laughing. He was a big man, a little over six feet tall, with broad shoulders. Nice looking, dark hair, rugged, G.I. looks. Scott was maybe ten years older than 'Lizabeth, which meant someone should have pressed charges when they started dating. Together, they looked like the poster couple for the eugenics movement. There were mementos carefully pasted into the album - a wedding invitation, movie ticket stubs, post cards from all over the world. Memories of a life that wasn't real. He didn't recognize Scott as one of the men in black he had encountered, but he had the right look. Mulder compared the fax to the photos. Scott and Becker could have been brothers. Easy for one man to imagine himself stepping onto the other's life. Into the other's bed. Mulder had his suspect. Now it was up to the locals to find him. He had other worries. He went downstairs to check on Elizabeth. She was sound asleep on the couch where he'd left her, surrounded by a sea of empty coffee cups, topographical maps and easel pads. If she didn't lay claim to her bed soon, someone was going to commandeer it for the night. It seemed easier to carry her than to wake her, so Mulder ignored the other men's looks, scooped her up, and headed towards the stairs. Mulder laid her on her bed, ordering the old dog to move over, and sat down at the foot where he'd been previously. He desperately wanted to do something to help her, but he didn't know what. He didn't need to take off her shoes, they were downstairs beside the door. Her bare toes were painted coral and they curled under as she slept. He pressed one hand against the sole of her cold foot and realized his hand was the same length as her foot from toe to heel. So delicate. He should go back to his own room. He laid back, his hands behind his head, and looked over at her. He wondered which picture Becker would choose. Depended on his taste. The first time had been tender, a delicacy. The second had been better - she was more comfortable and playful. The shower had just been incredible fucking. He watched Elizabeth's chest rise and fall - Mulder would choose a picture from the second time, early on when she was on top. Or in the shower all soapy under the showerhead. Regardless, he hoped Becker chose a photo where they both looked decent. Skinner was going to see it. So was Scully. And in a few days, it could be his only link to this sleeping woman. ********** Monday Mulder dreamt. In his dream, he was undressing a petite woman - her head barely reached his chin. It might have been Scully, it might have been Elizabeth. The woman stood passively watching him as he unfastened and pulled off her clothes. Each time he thought he had taken off the last layer of her clothes, he would notice she was wearing a new layer. He was desperate to see her body, but he couldn't get all her clothes off. He took off layers of suits, sweaters, blouses, skirts, bras, panties, and stockings, but new ones appeared to take their place. How could he not have noticed she had on another pair of panties underneath the first pair? He grew impatient and accidentally tore her blouse in his haste. She stepped back from him. "Why can't I see you naked?" he asked the phantom woman. "Because you still need to decide what you want to see," she replied. ********** Mulder awoke alone. It was dawn and the majority of the search parties had returned to the house, looking defeated. Men were sprawled half- asleep on every available surface. his brain chimed. He found an empty bathroom, cleaned up, and went downstairs. Elizabeth was where he expected her to be - in the kitchen making breakfast and coffee for anyone interested. "They're not house guests - you don't have to feed them." he told her, glaring at a Guardsman until he moved so Mulder could sit on his designated stool at the counter. "I don't know what else to do." Without further comment, Mulder ate the plate of food she set in front of him. She watched, satisfied, as he consumed every bite. ********** At eight o'clock that morning, the group of men assembled in her living room. Edmonson must have commandeered every officer in 200 miles, but they were still outnumbered by guard members, fire fighters, and volunteers holding rifles. Deputy Edmonson briefed them on what areas had been searched, then introduced Mulder. He presented his profile, telling the men where to search and what to look for. He passed around the picture of Murphy Becker, telling them what he knew to date, then sat back down The deputy and police chief took over, emphasizing that this was a search for missing children, not a posse. The searchers were to locate the children and radio for law enforcement. Then the meeting was over and men on foot, 4-wheelers, horseback and in trucks fanned out again into the hills. It was over - Mulder had no real reason to stay. The FBI didn't pay him to go roaming around fields when there were fifty or so men who could do it just as well. He was called in to write a profile - now he had and he could go. Edmonson sat down across the dinning room table from him, eating Elizabeth's pancakes. "She's a good woman," Edmonson said. "Yes, she is." Mulder was intrigued. The deputy wasn't one to strike up a conversation. "She helped my boy a lot. Shame what's happening." "Yes, it is," Mulder agreed. Elizabeth was still in the kitchen. Mulder doubted she could hear them. "You'll be heading home?" "I've done about all I can here unless the MO changes." Mulder was careful not to say yes. "I knew her Daddy. She's a good woman - needs a good man. Don't need to be hurt any more," Edmonson said, looking Mulder dead in the eye. "Yes," he agreed. There was a long, heavy silence. The deputy finally spoke. "You stay awhile. Never know how things might turn out." Mulder knew he had just received the deputy's blessing. Somehow, that wasn't the blessing he needed right now, but it was excuse enough. ********** "Mulder" "Mulder, it's me," Scully's voice said. "How are you feeling?" He was sure she could hear the betrayal in his voice, smell the scent of another woman on his skin. "Better. Do you still want company?" "The profile is done, Scully. I'm just hanging around. There's no need for you to fly down unless a body turns up." Mulder thought, trying not to feel guilty. "OK. Call me if you need me, Mulder, and I'll be right there." "You always are, Scully," he said and ended the transmission. It was afternoon when a guard member radioed in that he had found a child's body. ********** Tuesday The connection was bad and Scully was half-yelling so he could hear her. "He tried to kill her several different ways. She has strangulation marks, cuts on her wrists, and the final cause of death was suffocation - maybe a pillow. It's like he hadn't killed before and didn't realize how much effort it took." "What about the disabilities? Is there a pattern?" Mulder said back, loudly. "She had Prader-Willi Syndrome - it's a genetic syndrome that involves mental retardation and compulsive over-eating. Tony had autism and Fragile -X - another genetic syndrome. My guess is that they would have been the two most troublesome children to take care of." "Okay- thanks, Scully. Are you going to stay in the city?" It was three in the morning. She must be exhausted. "I don't see any point in coming out. I need the facilities in San Antonio to run the tests I want. Besides, I hear good things about the North Star and Wonderland Malls. Are you staying put?" she asked. "Yea." A long pause. "I saw the picture, Mulder," Scully said, her voice calm. What should he say? He settled on the obvious: "I didn't know how to tell you." "It's okay, Mulder. I just wanted you to know," and she hung up. He laid back down and pulled a warm, sleeping Elizabeth against his chest, dropping his cell phone on the pile of their clothes on the floor. ********** The search parties were thorough. By noon Tuesday they'd found Becker's lair - a hunting cabin high in the Twin Sister mountains surrounding Elizabeth's house. Thankfully, the two children were inside, alive. Becker was not there. The cabin was plastered with nude pictures of Elizabeth, and the deputy had cold-cocked several men for trying to carry off the photos. People imagine that most crimes are complicated and well-thought out. Most actually fall into the simple-to-stupid-plan range. Handsome Friend and pretty Girl are in love. A lonely, insecure Man gets jealous of Friend's girl. Friend develops brain cancer and occasionally beats the hell out of Girl. Man views himself as Girl's protector. Girl refuses to be protected. Friend dies. Girl does not complete Man's fantasy by running to his arms. Man stalks Girl, becoming increasingly obsessed. Man plants cameras in her house to watch out for her. Man kidnaps children to get her attention. Man sees her with another man. Man warns her with one child. Man sees her with another man. Man kills child. Nothing complicated or well-thought-out about it. Mulder was finished packing. The search party had been abandoned - the men had covered every square inch for twenty miles each direction and hadn't found Becker. Several men also expressed a desire to get home to their own children. Becker was the police department's problem now. Mulder felt an inkling of respect for the man. He knew how he had felt about Scully's little party with her tattoo buddy. On some level, he understood. Becker had selected a photo of the two of them standing in front of the couch, kissing. The second time, when Elizabeth had requested "a real kiss." Mulder wondered if the couch was somehow significant to Becker. Maybe he just doesn't want other people seeing naked pictures of her. No one except Scully had said a word about it to him. He'd spent Monday night sleeping with Elizabeth in his arms. She was calmer, but nowhere near stable enough for sex. One night with an unstable vampire wanna-be had taught him the lesson of when to wait. Now it was late Tuesday afternoon. Scully had canvassed the malls and was making noises about going home. Elizabeth was putting her house back together after having it used as HQ for the search party. She requested Mulder instead of a police guard for as long as possible, so the deputy had gone home to shower and change clothes. She often reached out and took his hand, but she hadn't said anything about what happened between them. Elizabeth seemed engrossed in vacuuming in the living room, so Mulder roamed toward the back of the house, giving himself some space to analyze whatever the hell it was that he was feeling. Mulder couldn't even figure out what to label the bins to start sorting out his emotions. He was walking back toward the kitchen when he heard the vacuum switch off and her calm voice: "Where were you?" A man answered flatly, "In the hay loft. I came to get you as soon as I could." Mulder stopped in the far side of the kitchen and took his weapon out of his hostler. Becker also had a gun in his hand. "I will go with you. Let me get my things," she said, but she didn't actually move. "Is he here?" Becker asked. "No, I was sorry and I sent him away." Mulder couldn't have coached her to respond any better. She was saying exactly what Becker wanted to hear - buying herself time and distance. Becker was placated. "I want you now." His empty tone was terrifying. Mulder wondered of Donnie the death-fetishist had used that same voice with Scully. Elizabeth didn't hesitate, although her face was luminously pale. She unbuttoned her blouse, slid it off her shoulders, and stepped towards Becker. Mulder flinched for her as Becker reached out to touch her breast. No man would ever hurt her again if he had anything to do with it. Shoot for the center of mass, his butt. Mulder was blowing the crazy SOB's head off. He couldn't get a clear shot, her body was in his way. Elizabeth hesitated, looking flustered. "I'm scared, Beck. Aren't you scared? Let me get you a drink?" She tried to move away to the kitchen. "No." He grabbed her wrist. Mulder willed. It was as though she had read his thoughts. "Let me lock the door so no one can come in," she pleaded. This time Becker didn't stop her. Elizabeth turned and walked to the front door. Mulder waited until she was out of sight and then moved: "Freeze! FBI! Drop your weapon!" Becker fired in his general direction and Mulder crouched low. He'd forgotten the other man had been a Marine. Mulder was evaluating his options when he heard a second monstrously loud shot. When he stood back up, Becker's body was on the floor, with most of his chest splattered garishly on the beige brick of the fireplace behind him. Elizabeth stood in her sheer black bra and jeans, an old shotgun in one hand pointing towards the floor, her other hand on her shoulder. Nothing complex or planned about it. Mulder was already dialing 911. After he hung up, he turned to Elizabeth. "Where did you get the gun?" he asked. He was impressed that his little southern belle hadn't waited for him to save her. He was impressed, not surprised. "Another inheritance from Daddy. It came with the house and the dog." Then she leaned into his arms, still holding the shotgun, and cried. ********** The big house was finally empty. The last officer drove away and Elizabeth and Mulder sat on the front porch, waiting for Todd and Scully, respectively. A pox on red-eye flights - Scully had ensured they would be back in DC to face Skinner by Wednesday morning. Mulder couldn't argue - the case was over. Elizabeth had refused to go to the hospital tonight, so the paramedics had left ice packs and a sling for her shoulder. Mulder considered asking Scully to take a look at it when she got there and decided that was a bad idea. Elizabeth had called Todd and had a long talk. She was going to stay with him until she felt better. In the guest room. So they sat side by side and waited in the dark. Mulder could almost see time slipping away from them. It was Elizabeth that spoke: "Thank you for all you've done," she said. The night was quiet until she spoke again. "I wish we had more time. I wish we'd met in a different way," she said softly. He looked at her. There was still blood spattered on her wall and she smelled like gunpowder; this wasn't the time to declare his - uh, something - for her. He doubted she was one for speeches anyway. Her still waters ran deep and she expressed by doing, not saying. "If you ever want help with your demons, just let me know. I've dealt with a few of my own." "'Lizabeth, I never going to be sorry." He meant it with his whole being. She nodded. Mulder pointed up into the northern sky and her eyes followed his hand. "It looks so vast, like we're so alone in the universe. We're never really alone, 'Lizabeth - you just have to know where to look for the truth. In those heavens are spheres of pure energy, of souls passing through time that we were fortunate enough to have touch our lives briefly. You are one of the people that has touched mine. If you ever want me, or if you need me, I'll always be right underneath that north star." He saw headlights about to turn into her driveway. Mulder pulled her to him, careful of her bruised shoulder, and kissed her soft lips, cradling her head in his hands. Their time stopped as the world spun around them. Scully's rental car was parked when they parted and Scully was trying hard to look elsewhere. Mulder stood and picked up his leather bag. "Bye 'Lizabeth. You find me if you need or want me." "Goodbye, Mulder." He turned and walked to the car, putting his duffle bag in the back seat and opening the passenger side door by rote. He stopped and called to her: "'Lizabeth - watch out for the bees." He grinned. Elizabeth smiled and raised her hand. Mulder got in the rental car and closed the door. In the passenger-side mirror, he watched her fade to a small point of light - his island of tranquility disappearing into the valley of the past. Neither he nor Scully said a word all the way back to the airport. He couldn't read her mood, and he was afraid of what she would say. They were walking out the gate when she stopped and spoke: "Mulder, are you okay?" She could convey a book of information in four words. Mulder thought about it. He was completely infatuated with a woman he knew and didn't know. A woman who still had so many things to make her peace with, just as he did. He would probably never see her again. Tomorrow morning he would have to explain a picture of him kissing Elizabeth to Skinner, furthering his already stellar record with the Bureau. And he had no idea what to say to - or where he stood with - Scully. But she was right beside him, just like she always was. His words were weighty - "Yes. Yea Scully, I think I will be." He put his hand in the small of her back and guided her onto the plane. ********** Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels and sawdust restaurants with oyster shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question... Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit. ******** End: A Moment's Surrender (1/5)