Brilliant Disguise

By Michelle Fields

 This story is set in Season Four of The X-Files sometime after the events of “Small Potatoes.” In the Highlander Universe this would be Season Five before the events of “Comes a Horseman.” In Mahleah’s Timeline this is the Spring of 1997. She has been Immortal for nearly a year.

Chapter One

Special Agent Fox Mulder sighed as he glanced at his partner sitting in the seat next to him. Another day, another flight, he thought. At least Dana Scully appeared to be resting peacefully. Her lips were parted slightly and for the first time in several weeks she seemed to have relaxed enough to ease the tension in her body.

She had picked up his habit of wearing headphones to block out the noise from the plane’s other passengers and he could faintly hear musical notes floating out to his ears. Unconsciously he strained to make out the words and recognized them as a song by Sarah McLachlan that he had heard on some television show that he’d watched one night while waiting to sleep. It was a rather depressing choice considering the circumstances, but perhaps Scully found the music soothing. Whatever brought her some contentment now was all right by him.

He wished that she would feel comfortable enough to tell him how she truly felt instead of pushing him away with her constant refrain of, "Mulder, I’m fine." She wasn’t fine – she had an inoperable brain tumor. That was about as far from fine as a person could get, and yet she kept her distance from him.

It was ironic; he thought grimly, that she could let her guard down easier to a complete stranger pretending to be him than she could to the genuine article. Eddie Van Blundht, the man with the amazing ability to impersonate anyone, had managed with a bottle of wine and a sympathetic ear to get further inside the defenses of his partner than Mulder ever had. What was she thinking while she was with Eddie? When he had busted up the party, Eddie had been leaning in to kiss Scully and she hadn’t protested until she realized that the man a breath away from her was not her partner. Since that moment there had been strangeness between them, an embarrassment that cried out to them both to never mention the incident again.

But did the estrangement really begin there? Before he’d even known about the cancer they’d had the biggest disagreement in their partnership to date, ostensibly because he had a desk and she didn’t. It had led to her getting a tattoo and spending the night with a man that believed he was possessed by a demonic tattoo of his own and had tried to kill her. When Mulder tried to talk to her about the whole bizarre situation, she’d bluntly told him that not everything was about him. Now he wasn’t sure where they stood either as partners or as friends.

At least she was still willing and supposedly able to accompany him on his investigations. God only knew how long that ability or willingness would continue. If they were unable to find a cure for this disease might she not decide that she’d rather spend her remaining time on this earth with her mother and other family rather than gallivanting around the country looking for the proverbial monster in the haystack with him?

He looked out the window at the clouds. At least she had agreed once again to help him and he was grateful. It was a strange case that both did and did not fit an X-File that he’d been monitoring for years. Their old acquaintance Moe Bocks had been transferred from Minnesota to Washington State but he still got called in on strange cases. His current investigation had him stumped, and so he’d called on Mulder’s profiling skills to solve the string of ritualistic murders that were terrorizing the streets of Seacouver.

Look at the upside, Mulder, he admonished himself. You’ve got an interesting, legitimate case that ties in with one of your favorite X-Files and you’ve got Scully to help you. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Chapter Two

"Mulder, Agent Scully – it’s good to see you," beamed Moe Bocks. Scully was amused to see that the rumpled, eccentric agent had not changed a bit. He always reminded her of a cross between her partner and Columbo.

"Bocks," Mulder answered with a handshake. "So, what have you got for us?"

"Well, like I told you over the phone there have been a series of murders here in Seacouver that stretch back several years. Lately though we’ve had a body show up about every week," Bocks explained.

"And they all have the same mo.?" Scully inquired. This was one of the more gruesome aspects of the case.

"Yeah, all of them had their heads cut off with a very sharp object, possibly a sword," Bocks told her.

"You say that this has been escalating for years. Don’t the local police have any leads?" she asked.

Bocks scowled. "This is where it gets tricky. Apparently a few years ago, the SPD looked at a guy named Duncan MacLeod for the murders. Funny thing is the detectives down there now swear the guy has nothing to do with these deaths. Claim he’s a swell, upstanding guy that would never target, stalk and cut the heads off of pretty women."

"That’s a change in the pattern, isn’t it?" Mulder interrupted. "The women?"

The older agent nodded, "Yeah, the previous victims were all male."

"What do we know about this MacLeod?" Scully asked Bocks.

"He used to run an antique business along with his girlfriend, but after she was killed by a mugger he sold it. Owns a dojo now and lives in a loft in the upper part of the building."

"His girlfriend was murdered?" Mulder was chewing on his lower lip in that familiar way that Scully recognized as a sign he was following a trail in his mind. "When was this?"

"About three years ago, I think. Why, do you think it’s important?"

"Could be," Mulder smiled at Bocks. "Where did you say this dojo was?"

"I’ll get the address," Bocks walked off.

"Mulder, why are you focusing on this man so soon? Don’t you want to examine the files on the previous murders first?" Scully asked. Honestly, she wasn’t shocked by his behavior. It wouldn’t be the first time that Mulder jumped to a quick conclusion. While his track record was pretty good, he had been known to be wrong.

"I don’t know, there’s just something…" his voice trailed off and she could hear him mutter the name MacLeod under his breath.

Bocks walked back over with a yellow post-it note in his hand, "This is the address for the dojo. I’ll tell you though, Mulder that from what I’ve heard this guy is not very talkative to cops. I doubt he’d open up to you."

"He runs a gym, right? We’ll sign up for membership." He flashed a lopsided grin Scully’s way. "I might not be able to get him to talk but I’ll bet you that Scully has him eating out of the palm of her hand before the afternoon’s over."

Scully rolled her eyes. Bocks handed her a folder. "This is all the info we have on the guy."

She opened it to discover a picture of the man in question, which she studied with interest. Duncan MacLeod was an extremely handsome man with good taste in clothes. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Mulder at least if I have to eat with the guy he looks like he would take a girl to a better place than the closest greasy spoon."

She walked off, leaving him standing beside Bocks with his jaw hanging open.

Chapter Three

After a brief stop at their motel to change into more casual clothes, this included a Knicks T-shirt for Mulder, they drove to MacLeod’s dojo. Mulder noticed with amusement that it was called DeSalvo’s.

"Apparently the former owner, one Charlie DeSalvo, remained behind as manager after MacLeod bought the place," Scully said, answering his unspoken question. She thumbed through the file. "They were apparently close friends until last year."

"What happened last year?" Mulder inquired as he parked the car.

"MacLeod found DeSalvo’s body lying in an alley. He had been stabbed by an unknown assailant."

"That’s two people who were close to this guy that ended up dead," Mulder mused. "I don’t think you want to eat with him after all, Scully. It could be a messy proposition."

"We’ll see," she replied unperturbed.

As they went through the dojo’s double doors they saw that although several people, both male and female, were placed around the room next to various and sundry exercise equipment, attention was on two figures on mats in the center of the floor. Mulder studied them with interest as he and Scully skirted the action to head toward a bench on the sidelines.

The fighters were wearing body armor and engaging each other with long, black wooden swords. Scully raised her eyebrows, "Kendo?" she murmured.

"Yeah," he answered with some surprise. "How did you know?"

She just smiled at him and settled down on the bench next to a friendly-looking man with salt and pepper hair and a cane. The stranger was observing the fight closely.

"Don’t do that," he growled.

Mulder watched but wasn’t sure what the other man’s complaint was. Both figures seemed to be acquitting themselves well.

"Don’t play with him," Scully’s bench mate called out.

One figure, as if hearing his words, struck a stinging blow across the helmet of his opponent and then as he passed the other man by, slapped him with the flat of the wooden blade across the rump. Noticing the tension this caused, a follow-up was delivered to the back of the knees hard enough to bring the man to the floor.

Mulder heard Scully give a little gasp as he himself winced in sympathy. That had to hurt. The victor backed off, allowing the fallen man to recover and stand. The loser dropped his weapon and began tugging at his headgear. A couple of the bystanders had mercy on him, and unlaced it for him.

Mulder saw a face now: a young man in his early twenties, his head wet with sweat and covered with a bandanna.

"One of these days," the guy announced to his triumphant enemy. "One of these days I’m going to beat you – you know that, right? I mean, look at the odds."

The man sitting next to Scully stood and walked slowly to the fallen hero.

"Sure thing, Rich," he said consolingly. "You just keep trying and stop getting intimidated. You don’t have to prove yourself you know; you’re really good. Stop getting so nervous."

"It’s not easy to beat one of your teachers, Joe," Rich growled. He looked past his friend to see Mulder and Scully for the first time.

"Can I help you?" he asked, walking closer.

"We’re looking for a place to work out and since we were in the neighborhood decided to give this place a try," Mulder said as cheerfully as possible.

The young man stared at him, "This is a private dojo – membership through invitation only."

Scully walked up beside Mulder, "So, invite us," she suggested.

Mulder saw a devilish expression cross Rich’s face, then he grinned and said, "You’d have to pass the initiation first."

"What’s the initiation?" Scully took the bait.

If anything, Rich’s smile got even broader, "Not what, who," he told them gleefully. "And since MacLeod’s not here at the moment…" his voice trailed off as he pointed to the tall figure still on the mat.

Scully ran an appraising glance at the person in question, "I don’t know, I think you could take him Mulder," she said with a deadpan expression.

Her partner shot her a dirty look, then watched as the initiation in question approached them, pulling off padded gloves and then slowly removing head gear.

With shock, Mulder saw that the person in question was not a him, but a her. More amazing still was the sense of familiarity that tingled through him as he took in her sweaty features. She had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a slightly pouty lower lip. Her hair was, like Rich’s covered with a bandanna. Recognition set in as he gazed into a pair of dark, laughing eyes.

"It’s good to see you again, Fox," she greeted him in a warm, husky alto voice.

Beside him, Scully stiffened at the use of his first name, but Fox Mulder barely noticed as his mind sifted through his eidetic memory for specific recollections about this unusual beauty.

Chapter Four

Washington, D.C.

Fall 1993

"Hey Mulder," Frohike slurred, "I think that green girl liked you better than me."

"How could you tell?" Mulder replied wryly.

How the hell had he ended up spending the evening with The Lone Gunmen? Didn’t he have any other friends these days? There was Scully, but they were still getting used to working together. They didn’t need to complicate matters by seeing each other during their free time as well. Besides it was her fault that he’d spent the last four hours of his life in a bar called The Magic Bullet for aliens’ night. The strippers had been interesting to say the least, but the drinks were even more bizarre. He shook his head sadly thinking about what bad things could happen to a good beer. If only Scully hadn’t taunted him with her notions of getting a real life.

So, off she went on a four-day vacation to visit an old friend and he, out of desperation, had phoned the only guys he knew would be in on a Friday night – his good buddies, the conspiracy buffs. Well, at least he could honestly say the evening hadn’t been boring.

He sighed. What exactly was his idea of fun these days? Chasing down a new UFO sighting? The X-Files was probably the worst thing that had happened to his love life since Phoebe Green. Most women didn’t understand an obsession that had nothing to do with them.

"Mulder," Frohike started again, turning around and trying to look at his friend as he walked. The FBI agent put a hand on his shoulder and deftly steered him away from a mailbox.

Frohike’s eyes suddenly widened in shock, "Oh my God, where is she going?" he sputtered.

Before Mulder or the others could ask, "Who?" a figure had barreled into the short man and knocked him flat on the sidewalk.

Mulder blinked with astonishment at the sight of Frohike lying on the ground with a tall, rather hysterical woman on top of him.

"I have to go, I have to go. He’ll find me," the woman was repeating.

Mulder helped her off the ground, and Frohike, and examined her closely. In her early twenties she had sculpted features, long thick hair and haunted brown eyes.

She tried to dart off, but Agent Fox Mulder was not about to let a mystery run away from him.

"It’s okay," he told her calmly. "We’re not going to hurt you. Is someone following you?"

She glanced at him dully, repeating, "He’ll find me." She was trembling, he noticed with concern.

"Who?" he asked again, "Who’ll find you?"

She looked into his eyes blankly, and then slumped forward in a faint.

Mulder caught her quickly, wondering what the hell to do now.

Chapter Five

Having a beautiful woman literally fall into one’s arms ranks high among some men’s fantasies. Mulder discovered that the reality of such a situation bore little resemblance to romantic illusions. The lady in question was nearly as tall as he was and he was hard pressed to hold her up, much less carry her anywhere.

Byers, the quietest of his three companions stepped forward to say, "Mulder, we’re just half a block from our headquarters. Do you think you can manage her by yourself?"

The agent picked the unconscious body up in his arms and took a few steps forward. This wasn’t going to work, he rapidly realized. Perhaps if he only had to carry her across a threshold or into the next room, he could manage it without embarrassing himself or, worse, dropping her. Half a block was too far, though. The young woman was trim, but as muscle weighs more than fat she was rather solid. He shifted her from his arms to over his shoulder. It might be far less glamorous but it would get them both off the street.

"I’ve got her," he grunted. "Lead on, MacDuff."

By the time that the Gunmen had disengaged all of the security devices guarding their inner sanctum Mulder thought he would scream. He lurched through the door and deposited their guest as gently as he could upon a couch. The indoor lighting illuminated her features much better than the streetlights outside. He scrutinized her apparel trying to get a better sense of her personality. The clothes -- leather jacket, Levi’s, boots, and a silk blouse -- made him think she was probably a college student, perhaps in graduate school. She wore no makeup and had no rings on her fingers. On her neck was a gold chain with a cross.

She began stirring on the couch. Mulder took the cup of water that Frohike handed him and held it ready. Her dark eyes fluttered open and gazed up at him in confusion at first, but clarity began to arrive shortly thereafter.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

He was taken aback. This stranger came running out of nowhere to faint in his arms. He carried her half a block on his back and now she was angry at him?

"My name is Fox Mulder," he said, biting back his irritation. "This is Frohike, Langly and Byers. Who are you?"

She ignored the question, and began sitting up when she winced and touched the back of her head. Mulder silently offered her the cup of water, which she regarded with suspicion but accepted.

"What happened to me?" she asked.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Langly offered. "All we know is you came out of nowhere, flattened Frohike over there and fainted into Mulder’s arms."

She frowned, "I’ve never fainted in my life."

Mulder raised an eyebrow, "Well, mark the date on your calendar because you’ve suddenly set a precedent. Who was chasing you?"

"Chasing me?" she looked confused.

"Just before you succumbed to an unusual state of unconsciousness, you mentioned that you had to get away before ‘he’ found you. Who’s he?"

Her brow furrowed in thought, "I have no idea. I don’t even remember running into you guys."

"Let’s start at the beginning," Mulder suggested. "What’s your name?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated.

"Don’t you remember?" Frohike asked. He was looking much more sober than he had fifteen minutes ago.

"Of course I remember my name," she snapped. "It’s…." Her eyes widened in distress. "It’s…"

"Drawing a blank?" Mulder said kindly. "It’s not uncommon for the victim of a severe psychological trauma to get amnesia, especially if that trauma is accompanied by physical distress."

He reached toward her head, "May I?"

She studied him intently, and then nodded. He carefully examined the thick strands of hair to discover a lump on the back of her head. There were also bruises and cuts on her hands and wrists.

"I think you’ve been in a fight," he concluded. "What’s the last thing you remember?"

She shook her head, biting her lip, "Nothing – it’s all gone. How could this have happened? It’s ridiculous. I’m not the kind of person who goes around fainting and repressing memories."

"How do you know?" Byers pointed out.

She stood up, a little unsteadily. "I may not know my name but I can sense who I am as a person. I’m not a fragile waif of a girl that goes around falling into people’s arms. I don’t back down from things and I don’t run away from problems. So, what’s happened to me?"

"I’m not sure," Mulder admitted.

He saw the way her eyes were squinting against the light.

"Headache?" he guessed.

She licked her lips, "About the size of Mount Everest," she admitted.

"Guys, I’m sure you have something for that around here somewhere, don’t you?" he turned back to his comrades.

"Yeah, sure," Langly answered. By unspoken common consent they all moved away from the mystery woman and lowered their voices as the longhaired blonde rummaged for some Tylenol.

"I think I need to take her in to make a report," Mulder told them.

Frohike shook his head, "Nah, man that’s the last thing you should do. I mean you don’t know who’s after her. Maybe it’s the government."

Mulder cocked his head in frustration. "That’s the trouble," he explained. "We know nothing about her or what she’s running from. We need the resources of the Bureau or the local PD to investigate her background."

Byers shook his head also. "We have all the resources you need right here."

"Yeah," Langly agreed. "We can run her prints, take her picture, go through databases – we don’t need the cops."

"What about a doctor?" Frohike inquired. "How badly is she hurt? Is the amnesia being caused by a physical problem or is it entirely psychological?"

"Or real at all," Mulder added grimly. "I’m not sure. She’s definitely been hit by something. She may have a concussion. If Scully was here we’d have a trustworthy doctor on hand to check her out, as it is…"

They heard the sound of a throat being cleared behind them and turned.

The woman was standing there waiting patiently for the Tylenol. Langly, with a guilty look, gave her the bottle and she smiled wearily, "Thanks."

She returned to the couch and shook out a couple of gel caps. After swallowing them with the water Frohike had provided earlier, she looked up at Mulder.

"While I was sitting here something came back to me," she said slowly. "A name – I don’t know if it’s my name but it feels very important."

"Okay," he sat down beside her. "Tell us."

She gazed into his hazel eyes steadily, "MacLeod."

Chapter Six

Spring 1997 (Back to the present)

Seacouver, Washington

Richie looked at her frowning, "You know this dude, Mahleah?"

She looked at this vision from the past and laughed, "Yeah, Richie, I do."

"Oh well, I guess he doesn’t have to go through the initiation process," Richie said with disappointment.

"I don’t know about that," Mahleah said teasingly. "I mean I haven’t seen him in a few years. He may have gotten soft."

She was reminded of their audience when the small redhead standing nearby when snorted and said, "As a marshmallow that’s been out in the sun too long."

Ouch, I think I’ve stepped on someone’s toes, Mahleah thought. Sorry, sister but I haven’t seen this guy in a long time and I’m going to enjoy myself.

"Then, I’m afraid we’ll have to go a little one on one and see what you’ve got," she told Mulder, who grinned at her.

Richie unlaced the armor protecting her chest from the blows of a bokken. She thanked him and then because she’d worked up quite a sweat while sparring with her friend, and she wanted to see if it would distract Mulder, she slipped off the indigo tunic she was wearing to reveal the black tank top beneath. Tightly tucked into both her hakama and the shorts underneath, it clung to her like a glove and outlined the curves of her upper body. She saw her new opponent’s eyes widen and repressed a smirk. This was going to be too easy, but a lot of fun.

Mulder had pulled off his shoes and socks and now approached the mat. She untied the bandanna around her head and left it with her other gear. He gazed at her ponytail with surprise.

"You’ve cut your hair," he said with astonishment, reaching out to touch the ends of her shorn locks.

"Oh, it’s growing out now," she told him. "You should have seen it last year – it was chin length."

"It was so beautiful," he said wistfully.

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "And it isn’t now? Oh, you’ll pay for that one."

She feinted toward him so he would make a move. When he did, she pulled him forward, hard. He crashed to the mat.

Richie whooped from the sidelines, "You go, girl."

Mulder got back up, "Mahleah, huh?" he murmured softly. "Is that your real name, or are you going by an alias again."

She smiled serenely at him, "Nope that’s the real one – Mahleah Brennan, at your service."

His eyes widened, "Brennan, not MacLeod?"

"Nope," she repeated, shaking her head. While he was processing that information, she pulled his foot out from under him.

"Less talk and more action," she said teasingly as he gazed up at her from the mat. She stiffened as she felt the familiar tingle of an approaching Immortal course through her body. Her eyes involuntarily turned toward the door where she saw Duncan entering the dojo.

Mulder, meanwhile, seeing her momentary distraction caught her leg with his foot and pulled her to the mat. She allowed herself to fall backward. He quickly pinned her with his body, holding her arms down.

"Does this mean I win?" he inquired.

Her smile turned wickedly seductive, "Not quite yet."

She wrapped her legs around his and rolled so that their positions were reversed.

"You should have remembered that I like it on top," she whispered.

His eyes were turning dark green, "Be still my heart," he softly replied.

She glanced up to see that Duncan was talking animatedly to Fox’s redheaded friend who was lit up like a kid at Christmas morning looking at what Santa had brought during the night. Mahleah frowned.

Duncan finally looked her way and calmly inquired, "Having fun?"

Chapter Seven

When Duncan walked into the dojo he noticed two things: there was an unknown redhead standing next to Richie and Mahleah had found a new sparring partner. His jaw tightened just a notch before he walked over to introduce himself to the more pleasant newcomer.

"Hello, I’m Duncan MacLeod," he said warmly.

He noticed she was gazing at the fight before them with a slight scowl, but when she turned to him displeasure faded from her bright blue eyes.

"Dana Scully," she offered him a firm handshake.

He marveled over the strength in her fine-boned hand. She was exquisitely lovely but instinct told him she was no delicate porcelain doll.

He glanced at his former student, "Richie, I thought you were supposed to be working with Mahleah today?"

"She finished kicking my butt about ten minutes ago," the younger Immortal told him, offhandedly. "Now she’s busy doing the same to an old friend."

"An old friend?" Mac’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t recognize either the redhead or the tall man wrestling with Mahleah. "What’s his name?"

"Fox Mulder," the petite woman informed him. She sounded curious and he decided that she wanted to know about this old friendship as much as he did.

"How does Fox know her?" he asked.

"Mulder," she corrected him. "I’m not sure." She frowned and he could tell that this fact bothered her.

"Maybe they’re long lost pen pals," he suggested. When that got a small smile, he continued hoping to make the smile expand, "They met at summer camp – no wait, Mahleah never went to summer camp. College?"

"He went to Oxford," Dana said skeptically.

"No, she went to Berkley – although they still could have met in England, I suppose."

"Mulder’s older than her," she pointed out.

"True, but she looks younger than she actually is and she’s done quite a bit of traveling in her time. Where are you both from?"

She studied him for a moment and then replied, "Washington, D.C."

"Really?" he was intrigued. "What brings you across the country?"

She bit her lip, unconsciously he thought, "We’re here on a business trip."

"Oh," he said, letting warmth flow through his face. "You’re colleagues then?"

She nodded, and then realized the situation must have seemed a little strange because she explained further, "He gets unhappy if he doesn’t workout everyday and while we were out having lunch he saw this place and decided to give it a try."

Her nervousness did not escape him.

"I’d say he got more than he asked for," Richie snorted.

Mac ignored him and focused his attention on her, "Good, then he won’t mind if you have dinner with me this evening."

She drew in her breath quickly, "Dinner? I don’t know you."

"That’s true, but your friend will want to spend time catching up with Mahleah tonight, don’t you think? Why should you have to spend a boring evening in your hotel? C’mon I’ll take you to Joe’s – good food and great music." He grinned at her, "I promise I’ll be on my best behavior."

She glanced out at the floor where Mahleah held Mulder down on the mat in a rather intimate way. Quickly turning back to Duncan she tilted her head up to meet his eyes and said firmly, "Thank you, I’d love to go."

Chapter Eight

Scully was amazed at herself. Why had she said yes to MacLeod’s dinner invitation? Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience with Ed Jerse? Yet something within her pushed her to accept. She saw Mulder and his old friend walking toward them. He was frowning as he looked at her. Mahleah cast MacLeod a strange glance, and then put a hand on Mulder’s arm. He turned and they spoke together for a few moments.

The discussion over they both resumed their walk toward the group of people on the sidelines. Scully examined Mahleah closely. She was very tall and very strong – more than usual for a woman, perhaps. She swung the weapon she’d been fighting with earlier with considerable ease and the medical examiner’s reports on the victims of the serial killer had suggested that an extremely sharp object, probably a sword, had removed their heads. Could this be the killer they were after?

She pushed the thought aside reluctantly. There was no evidence to suggest that Mahleah had any connection to the victims and skill at kendo was merely circumstantial. Besides, her rational mind reminded her, your new dinner companion is apparently considered to be more skilled than she is or Richie wouldn’t have mentioned him taking on Mulder for the initiation earlier.

MacLeod was looking over her partner as well, she suddenly noticed. He kept his face neutral, and stuck out his hand in greeting, "Duncan MacLeod. I’ve heard you’re an old friend of Mahleah’s?"

Mulder took the hand and shook it, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"How do the two of you know each other?" MacLeod inquired.

Scully got the feeling that this was a polite way of saying, "I’ve never heard her mention you before – so who the hell are you and what do you want?"

Mahleah stepped forward, "I met Mulder on a trip to D.C. a few years ago. We had an…interesting time together."

Both Scully and MacLeod raised an eyebrow, and a suspicious stain starting creeping up Mulder’s face.

"Scully, I think the two of us have things to do this afternoon," he mumbled, and began pushing her out the door.

"I’ll see you tonight Fox," Mahleah called.

Scully glanced over her shoulder at the dark, delicious man with the faint Scottish accent, "Around seven then?" she suggested to him. "I’ll meet you there." There, she might be taking a risk but at least she wasn’t inviting him into her motel room.

"I’ll see you then," he flashed her a smile.

After they got back in the car, Mulder grabbed her arm, "Scully, what are you doing? You can’t be seriously considering going out with a man who’s a suspected serial killer?"

She pulled her arm away, "I’m meeting him for dinner. There’ll be plenty of people around and I’ll have the chance to interview him more closely than if he were in an interrogation room."

"But…" he began to protest.

"No," she said firmly. "Mulder, this is my decision. You enjoy your evening with Mahliah."

"Mahleah," he muttered.

"Whatever," she shrugged. "I suppose you think she’s not dangerous?"

He gave a startled laugh and looked away from her. His words made her stomach give a curious jerk.

"Oh, she’s dangerous all right, but in all the ways I like," he said in a husky tone. "In fact, she’s devastatingly lethal."

He started the car and pulled away – both of them wrapped in their own thoughts.

*******

"There’s just a few more hours," the television screen crooned. "That’s all the time you’ve got. A few more hours before they tie the knot."

God, he hated musicals. He wasn’t sure just why he continued to watch them. Hadn’t his mother tormented him enough with the damn things when he was a kid? No Clint Eastwood or John Wayne in his house – she was convinced that violence in movies encouraged children to become violent in real life. He remembered begging to see something, anything that didn’t lead up to grown men tip toeing around in tap shoes or bursting into song. She’d actually allowed him to watch The Three Stooges and had relented enough to promise he could watch his hero, the Duke, in a movie that night. Then, she had found the kitten…from then on it was strictly a diet of Judy Garland and Julie Andrews.

At least "My Fair Lady" wasn’t as sickeningly sweet as "The Sound of Music." He had to admit the first lines in this song were oddly soothing to his soul. It would be just a few more hours before he would hunt again, and this time he knew he would finally, finally find the woman he was looking for. When he sliced her pretty head off her shoulders, the lightening would finally come.

He managed to whistle as he finished sharpening his blade, "I’m getting married in the morning…"

Chapter Nine

Mulder and Scully left. Richie was chatting to a pretty newcomer to the gym called Allison, and Joe declared he had to prepare to open the bar. Mahleah and MacLeod stared at each other for a long moment before she began to gather her things. Wordlessly they traveled upstairs in the elevator.

After they stepped out he broke the silence, "So you met Fox in D.C. a few years ago? Was that about the time you went missing for several days and scared the hell out of all of us?"

"Mulder," she corrected nervously. "He doesn’t like to be called by his first name."

"You called him Fox," he pointed out.

She shrugged, "Only to annoy him."

"I’ll have to remember that," he said dryly. "You still haven’t answered the question: were you with him that time in D.C.?"

"Yes," she nodded. "He helped me out when I had amnesia."

"I see," and now he wouldn’t meet her eyes. "You’re going out with him tonight?"

"Yes," she stated matter-of-factly. "What’s the big deal? He’s an old friend. You have old friends come to visit all the time. Amanda passed through just a month or so ago." And we both know you slept with her, so don’t even start with me, she thought.

"What kind of cop is he? An FBI agent?" he queried.

She shot him a look, "I never said he was a cop."

He laughed humorlessly, "You didn’t have to."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, I forgot you have a sixth sense for these things. Yeah, actually he’s with the FBI, what of it? He’s obviously out here on a case with his partner – who you have a date with tonight."

"Have you heard from him since you left D.C.?" he persisted.

She frowned, "No, I haven’t. Since he didn’t know my real name that’s hardly surprising, is it?"

"So how did he find you?" he asked quickly.

"He said he was looking for a gym," she responded, then shook her head. "You’re right, that’s kind of lame. What’s going on, Mac?"

"Think about it and you’ll figure it out," he sat down on the couch.

Her mind quickly reviewed current events as well as what she knew about Fox Mulder and came up with an answer, "The murders?"

"The murders," he repeated. "It seems I’m a suspect again."

She bit her lip, "Maybe not. Scully did agree to have dinner with you. That’s hardly the type of action an agent takes with a key suspect. I can hardly believe that anyone would think you capable of killing all of those women."

"They were all decapitated," he reminded her.

"So? Joe says that none of them were Immortal."

She was clutching at straws and they both knew it. Since neither the Seacouver PD nor the FBI knew anything about Immortals or The Game it was unlikely that they would be able to distinguish between victims of a serial killer and losers of the timeless fight to the death her kind engaged in. Still, she refused to believe that Fox Mulder would use their past relationship to gather evidence against Mac. It infuriated her that Duncan would even suggest such a thing. Mulder had helped her through one of the most frightening times of her life – when she had no clue who she was and she was attacked by seductive evil. Duncan still didn’t know the details of that story but she had no desire to go into them with him.

Abruptly she started hunting through one of her bags and pulled out a pair of socks. She had been barefoot in the dojo, but she was going to rectify that situation now. As she began pulling them on, Duncan frowned, "Where are you going?"

"Out," she said curtly.

"Out? Out where?"

She stopped and looked at him, the anger building faster and deeper within her, "Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going out for a run."

"I’ll come with you," he started to rise from the couch.

"No, you won’t," she said flatly.

"Mahleah, there’s a serial killer out there who’s targeting women and cutting their heads off. Do I have to point out what a bad idea it is for you to be roaming around the city alone?"

"Must I remind you," she replied hotly, "that I am not a child. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Mac, you’ve trained me to fight since I was three years old. I’m Immortal now, I’ve taken a couple of heads, and I work out every day. I’m as safe as I can possibly be. Now, stop treating me like an overprotective father."

She laced up her running shoes, pulling them very tight in her agitation.

He tried one more time to stop her at the door, "Mahleah, I’m just worried about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you."

She didn’t back down, "Nothing will."

"Be reasonable here," he blew out an impatient breath. "I know I’m not your father, but…"

She got in the elevator and cut him off by pulling the gate down. "You’re damned right you’re not," she declared with hostility and left.

Chapter Ten

Mahleah ran feeling her anger trickle away into something more sour tasting – disappointment perhaps? One step forward and two steps back – how many times had they been here before? Just when she would think that maybe she and MacLeod were finally pushing the boundaries of their relationship he would suddenly revert back to his old familiar patterns. She felt her cheeks burn and it wasn’t from the exertion. Once again she had mistaken his behavior. She’d thought his reaction toward Mulder was tinged with jealousy, but it appeared it was just his stubborn insistence on protecting her resurfacing once again. The gleam in his eyes hadn’t been desire, damn it all.

What more could she do? For heaven’s sake, they’d actually had sex a year ago and yet he still saw her as a child he had to take care of. It was like the night they’d spent together had merely given him another predator to shield her from…himself. Now instead of sharing a bed together they awkwardly traded off the couch every night. God love him, he’d tried to insist on giving her the bed but she’d pointed out that neither one of them fit comfortably on the couch and it was only fair if they swapped out every day. She’d hoped a couple of nights of this treatment would make him look at the big cozy bed enviously enough to make a move, but no such luck. Instead, it was she who gazed longingly from the purgatory of cramped legroom toward the soft paradise where he slumbered.

No doubt it would appall him if he understood what being in such close proximity to him did to her these days. Having once tasted the forbidden fruit her body craved more. Her eyes involuntarily closed and she shivered remembering the rough music of his sighs, the low Gaelic murmurs that punctuated his kisses, and the way his accent caressed her name. His voice had been low, rich, dark and dangerous only in its sensuality. Only at the end had it raised as he began to lose control…she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and began toppling forward.

She felt hands grasping her in a quick hard grip and stopping her descent. She opened her eyes to discover a pair of concerned gray eyes in the face of a middle-aged businessman. She’d probably been about to fall on him.

"Hey, careful," he said, removing his hands after steadying her. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said with her face hot with embarrassment.

"It’s not normally a good idea to jog with your eyes closed," he cautioned.

"I know," she smiled tightly. "Thanks for catching me before I crashed."

"No problem," he studied her intently, before moving away.

She took a deep breath. She needed to catch her breath and calm down before she took another swan dive on the concrete. Looking around, she saw she was close to Joe’s and headed in that direction.

****

"Hey beautiful," Joe called, as she walked in.

She heard a chorus of wolf whistles coming from the stage and waved at the band. Sitting in front of the bar, Joe placed a glass in front of her.

"The usual poison?" he asked.

"Yeah," she smiled wearily, and he filled her glass with ice and ginger ale.

She studied him for a moment and then said wryly, "You know Joe, I think you’re about the only man who could call me beautiful when I look like this and I don’t feel like he’s either making fun of me or desperately horny."

He chuckled, "Mahleah, you may be sweaty but you’re still gorgeous. What about them?" he nodded in the direction of the musicians.

She raised an eyebrow, "As I said horny and desperate."

He laughed louder, "You may be right, but what about Mac? Doesn’t he tell you things like that?"

She scowled into her mug of ginger ale, "No."

"Never?" Joe actually seemed surprised.

"One time," she admitted. "Two years ago."

"Well then, he’s a prize chump," declared an unfamiliar voice.

Mahleah looked up sharply to see a stranger wiping out a glass in the classic bartender’s pose. He was good-looking, in a boyish way, with sandy blonde hair and disarming blue eyes. Too bad for him she wasn’t interested.

"Jake," he held out his hand, clearly expecting her to take it with excitement. Instead she looked at Joe for an explanation of the intruder.

"Mike’s off on vacation for the next two weeks," he told her. "Jake’s filling in for him."

She nodded and gingerly took the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you."

She looked pointedly at Joe, who cleared his throat and said, "Jake, we’re running low on Guinness. How about checking in the storeroom and getting a count for me."

"Sure thing," Jake said cheerfully, and winked at Mahleah.

After he’d gone, she said sarcastically, "If that guy was a quarter as charming as he thinks he is, the bar would be overrun with over-enthusiastic females."

"He’s not that bad," Joe responded. "You’re just mad at men in general."

She groaned, "Maybe you’re right. One in particular, anyway."

"What’d he do now?"

She sighed, "It’s more like what he didn’t do."

Joe winced, "That’ll get you in more trouble than the things you actually do."

She lowered her chin to the counter. "Well, if you want to talk about what he did…he’s trying to protect me again."

Joe seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "Is that an entirely bad thing? It’s because he cares, you know."

"I’m not a kid," she said sharply. "And I wish he’d get that through his hard skull. I’m getting really sick of him treating me that way."

Her friend gazed at her with calm eyes, "Like a kid, huh? He has known you since you were in diapers, Mahleah."

"I know," she said testily. "Sometimes I wish he’d never known me until I hit twenty one."

"You don’t really mean that," Joe disagreed.

"No, I don’t," she agreed. "It’s just…he’s killing me. I know the man loves me, but there are times when it seems to surprise him that I’m female, you know?"

"No, I don’t," he said smiling. "Mac’s well aware of your feminine qualities."

"Yeah, right," she snorted.

"Mahleah," he seemed to be getting exasperated. "Sometimes I don’t know which one of you is more blind. I’ve seen the way he looks at you lately, and trust me you’re definitely making an impression."

She grabbed his hand as if it were a lifeline, "You think?"

"Why would you even believe anything else?" he asked.

Her enthusiasm deflated, "He never responds to me, Joe. I mean, all the guy has to do is touch me and I break out in a sweat but I think I could step out of the elevator stark naked and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash."

Joe laughed loudly, "Oh, I doubt that very much."

"Oh, he’d want to throw a blanket over me in case someone else might see, but it would just be his overprotective mode again."

"And you’d prefer him to throw you to the floor and ravish you?" Joe inquired wickedly.

She blushed, "Well, yeah." They both laughed.

"Maybe you should try it some time and see what happens," he suggested, with a gleam in his eye.

"What, walking out of the elevator naked?" she laughed harder. "What if he has company? Could you imagine Methos’ face, or Richie’s?"

Tears were streaming down their faces.

"Maybe I just need to check out an advanced textbook," she said gasping. "I’ve been sticking to "Flirting for Beginners" and "Seduction 101" when I need to grasp the finer nuances of "Senior Thesis of the Femme Fatale."

He smirked, "What you need to ‘grasp’ isn’t found in any textbook."

"Joe," she groaned. She grabbed a handful of napkins and began mopping her face.

Still grinning, Joe started to turn around when she startled him by grabbing his arm.

"Thanks," she said warmly. "I needed a good laugh."

"Anytime," he said lightly. "You know I’d do anything for my favorite sultry chanteuse. You can pay me back by sitting in with the band sometime while you’re in town."

"It’s a deal," she promised, "but not tonight. I’m having dinner with an old friend."

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, "male or female?"

Her eyes danced, "Male, decidedly male."

"How old a friend?"

She shrugged, "Mid thirties."

"Friend of Mac’s as well?"

"Nope."

Their gazes locked.

His smile widened, "Good."

Chapter Eleven

Safely ensconced in her motel room, Scully reviewed the case files again. Two months ago the body of Brenda Martin had been found lying in a park. Thereafter a decapitated corpse had appeared every two weeks until the latest victim, Cynthia Herron. She was discovered in an alley exactly a week after the previous victim Julia Montford died in the parking lot of her law firm. Five women had died so far with no end to the murders in sight. The Seacouver PD was completely baffled and anxious to end the killer’s career.

Scully wished briefly that she could see the files through Mulder’s eyes. Not only did he possess a photographic memory but also the uncanny ability to notice details that eluded other notice. He was quite capable of uncovering all too human monsters as well as the more exotic ones they frequently pursued.

She recalled one of their earliest cases: Eugene Victor Tooms. Mulder had noticed the metal filings in the floor of one of the murder scenes and realized that the killer had entered through the unlikely opening of the air vent. It was Mulder who had thought to elongate Tooms’ fingerprints to discover that they matched those found at a series of murders from decades earlier. He possessed the unique ability to pursue evidence to unlikely but often-logical conclusions.

She smiled to herself. She had never admitted it to him, but she admired the way his mind worked even if it often carried things to the extreme. Well, that was her job after all – to rein him in when he was headed too far down an implausible trail and make him rethink things. The partnership they had established was as strange in its way as any X File. The Powers That Be had expected her to make him look like a fool and put an end to his personal crusade. Instead she had attempted to provide a reasonable counterpoint for his fantastic theories.

It was a delicate balancing act the two of them performed endlessly on both their cases and in their personal life. Too much pressure at any point could shatter it as easily as the most fragile crystal. In the last few months the intense strain placed upon their weaknesses had nearly destroyed their relationship. She had been feeling weary. In their first year together she had deliberately put aside her social life – finding it rather dull after chasing liver eating mutants and little gray men. Yet she hadn’t realized until this year that decision had suddenly seemed to be a permanent arrangement. Just as she came to the conclusion that there should be more to life than following Mulder on his desperate search for the truth she encountered Ed Jerse. She had spent the night with him but it had nearly cost her life, as he believed in the depths of his psychosis that he was being controlled by a demented tattoo on his arm.

Mulder’s reaction to both her need for an escape from the narrow-focus of her work and her rendezvous with Ed had been mixed with confusion, pain, resentment, and possibly even jealousy. He had always been rather territorial yet she wasn’t always sure that he saw her as a woman. His possessiveness, rather, stemmed from the fact that she was his partner…the one person in the world that he trusted. She could only imagine his surprise matched her own on the Eddie Van Blundht case when they both discovered that she was willing to let Mulder kiss her. Of course it hadn’t really been Mulder, which made the embarrassment even more acute.

What the hell had she been thinking anyway? True, she hadn’t expected him to slowly bring his face to hers, but she hadn’t pushed him away either. Well, at least not until she realized it was Eddie and not the shocked looking partner who had barged in on this tender scene. She should have known it wasn’t Mulder when he showed up at the door with a bottle of wine willing to listen to her dive into nostalgic reminiscences. Apparently a part of her regretted the fact that she and Mulder rarely discussed personal issues other than the deaths of family members and that one strangely sweet conversation they’d had in Home, Pennsylvania about genetics and the possibility of having children. Her life was possibly ending and she’d never had the chance to sit down with the most important person in her life and find out about the happier parts of his childhood before Samantha was taken, his first crush, his favorite teacher, who taught him to dance…all the little tidbits that formed the man behind the mission.

According to her last visit with her oncologist her cancer was rapidly spreading and though she had vowed to fight her illness she was rapidly running out of options. There were so many things she had left undone and she wouldn’t have enough time to finish them all, but one project she wanted to see to completion was making certain that Mulder would be fine after she was gone. With Eddie she had realized, to her dismay that she had selfishly wanted to know the taste of her partner’s lips before she left him for good. If that situation had been real however and she had followed through on her impulse of the moment how much harder would it be for him after she died?

She stared down at the autopsy photos of one of the victims – Faith Oeltjen – recognizing a kindred spirit. Here lay another woman for whom time had run out. The least she could do was see that the same fate didn’t befall others, hence her dinner with MacLeod.

She had accepted the invitation for several reasons. While MacLeod was still a suspect, at least in Mulder’s eyes, she had her doubts. As long as the man’s name wasn’t a derivative of Edward her instincts were generally reliable. She sensed that he might know something though, and she was determined to find out what it could be. Also, Mulder’s run-in with his old pal Mahleah fit her plan of ensuring his future tranquility well. She would make herself unavailable to him and encourage him to see more of the Amazon woman. Her stomach tightened, but she ignored it. Really, it was the best thing for them both. Her final reason for agreeing to dinner was purely personal: she was a woman dying of brain cancer and he was a damned good-looking man. She deserved a nice evening out with a gorgeous guy.

Chapter Twelve

Mulder sat in the floor of his motel room attempting unsuccessfully to sort the case files into some sort of pattern. He had to admit, if only to himself, that at the moment he was as puzzled as the other investigators. Profilers normally looked for commonality in the victims – some theme that linked them together. On the surface, all the victims had in common was the fact that they were female and lived in Seacouver. Surely the killing was not completely random? There had to be something here that he was missing.

Brenda Martin, 27, the first victim was found in a park. She was a married schoolteacher with no children. The second, found two weeks later, was Stacey Denhardt: an eighteen year-old high school senior. When an autopsy revealed she was also pregnant the manhunt for the killer had begun in earnest. Stacey’s death had even convinced the police that they had their man in Justin Stuart, Stacey’s boyfriend. When Faith Oeltjen died while Justin was in custody, however, they had to let him go.

Faith was 41, divorced several times but currently single an exotic dancer by trade. Faith had him completely stumped. Up until that point, the killer had seemed to be sticking to an academic theme. Faith was older, her profession had nothing to do with academia, and her body was found on the other side of town. He had even asked, with a hint of desperation, if she might have taught dance classes at some time, but the answer was no. She was listed as an Oriental dancer, which he mentally translated as belly dancing.

The fourth victim was Julia Montford, 32. An African-American career woman she certainly seemed to have nothing in common with Faith. Julia was married with one child and a lawyer at a respectable law firm. Unfortunately she had died in the firm’s parking lot. The most recent death was even more unsettling. Cynthia Herron was 65. A widow with children and grandchildren she had spent the ten years since her husband’s death to explore all of the things she had missed while raising a family. She had traveled, taken classes and enjoyed life to the fullest.

What on earth did these women have in common? Their ages ran the gamut from 18 to 65, unmarried to widow, pregnant to no children, housewife to lawyer to exotic dancer. He shook his head wearily. They were even of different economic backgrounds. What was he missing here? The problem was he didn’t have a sense of their personalities yet. Maybe it was something more elusive than the standard statistics that attracted the killer to them.

He leaned back against the bed wearily rubbing his eyes and then glanced at his watch and swore. He would have to hurry and shower and shave or he would be late for his date with Mahleah. It had been such a shock to see her again since her mysterious disappearance in D.C. Maybe now he’d get the full story from her since she seemed to be in full possession of her memory again. Lord knew he had enough questions for her.

It appeared that while her name wasn’t actually MacLeod there was a connection to the name. What was her relationship with Scully’s dinner partner? He resolutely ignored the tightness in his chest and reached for the phone. He was aware that Scully packed a gun wherever she went these days but it wouldn’t hurt for her to have a little backup at this meal and since he was going to be unavailable, he’d see whom Moe could find on short notice. She might shoot him again when she found out but at least she’d be safe.

A bodyguard supplied, he gratefully stepped into the hot water of his shower and deliberately pushed the case to his subconscious. Let it work overtime for a while. As he basked in the warmth of the water his thoughts wandered back once again to his fateful meeting with the woman he now knew as Mahleah Brennan.

Chapter Thirteen

Washington D.C. 1993

The strange woman’s prints were not in any of the databases that The Lone Gunmen accessed. The FBI, the CIA, or Interpol did not know her face. No one had reported her missing yet, which wasn’t entirely surprising considering the supposed brevity of her absence.

Most of her clothes were nondescript except for her leather jacket and Frohike was checking the label in it for a clue to her origins. Langly was reviewing various sources he refused to discuss with Mulder and Byers was pursuing the most interesting lead: the gold cross she was wearing. Of a Celtic design, Byers believed it to be antique and if so there was a possibility that he could trace its purchase.

Mulder was holding the talisman in the light when he found the inscription. Borrowing a magnifying glass he examined the tiny words but they made no sense to him.

"Hey guys," he called softly, glancing over to the couch where the mystery woman slept. "Got any idea what language this is?"

They crowded around and took turns peering at the flowery script but they all shook their heads. There was something familiar about it to Mulder, but he hadn’t managed to make the connection yet that would allow him to access that particular memory from his brain. He studied it frowning.

Once again his gaze wandered back to the couch where their guest lay with her long hair wrapped around her like a cloak. She seemed to be resting so peacefully that he hated to disturb her, but although she had shown no symptoms of a concussion other than a headache he couldn’t afford to take the chance that she might slip into a coma. He rose determined to wake her for her own good.

Kneeling in front of the couch, he allowed himself a moment to appreciate the loveliness of her face. Her countenance was not at rest as he had supposed. There was a small crease in her forehead and she was frowning. He tilted his head watching her and saw her lips begin to move. He bent closer to catch her words.

"Jill, don’t be stupid – don’t go over there. Hey you, let her go. Oh…. I said get your damn hands off her," she hissed, and Mulder jerked back in surprise over the venom in her voice. "I don’t care who you think you are. Uh," her body shook as if struck. "NO, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…." She began chanting.

Enough was enough, Mulder decided. He’d had more than his fair share of nightmares and she’d thank him for waking her. He touched her shoulder gently.

"Wake up," he said softly.

He was not prepared for the rapidity with which her eyes popped open, nor was he ready for the way she sprang from the couch knocking him to the floor and pinning him, rather painfully. Her mouth was practically snarling and her eyes were flashing dark fury.

Frohike approached them cautiously with his hands out as if making friends with a wild animal.

"Miss, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re trying to help remember. Why don’t you let Mulder up now?"

She looked at him scowling and then the violence was gone, replaced by confusion. She released her hold on Mulder and sat back on her heels. As he gingerly rubbed his wrists, she flushed.

"I’m sorry," she apologized.

"That’s okay," Mulder said lightly. "I’ve had those kinds of dreams before. What was it about?"

She stared at him, frustration quickly overcoming her embarrassment, "I’m not sure. I think I was fighting someone."

"It sounded as if you witnessed a fight, maybe even a murder," he offered. "That could be the event that’s triggered your amnesia."

She shrugged, "If you say so."

"You spoke to a woman named Jill and told her not to go to someone. Then you were ordering that person to release her. It seemed to go badly from there."

She sighed, "I can’t see it."

He cautiously reached forward and took her hands, "The more you reach for it is the further you’ll push it away. Just relax and sooner or later, it will come back."

Swallowing, she said tentatively, "Thank you for helping me, Mr. Mulder. You guys, too," she turned to the Gunmen.

"Just call me Mulder," he chuckled. "Now, what shall we call you? Got any preferences?"

She shook her head.

"The cross was inscribed to the letter ‘M’," Frohike offered.

Mulder nodded, "That could just be MacLeod," he mused, "but let’s not call you Mac."

Unexpectedly she chuckled.

"What?" he asked.

"I don’t know," she confessed. "It’s just when you said that name, I felt a connection, but it’s not mine."

"You’re sure," he probed.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Okay," he studied her, racking his prodigious memory for an appropriate name. She sat there placidly, allowing him to stare. Lamplight caused the back of her hair to shine and his eyes traced the fall of her amber locks as they cascaded across her shoulders and down her body. The lines of an old Lovelace poem whispered through his brain.

"Mantha," he suddenly said.

She looked puzzled but interested, "That’s an odd one."

"It’s short for Amarantha," he was appalled to feel himself flush. Surely, she wouldn’t get the reference – she couldn’t remember anything surely she couldn’t recall an obscure verse by a 17^th century Cavalier poet.

Her eyebrows raised, but she merely said, "It’s pretty…and different. All right, Mantha it is."

Chapter Fourteen

Even after all the acrobatics she had performed in her attack on Mulder, Mantha showed no signs of dizziness or nausea so it was doubtful that she had a concussion. Mulder encouraged her to get some more sleep. He was beginning to feel more than a little tired himself and settled into an armchair.

She stretched out on the couch once again but he could see that she was visibly tense. Every time one of the Gunmen spoke her eyelids would flutter open once again. Taking a gamble based on personal experience that she might rest better with more soothing sounds he softly called to Byers, "Hey, can you turn a radio or something on to drown out the noise. Some of us are trying to sleep."

A few minutes later the sounds of a local rock station filled the room with the muffled sound of guitars, drums, and rough voices. He started to protest that this wasn’t what he had in mind when he happened to notice that Mantha had relaxed. As he watched, her breathing pattern became more regular and she nodded off at last. This fit his theory that she was a graduate student well, he thought sleepily before drifting into slumber himself.

****

It had been more years than he wanted to count since Fox Mulder had managed to sleep more than a few hours at a time. After the disappearance of his sister, Samantha, when he was twelve, doubts, sorrow and guilt had destroyed many a night’s rest. As he woke, stiff and uncomfortable in the armchair, his ears heard sounds that his mind struggled to make sense of. First he detected the radio, still on and still cranking out classic rock songs. Something else was struggling through the fog of his fuzzy mind as well, though, and he managed to crack his lids open to investigate.

Through the haze of bloodshot eyes left no doubt by the green sludge of the night before he saw Mantha was still lying on the couch. Straining blearily, he saw her lips were moving. His mind started processing information and he struggled out of his makeshift bed. Anything she said in her sleep could prove to be a clue to her identity.

When he managed to focus on her lips he saw they were moving rhythmically. The song in the background filtered into his consciousness and he realized she was singing in her sleep. He smiled and looked up. Frohike was standing nearby and they locked eyes. He made a motion to the other man to turn up the radio, curious what she would do.

Frohike complied and the sounds of T-Rex grew louder. Mulder got down on the floor next to the couch waiting for the results of the little experiment. He was charmed as her voice rose to an audible level.

"Get it on, bang a gong, get it on," she growled in a husky alto that sent chills coursing down his spine. She definitely had a good singing voice. She continued for another chorus alternately purring and belting out lyrics.

Mulder shifted uncomfortably. His body was getting a hell of a wakeup call – beat any alarm clock he’d ever heard. He exchanged glances once again with Frohike and saw that she was having a similar effect on his friend.

Her eyes suddenly popped open and she gazed at him frankly and curiously.

"Good morning," she said politely.

"Good morning," he replied, with a grin. "Do you take requests?"

She raised an eyebrow, "What kind of requests?"

"You were singing in your sleep," he explained.

She sat up. "Really? How was I? Am I any good?"

He swallowed, "I think it’s safe to say you could make a living with your voice if you so desired."

She considered this, "That’s nice to know. Well, what’s on the agenda for today?"

"How do you feel?" he countered.

"Pretty good, all things considered," she replied.

"Actually, I thought of a couple of new things to explore," he told her. "First, if you did witness a murder it’s possible that the local PD might know something about the victim. If we’re lucky we might find a Jill, but we’ll try all the Jane Does."

She nodded, "What else?"

"Well, I have a hunch that you’re a graduate student so we’ll go to a couple of university libraries and flip through some yearbooks. Maybe we can at least find your name.."

She nodded again and brushed hair out of her eyes. In the brighter light of day he could see a smudge on her right hand. On impulse he reached for it and examined the spot more closely. It was ink.

"Come here," he requested and pulled her over to the magnifying glass. Under its scrutiny he made out the faded, smeared outline of a tiger.

"Hey, Frohike," he called to the only Gunman who seemed to be awake. "Have you seen this before?"

The little man took a good look at the small image, and then shook his head. "It’s not a tattoo. My guess is it’s a stamp from a club."

"That’s what I thought," Mulder agreed. "How many clubs in the area would have a stamp like this?"

"Probably only one," Frohike guessed. "I’ll get on it."

Mulder turned back to Mantha, "Maybe we can find out where you were last night."

Chapter Fifteen

While they waited for the rest of the world to wake up on this Saturday morning, Mulder and Frohike sat Mantha down in front of one of the computers to test her skills. She typed with all ten fingers without thinking about it, and demonstrated knowledge of computer basics. While surfing the net, Frohike guided her to several sites and Mulder realized he was testing her knowledge of other subjects. When she was able to read French, Spanish, and Italian with no hesitation he pulled up other non-English pages. With increasing excitement she translated each with no difficulties. German, Portuguese, Russian, Japanese – Mulder was rapidly losing track.

Cleverly, Frohike used her interest to their advantage.

"Mantha, I’ve been having trouble translating this. Maybe you could help me," he suggested.

"Sure," she agreed cheerfully.

He pulled up a text document containing the inscription from the Celtic cross. She looked at it and read it aloud easily. With vocalization, the memory clicked for Mulder and he recognized the language as Gaelic. He had encountered it in England but never learned over a word or two.

"My darling girl," she transcribed for them. "This will keep you safe when I can’t be there. Your warrior-poet." She looked with amusement at Frohike, "Who sent you this?"

"It was engraved on the back of your cross," Mulder told her gently.

She picked it up reverently, and gazed at the tiny writing. "Someone wrote that to me?"

"We don’t know," he reminded her. "Byers still thinks it’s an antique. If so, that dedication could be very old."

She nodded, but he saw a small gleam in her eyes. He understood – if you had no idea who you were or what your past was it was heartening to think someone cared enough about you at some point for such a gift. He took the necklace from her fingers and walked around behind her. Realizing his intent, she pulled her hair out of the way and allowed him to fasten the latch.

Turning, she gazed at him with a warm smile that lit up her face. "Thank you," she said softly.

"You’re very welcome," he replied. "May I?" He raised his hand to her hair.

She looked puzzled but nodded. He pushed the hair back from her throat and caught his breath.

Hearing his gasp, she asked worriedly, "What is it?"

"Come here in the light," he pulled her towards a lamp. Frohike followed them curiosity getting the better of him.

Mulder angled the lampshade so that he could get a better look at the scar he had detected. It was vicious, ugly. He met her eyes, which were asking a hundred questions.

Frohike handed her a mirror, and as she got a glimpse of the place she stiffened. Her fingers rubbed it gently.

"It looks like a bite mark," Mulder ventured.

Her dark eyes were intense and frightened.

"Why would I let anyone do this to me?" she demanded.

Chapter Sixteen

Mulder shot Frohike a warning glance to refrain from any S & M jokes. The Gunman shook his head, indicating that even he wouldn’t laugh at such a question.

"You might not have let them," he kept his tone gentle.

She took a deep breath and put the mirror down. "It appears we have more questions to answer," she said firmly.

He admired her courage. "Are you ready to start some legwork?" he asked.

"Yes," she said decisively. "The sooner the better."

****

Once in his car, though, he noticed she looked a bit uncomfortable.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

"It’s nothing," she dismissed.

"There’s something, you’re awfully fidgety," he pointed out.

She sighed, "You don’t live with those other guys, do you?"

"No," he laughed. "I just visit occasionally."

"That’s what I thought," she took a deep breath. "Then, could we stop by your place before we head to the library?"

He looked at her in astonishment and she laughed nervously, "No, this is not a come-on. It’s just…I’d really like to take a shower. I don’t know how long I’ve been in these clothes but they feel pretty grimy."

"Why didn’t you say something at The Gunmen’s?" he inquired.

She paused as if choosing her words carefully, "I don’t think they get to interact with girls much – if I’d asked to use their shower they may have short-circuited."

They both chuckled as Mulder agreed with her assessment.

"Yeah, sure," he told her. "I could use some freshening up myself."

******

When they arrived at his apartment, he quickly rummaged through his dresser drawers pulling out a sweatshirt, jeans, socks, and a pair of boxers.

"They’re clean at least," he shrugged in a half-apology. " I know I hate the thought of old underwear."

She bit her lip and her eyes danced at him merrily, "Thanks."

As she went into the bathroom, he returned to his living room puzzling over the strange mark on her neck. Granted rough sex could leave bruises but this went way beyond a normal hickey. The bite had drawn blood that much was obvious, and he suspected not a small amount. Had she been attacked? Raped, maybe?

Suddenly, he heard her call his name.

"Mulder, could you come here for a moment?" Her voice sounded odd.

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked, "Everything okay? Are you decent?"

"Come in," she answered.

As he pushed the door open, he saw she had donned the bathrobe that had been hanging on the back of the door. She looked up at him, and opened the robe to reveal an incredibly long expanse of silky leg.

Chapter Seventeen

Mulder swallowed hard. Despite his jokes at his friends’ expense, his obsession with his work had ensured that it had been quite some time since he’d gotten to see this much bare female flesh up close and personal. One look at her face, though, as he came in told him she wasn’t attempting a seduction here. Her expression was controlled, but there was a small hint of panic in her eyes.

Forcing himself to look beyond the obvious he let his eyes trail up the long length of leg – God, wasn’t it illegal for a woman to have limbs this lethal? – to her upper thigh. She was indicating a spot on the inside of her leg and repressing his more sinful thoughts he bent for a better look. What he saw chilled his libido and quite effectively made him forget any lustful impulses. The raised edges of a healing bite marred the creamy perfection of her skin.

He swallowed and raised his hand, "May I?" he asked before touching the scar.

She nodded, biting her lower lip, and he gently ran his fingers over the ugly blemish. It was even worse than the one on her neck. What kind of depraved hunger had driven someone to do this to her? The marks were not fresh but he guessed that they had been inflicted within the past three months. Three months ago someone had bitten her as savagely as any animal.

"Mantha," he said in a low whisper. "I am so sorry that someone did this to you."

"That’s not all," she said in a trembling voice. "I can’t show you the last one – it’s even worse than the other two."

He raised his head to look up at her. A lonely tear found its way from her lashes to roll down her cheek. He reached up to brush it from her face, waiting to see if she would tell him where the third mark was.

She took a deep breath and answered his unspoken question, "My…my nipple..." she shivered and pulled the robe tightly around her.

He shut his eyes tightly for a moment trying to block out the rage that ran through him. He knew without a doubt that there were monsters in the world – he had spent enough time in Violent Crimes and the Behavioral Science unit. Here he was being presented, once again, with the personal face of tragedy and he vowed inwardly that if it were humanely possible he would help this beautiful woman find her tormentor and see that she received justice.

He realized that her body was shaking like a tree blown by a heavy wind. Quietly, he pulled her down and wrapped his arms around her. At first she fought the storm, but as he stroked her hair and rocked her, the sobs suddenly erupted. She wept out of grief and rage and gripped his back and shoulders painfully. He let her cry as long as she desired, just holding her and providing as much comfort as he could. Finally, he heard a voice in his ear say, "If I ever find the thing that did this…."

With a shudder of his own, he felt almost sorry for the perpetrator of this atrocity.

*****

Seacouver, 1997

Mulder stepped out of the shower and dried off. Conversation this evening with a Mantha, Mahleah he corrected himself, who had a fully restored memory should prove interesting.

Chapter Eighteen

Scully stood at the entrance to Joe’s and nervously smoothed the jacket of her new forest-green suit. She hadn’t been able to make up her mind what to wear so she’d went shopping and bought this outfit which was a little less businesslike and a little more feminine. Spotting Duncan at the bar talking to the man she’d seen earlier at the dojo – Joe, presumably the owner of the club, she made her way to him.

He spotted her and smiled warmly. When she reached them, he said, "You remember Joe, right?"

"Yes," she smiled and shook the other man’s hand. "Dana Scully."

"Joe Dawson," he responded, "glad you decided to drop by my humble establishment. I hope you like music?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Good," he beamed. "Then I saved just the right table for you both."

He led them to a strategically placed seating arrangement that allowed them to be just the right distance from the band that was warming up on the stage. Joe was gracious to her, but she saw him shoot a strange look at her companion.

"I wonder what that was all about," she thought.

"Green is a wonderful color for you," he complimented.

"Thank you," she rubbed her fingers across the tablecloth.

"So, how long have you worked with Mulder?" he asked.

"Four years," she said, sipping her glass of water.

"You seem close," he noticed.

"We’re friends," she cautiously replied.

"Well, that’s good. I mean it would be tough being partnered with someone you didn’t like," he ventured.

"Partners?"

"You are partners, right? Mahleah said that Mulder worked for the FBI."

Well, that was out in the open now. "Yes," she agreed. "We’re special agents for the Bureau."

"So, do you know Mahleah as well?" he inquired.

"No," she shook her head. "I’d never met her before."

She saw him stiffen and his eyes flicked to the side. Following his look she saw the young man from the dojo approaching them.

"Hey, Mac, have you seen Allison anywhere?" he asked.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, "Hello Richie, make yourself at home why don’t you? Allison, which one is Allison?"

Richie flushed, "Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your date I’m just trying to locate mine. Allison – I know you’ve seen her before. She’s a pretty blonde with green eyes. I’ve been helping her with her kicks." He noticed Scully’s expression and quickly added, "I mean that literally."

"Sorry, Rich," Mac shrugged. "I haven’t seen her."

Richie scowled, "She was supposed to meet me here and then we were going to go to Antonio’s for dinner. We’re about to lose our reservation."

"Antonio’s? Wow, this one must be special," Mac laughed.

His friend grinned, "She is…runs the homeless shelter down on Second Avenue. She also comes from old money and I wanted to impress her a little tonight."

"Hence Antonio’s," Duncan concluded.

"Hence Antonio’s," Richie agreed. "I’ve had that reservation for a week and if I don’t get there soon they’ll give the table to someone else. Hey, Mac if you don’t mind, could you keep an eye out for her? I’ll make sure we can still get dinner."

"Sure thing," MacLeod smiled.

"Thanks," Richie said and then rushed out the door.

"Must be a pretty fancy restaurant," Scully commented.

"It has the best Italian food in Seacouver," Duncan told her. "As you can see it takes a lot of time or connections to get a reservation though."

"So his girlfriend is rich but runs a homeless shelter," Scully mused. "That’s unusual."

"Yeah, it sounds like his taste and his luck is improving," Mac chuckled.

"Hey Mac, here for the show?" the band members were suddenly crowding their table.

"Introduce us to your lovely friend," another eyed Scully appreciatively.

"Dana, this is Jim, the front man; Scott, the bass player; Bruce, lead guitarist; Tom, drummer; and, Bobby, keyboards. Gentleman, this is Dana Scully."

"Hi, hello, what’s up," they all had to welcome her. She smiled and shook hands, feeling as if she had interrupted a guy’s night out.

Duncan was patient for ten minutes of chatter, and then he politely asked, "Don’t you guys have a show to put on?"

Taking his hint, they headed back to the stage.

"Now, where were we before being rudely interrupted twice," he said a bit ruefully. "Oh yes, you were talking about our ugly rash of murders."

"No I wasn’t," she demurred.

"No, you weren’t," he agreed, "but I’ve been really concerned about this case."

"Why?" he was being incredibly cooperative, she thought.

"Well aside from the horrific way these women died, the killer shows no signs of stopping does he?"

"So, you’re assuming the killer is a man?" she parried.

He laughed, "I’m just following a standard profile. Aren’t most of your serial killers men from the age of 25-35?"

"Yes," she reluctantly admitted.

"Well I have to confess I have a personal motive in wanting to see him caught," he told her.

"Oh?"

"I knew the last victim," he said gravely. "Cynthia Herron used to work out in the dojo once or twice a week. She was a wonderful lady. After her husband died she refused to let her life stagnate. She took college classes, traveled…did you know she even learned to tango in Spain and had an affair with her teacher?"

"She had a Latin lover?" Scully laughed. "At her age?"

Duncan’s brown eyes danced at her merrily, "Never underestimate the liveliness of a soul just because it has some mileage. One of the main reasons Cynthia used to come in was to flirt with me and Richie."

"Did you ever take her up on it?" she asked, curiously.

"She wasn’t serious, just having fun."

"And if she had been serious?" she probed.

He smiled at her, "I’d have considered it. I don’t have any hang-ups about age."

"So, you’ve dated women older than you before?"

His smile broadened, "Much, and younger as well. Age means much less than personality – strictly applied to adults of course."

Damn, Scully thought, he’s certainly the charmer. No doubt he’s wrapped many a woman around his strong hands. His smile suddenly froze in place and she saw him glance around once again.

She saw an unfamiliar man walk into the room, nod at MacLeod and sit down in front of Joe at the bar. He chatted with the bartender for a few minutes, and then headed their way. Duncan let out a small groan, and she repressed a smile. There appeared to be a conspiracy to provide them with company all night long.

"Adam," MacLeod greeted the stranger.

"Mac," the newcomer acknowledged pulling up a chair. "And who is this beauty may I ask?"

"Dana Scully, this is Adam Pierson," Duncan said through teeth that were slightly on edge.

"I hope my stalwart Scottish friend isn’t boring you too badly," Adam said, raising her hand and giving it a kiss.

Scully ruthlessly repressed the giggle that was coming to her lips and replied sedately, "Not at all."

"Good, there’s hope for him yet," Adam declared cheerfully. "Hey Joe, what’s tonight’s special?" he called back toward the bar. "Excuse me for barging in, but I’m starving."

"Oh," Scully couldn’t help herself. She grinned at MacLeod and his invasive friend. This was turning out to be an entertaining evening.

Chapter Nineteen

Mulder had just entered the dojo when the elevator arrived. He wondered about Mahleah’s living arrangements – was she staying with MacLeod? The various implications of that possibility ran through his mind until the gate of the elevator slid open and all coherent thought fled his brain. A black satin pump emerged first. He followed the path of the shoe up, and up and up an incredible pair of legs before finally reaching the hem of the little black dress. With relief he realized that the dress showed no cleavage, but instead had a high neck though it was sleeveless. Mahleah’s locks were swept up in a smooth French twist and her berry red mouth was smiling in amusement.

Realizing he had been staring he managed to say in what he hoped was a cool voice, "Wow, so that’s what girls look like. I’d nearly forgotten."

She laughed, "Well, then you need to pull your head out of your files for awhile – your partner is a girl and a very pretty one, too."

He immediately squashed any thoughts of Scully in a dress like that – definitely forbidden territory. "Yeah, but she’d shoot me for even thinking the ideas I just had."

Mahleah smiled mysteriously, "We’ll put those thoughts aside for now."

"So, where are we going?" he inquired.

"I managed to pull some strings and get us a table at Antonio’s, and we can’t be a minute late or we’ll lose it," she slipped on a coat before his brain finally kicked into gear and he mentally kicked himself for missing a cue.

"I gather that would be bad," he observed.

"Disappointing," she countered, "Antonio’s has food you could die for. Shall we?" she offered him an arm, which he tucked into his own.

In the car, they bantered amiably over the radio and his driving. It wasn’t until they were actually at Antonio’s and her coat had been tucked away that he realized how much trouble he was in. He hadn’t actually looked at the back of her dress until they were following their waiter to their table and he automatically put a hand on the small of her back to guide her. His fingers touched bare flesh and he quickly removed them, looking down. Her little black dress was also backless – held up apparently only by two buttons fastening her collar around her neck. The curve of her tanned skin disappeared into the waist of the garment and he swallowed as his mouth ran dry.

She looked over her shoulder at him and her eyes flashed in amusement. "It’s okay," he read in them. "I won’t bite you too badly if you touch me." He swallowed again and replaced his hand as they moved forward together. Her skin was rose petal soft, but it was the feel of the muscles moving beneath the velvet that sent his nerves into double overdrive.

They finally reached their seats after the longest/shortest walk of his life. Seated across from her, he managed a wry smile, "Finished driving me crazy yet?"

Her lips turned up, "The night’s young, Mulder."

"And me without backup," he replied.

"Are you saying I’m dangerous," she asked, innocently.

He laughed, "Mahleah, in that dress you’re as lethal as any bullet and you know it."

A shadow passed over her face, "I had a certain amount of luck the last time I wore it."

She insisted they order the special, which she promised would be enticingly delicious and since she knew the restaurant he deferred.

"How long have you lived in Seacouver?" he asked, when the ordering was over.

"Oh, I don’t really live here," she explained. "I’m just in town for a couple of weeks in between gigs." At his look, she expanded, "I’m a professional singer."

"I should have known," he nodded. "At least one of my guesses about you was right."

"More than one," Mahleah said soothingly. "I was in graduate school at that time."

"But not in Washington?"

"No, I was attending Berkley. I was only in D.C. that weekend to see Jill." Sadness crossed her face, and he knew she was remembering her friend.

"Did the amnesia leave any residual effects?"

"No," she shook her head. "I’m fine. Please," she held up a hand to stop his next question, "I’m not comfortable yet discussing what happened. Maybe we can talk about it later?"

"Sure," he replied, disappointed. Her reaction was not surprising really. She’d had to deal with a lot of unpleasant things during their first encounter. His higher-brain functions kicked in and he realized that she’d worn the high-necked dress to cover the ugly scar left from the bite that haunted her dreams four years ago. The collar allowed her control over her image – she could emphasize her beauty and downplay the deformity that would provoke unanswerable questions. Vaguely he recalled that he saw no sign of it when they’d sparred earlier. Apparently she’d learned to hide it with makeup.

"How are the Gunmen?" she asked.

He grinned, picturing Frohike’s reaction if he could see her right now. "Same as always – they’ll be excited to hear that I saw you. I’ve always suspected that they found out more about you than they let me know."

"You’ll have to send them my love," she said lightly, ignoring his implication.

"So, MacLeod," he was determined to make sense of at least this much. "The MacLeod? The name that meant so much to you that it was one of the few things you could pull out of the fog of your memory when everything else was forgotten?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

He waited for more information but when none was forthcoming, asked, "What is he to you? Family?"

"Sort of – he’s known me all my life. He gave me the cross," she anticipated his next question.

"And you’re living with him?"

"Not in the way you mean," she clarified. "Like I said I’m in town visiting and when I do I always stay with him."

"You’re not romantically involved?" he wanted to be perfectly sure on this.

He saw a flicker move across her face, "No."

There was more to the story he could tell, but before he could ask, she stiffened and looked around. He followed her gaze to see Richie, her friend from the dojo, being seated at the table across from theirs.

He looked at them in surprise, "Mahleah, what are you doing here?"

"Having dinner," she replied evenly. "How about you?"

"Yeah," he answered, "I mean I’m supposed to have dinner with Allison but she hasn’t shown up yet."

"Allison," Mahleah mulled the name over a few seconds. "Is that the blonde or the brunette?"

Richie made a face, "She’s blonde and you know it."

"Sorry, Rich," she laughed. "Couldn’t resist."

Meanwhile, Richie was checking out the dress, "Damn girl," he exclaimed, "you look hot tonight. Has Mac seen you? He’ll blow a gasket."

Mahleah frowned, "Mac’s response to this dress would be to throw a coat over it."

"Yeah, right," Richie scoffed.

Mulder was beginning to feel out of the loop, "Are you sure you’re not romantically involved with MacLeod?"

"Trust me, Mulder, I’d remember it if I were."

He wasn’t sure that was the answer he was looking for.

Chapter Twenty

Duncan’s irritation with Methos a.k.a. "Adam" grew steadily with the evening. He insisted on eating with them, and regaled Scully with amusing anecdotes and jokes made at Duncan’s expense. Some friend, the Highlander fumed.

He noticed that the FBI agent’s beautiful blue eyes were fixed on him and met her stare. She smiled at him knowingly and he relaxed, secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t falling for the ancient Immortal’s crafty tricks. It was true that he’d asked her to dinner primarily to talk about the case, but he found her intriguing as well. Physically she seemed so delicate with her small bones and porcelain skin, but there was strength in the lift of her chin and steel hidden in the depths of her eyes. He was accustomed to being with women closer to his height -- both Tessa and Amanda were tall and Mahleah could look him in the eye in her bare feet. It was a bit of a shock to realize that even in her three-inch heels he had at least half a foot on Dana Scully. The way she carried herself, though, radiated confidence and that almost indefinable quality that said, "I can take care of myself, thank you very much." It was an irresistible combination.

Halfway through dinner, he saw a lovely ash-blonde at the bar talking to Jake. Recognizing her as Richie’s late dinner partner, Allison, he glanced around for Joe’s location. His friend was on the stage talking to Jim and Bruce, seemingly preparing to sit in on a jam session. From what Duncan knew of Jake, it was highly doubtful that he would steer a pretty woman toward another man even if Richie had left his message with the newest employee of the bar. Excusing himself, he ignored Methos’ gleeful expression at being left alone with Scully and walked up to Allison.

"Richie left you a message," he offered.

She turned to him gratefully, her light green eyes full of annoyance with Jake, "What did he say?"

"He was worried that you’d lose the table at Antonio’s, so he headed over there. He told me to send you that way."

Smiling, she thanked him, "He’s going to kill me for being so late."

"Not likely," he laughed, "you’re too pretty."

"Thanks again, Mac," she dashed out the door and Mac returned to his table determined to wrest Dana Scully’s attention away from the five thousand year old pain in the butt who was monopolizing her.

*****

Allison really should have taken a taxi to Antonio’s, but the night was warm and clear and it was a short walk. It was sweet of Richie to go to so much trouble, she thought, but the truth was she would rather have stayed at Joe’s. Maybe the food wasn’t five stars, but the atmosphere was a thousand times friendlier. They had only gone out three times but she was growing rather fond of him. He hid a little behind a tough façade but he was one of the warmest people she had ever met. Maybe after dinner he would take her to Gabriel’s, their favorite dance club. She didn’t often get a chance to kick up her heels and act her age and Richie had been scolding her for not having more fun. Tonight she would follow his advice and enjoy herself.

Unfortunately, it was someone else’s night to have fun as well, as Allison might have understood sooner if her mind had been on her environment a little more fully. Two shadows chased each other down the walls – one getting closer by the second…

Chapter Twenty-One

Mahleah was right about the food, Mulder concluded. It was some of the best Italian he’d ever had. She also insisted on paying and wouldn’t take no for an answer – when he’d protested she’d given him a look that said, "I’ve made up my mind and you should remember that I can kick your butt anytime I want." He wondered what she had in mind for the rest of the evening.

Seemingly reading his mind, she smiled and asked, "Want to take a walk?"

He agreed readily, thinking a walk didn’t seem that momentous, plus they could get away from her pal, Richie. The guy was all right, but he had a habit of making references to things that Mulder had no clue about. It’s tough on a paranoid personality to listen to in-jokes you’re not a part of – you tend to suspect people are laughing at you.

He got to steer Mahleah through the restaurant with his hand on her back again, but when they got to the door, she decided to wear her coat. It didn’t seem necessary to him, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. This time, though, he did help her slip on the garment. It was quite heavy.

"What do you have in your pockets?" he teased. "Rocks?"

She just smiled mysteriously without answering.

They strolled out into the evening. For a while Mulder kept silent just enjoying the night air and the company, then something struck him and he had to ask.

"So, you seem to have gotten your life together," he commented. "I mean you’re so confident and polished. Things are good for you?"

"Yeah," she responded. "I guess I do seem different from the frightened, angry woman you met before. It’s been a few years, Mulder. I’ve had a chance to work out some of my hang-ups."

"Including…" he tried to think of the most tactful way of putting it, "your fear of intimacy?"

She threw her head back and chuckled with a throaty laugh that made his skin prickle, "What an amusing way of putting it."

She stopped and turned to him. "Are you brave enough to find out?" she asked, a challenge in her eye.

He lifted an eyebrow at the dare, and issued one of his own, "Sure, bring it on."

Eyes smoldering, she leaned in and grazed his lips with her own. He moved forward seeking the heat of her mouth and she met his tongue with her own. More of an introduction than a union, the kiss was over far too quickly for him.

"See," she breathed, "no more fears of intimacy."

He began to lean in for a repeat performance, when she pulled away and looked hastily away from him.

"What is it?" he asked in alarm.

"There’s someone…" she muttered.

A figure was walking in their direction. Mahleah frowned, and then asked hesitantly, "Richie?"

"Yeah," came the answer. "Wait up."

She let out a sigh of frustration. "What are you doing?"

"Well Allison still hasn’t shown up, and I wanted to call the shelter to see if maybe she got held up but Jeeves in there not only informed me that I couldn’t use the phone but that they needed to give my table to someone else."

"I’m sorry," she told him ruefully. "What are your plans now?"

"We’re really close to Gabriel’s, our favorite club next to Joe’s. She might have gotten mad at me for some reason and gone there. At least they’ll let me use the phone." He grinned at her. "Want to come dancing?"

She looked at Mulder questioningly, "Do you like to dance?"

He winced, "Sometimes." She did he recalled, so what the hell. "Sure, let’s go."

His reward was a smile that made him tingle down to his toes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fox Mulder knew how to dance, but he’d never been much for the club scene. His lessons in tripping the light fantastic had more to do with old-fashioned partner dancing and not the kind of solo work expected by fast electronic music. He was grateful therefore when Mahleah pulled him to the floor on a slower paced song that allowed him to dance cheek to cheek. Cheek to cheek, he mused, not cheek to shoulder, or cheek to top of head. It was rather strange to be so close to a woman who could stare him straight in the eye. In her heels she was actually a bit taller than he was. It’s a nice change, he decided, but don’t get too used to it.

"So what’s going on with you and your partner?" Mahleah murmured into his ear.

His arms tightened involuntarily around her, "What do you mean?"

She chuckled and looked him in the eye, "You seemed pretty close."

"We are – she’s my best friend," he really didn’t want to talk about Scully. The mention of her name made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, as if he were doing something furtive here…forbidden.

"Best friends," she repeated.

"Yeah, you know like you and MacLeod," he countered. "Close friends with no fringe benefits."

"Oh, no hanky panky, huh?" she moved her cheek back to his.

"It’s better that way," he declared, "it would be too difficult to work together otherwise."

Once again she pulled away to look him in the face, "Mulder, life is far too short. Don’t place so many restrictions on yourself that you end up having more regrets than memories."

Unknowingly she had struck a nerve. His obsession to find his sister had consumed much of his existence up to this point. Was he allowing the sweet moments to slip through his fingers without even noticing? Well, yeah, his libido informed him. You’ve got one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen in your arms and you’re analyzing the situation. Just react for once, stupid. Leave the most serious implications of that statement to be pondered later.

He brought his hand to her chin and pulled it gently to him. Her eyes were approving, but she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Making some memories," he whispered before claiming his prize. She sighed against his mouth, allowing him full access. He lost himself for a moment in her sweetly tangy taste and arousing peachy-vanilla smell.

They were breathless when the kiss ended. She smiled at him radiantly, but turned her head to their table.

"Richie’s back," she noticed. "Let’s see if he had any luck at finding his girl."

He really wanted to just stand there and kiss her again, but she was tugging his hand and smiling at him so he followed.

Richie wasn’t in a very good mood. "She wasn’t home," he growled, "and I’ve tried for twenty minutes to get through at the shelter but the line stays busy."

"You’ve come here together before, right?" Mahleah asked. When he nodded, she said consolingly, "Well, when she doesn’t find you at the restaurant she’ll probably try here next. Cheer up, I’m sure she hasn’t stood you up. Something just came up at the shelter and she’s running late. That happens a lot, right?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Too often if you ask me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s doing a hell of a lot of good for people there but she needs to think about herself a little more often."

"Herself or you?" Mulder inquired and got a dirty look for his trouble.

Mahleah shot him a warning glance and then suggested to her friend, "Cheer up, Rich, I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Stop pouting and dance with me."

"I don’t think so," he shook his head.

She tilted her head and grabbed his hand, "I’m not taking no for an answer, pal." She tugged him out of his chair and looked at her date, "We’ll be back in a few minutes."

"Sure," he replied.

He watched as they moved to the dance floor as a trip-hop tune started. Catching a reference to "gunmen and maniacs" in the lyrics he started listening more closely.

All will feature on the freak show

And I can’t do nothing about that no.

But if you hurt what’s mine

I’ll sure as hell retaliate.

You can free the world

You can free my mind

Just as long as my baby’s safe from harm tonight.

Richie didn’t seem to have any of his own hesitations on the dance floor. Mahleah was obviously enjoying every minute. Her body would rock rhythmically up against her partner’s and then pull away. The fingers on her hands fascinated Mulder. She seemed to be communicating with them as the rest of her shimmied. He wondered with a little concern if she wasn’t having too much fun out there.

Lucky dippers

Crazy chances

Seems to be moving fast

What happened to the niceties

Of my childhood days

Well I can’t do nothing ‘bout that no

But if you hurt what’s mine

I’ll sure as hell retaliate.

"Don’t worry," he suddenly heard a strange voice say. He pulled his attention away from the dance floor to see an unfamiliar man standing next to him.

"May I?" The man asked, politely. He was English, but Mulder had no idea who he was.

"Sure," he said warily, hoping this wasn’t a new informant coming out of the woodwork to make his life even more complicated than it was. "What shouldn’t I worry about?"

"Mahleah," the man nodded to the dancers. "She likes that song I think, and she’s comfortable with Richie. It doesn’t mean she’s coming on to him."

You can free the world

You can free my mind

Just as long as my baby’s

Safe from harm tonight.

"How can you tell?" Mulder asked sardonically. The woman in question was moving quite provocatively.

"You see how she has her eyes closed?" the stranger pointed out. "She’s responding to the music and not him. If she were trying to seduce him she would be looking at him, and enticing him with her eyes."

Sure enough, now that he looked closely he could see that Mahleah was lost in the song. Richie was almost an afterthought. He looked back at his new companion. "How do you know her so well?"

The man smiled, "Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of opportunity to study her behavior. You’re Fox Mulder, correct?"

Paranoia raised its head again, "Yes, do we know each other?"

"No," the other man shook his head. "You were with her, I believe, four years ago when she disappeared for a few days?"

Now, Mulder was definitely on edge. What was this guy’s deal?

"Possibly," he hedged. "Why, and who are you?"

"Vernon," he heard Mahleah say with exasperation. He gave a start. The stranger had gotten his attention so completely he had been unaware of her approach.

Mahleah had fixed her attention on the Englishman, "Vernon, now’s not the time, okay? Don’t go ruining my date with impertinent questions."

"I would never dream of it," Vernon responded.

"Whatever," she raised an eyebrow, then turned to her dance partner, "Richie, I just thought of something. Didn’t you say that Allison was supposed to meet you at Joe’s? Maybe that’s where she is now."

"Maybe," he didn’t seem completely convinced. "Thanks for the dance, Mahleah, but I think I’m going to drop by the shelter and see if she’s there. If I can catch up with her I’ll meet you at Joe’s later?"

"Sure," she agreed, and then turned to her date. "I think you’d prefer the blues to techno, wouldn’t you?"

Mulder smiled, "Wherever you want to go is fine. I’m easy."

"Yeah, I’ve heard," she teased. "Let’s take off then. See you in a bit, Rich, and you," she kissed Vernon on the cheek, "take the night off or something."

Mulder picked up her coat and was happy when she took it from him but didn’t cover herself again. Apparently dancing had made her work up a sweat. Outside, they started the walk back to his rental car.

"Who exactly is Vernon?" he had to ask.

She shrugged, "Oh, he’s just my wa…way too nosy friend."

He caught her slip and wondered what she had started to see before stopping herself. "Cut it out," he tried to tell his paranoia. "You’re starting to see conspiracies everywhere."

As he unlocked her car door, he noticed that her polished French twist was beginning to unravel. Getting in beside her he decided that the disheveled look suited her and wondered if he’d have an opportunity to mess up that polished exterior a little more.

She directed him easily to Joe’s, which wasn’t terribly far away. To his surprise she guided him to a parking spot that was a little out of the way – secluded, in fact.

Disengaging her seatbelt, she grinned at him. "Richie won’t be along for awhile yet. We should take advantage of the privacy."

He wasn’t going to argue with that. In the dark, he touched her face gently and leaned in. She responded to his feather-light kiss with a groan and pulled him closer. His fingers sought the combs in her hair, freeing the silky locks so he could indulge himself in their sensuous temptation. His lips left her mouth, and traveled across her jaw line and started down her neck when he remembered.

"Is this okay?" he murmured.

"Mmm, wonderful," she sighed. "Don’t stop – I told you I’ve dealt with those issues. ‘Course it’s also an issue of trust and I know you’d never hurt me."

His heart sped up at her permission, and he lightly licked from her collar up to the edge of her earlobe. One of her hands was in his hair and the other was running under his jacket to caress his chest through his shirt. He kissed her again. Something was missing, he thought absently, but she moaned his name into his mouth and his brain shut down. Her mouth was hot, wet, and electric and he wanted to devour as much of it as he could.

Hands were suddenly running to very interesting places and not being rejected on either side. His fingers had just loosened the buttons on her collar when she went still under him.

"What’s wrong?" he asked with concern. Was she having second thoughts? His body suddenly registered the discomfort of two long-legged adults trying to make-out in the front seat of a car.

There was a sudden tap on his window. What the hell, he thought fuzzily. Was it a cop? He rolled down the window to see another strange man grinning in at him. He wasn’t wearing any uniform so who was he?

"Sorry to interrupt the fun," the man announced. "Mahleah, I thought that was you."

"Adam," she growled with hostility while trying to re-button her dress. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just being friendly and keeping an eye out for an old friend. After all, there are some weirdoes out here, aren’t there?" Adam seemed completely unperturbed by the fact that he’d interrupted a very private moment.

"You would know," Mahleah was past growling and was quickly moving ahead to snarling.

"Oh now is that any way to treat your elder," Adam scolded. "Why don’t you be a good girl and come in and jam with Joe."

To Mulder’s disappointment Mahleah looked interested, "Joe’s playing tonight?"

"Yes, and you’d hate to miss that for some little petting party, wouldn’t you?"

Mulder absently wondered if shooting this guy would ruin his chances with Mahleah forever as she proceeded to climb out of the car and follow her "old friend" towards the club.

"C’mon, Mulder," she beckoned. "You’ll love this. Joe’s phenomenal."

Wishing halfheartedly for some of The Kindred’s killer pheromones, no pun intended, Mulder sighed and got out of the car cursing old friends with bad timing.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Scully was becoming increasingly amused at Adam Pierson’s obvious tactics. The Englishman was quite intent on exhausting every drop of patience his friend possessed. The evening was quickly taking a surreal turn for her but she was enjoying having two attractive men competing for her attention. It took her mind off the question of what Mulder was doing on his own date.

The food had been tasty and the music was excellent. When MacLeod’s friend Joe joined the band on stage she was seriously impressed with his talent. She realized she was humming under her breath and tapping her fingers on the table. Duncan looked at her and gallantly stretched out a hand.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked.

She started to shake her head. It wouldn’t be proper to dance with him – after all he was still a suspect even if she had serious doubts about the likelihood of his being a killer. The deep warmth of his eyes drew her in and she changed her mind. She was here to enjoy herself for once and a dance sounded delightful.

"Yes I would " she told him, accepting his hand. "Excuse us Adam." She saw him walk past them to the bar where he began conversing with a distinguished looking man dressed in a tweed jacket.

On the floor she allowed herself to relax into Duncan’s arms. Too bad I’m not taller or he’s not shorter, she thought contentedly. I hope neither of us gets a stiff neck. He was an excellent dancer she discovered, instinctively realizing just how closely he could hold her without making her uncomfortable. She could feel the muscles in his shoulders and back rippling under her fingers and her mouth went dry. The edge of his ponytail brushed the top of her hand.

How long has it been? She dreamily asked herself. How long has it been since I danced with a man? She studied her partner openly. His face was a masterpiece, she decided. He possessed a wonderful bone structure that would ensure he was as handsome at eighty as he was at thirty-five.

His dark eyebrows arched under her scrutiny. "Like what you see?" he asked lightly.

"Yes " she answered honestly.

He swung her around and back, and then leaned in to say softly "So do I."

As he began to bend lower she realized he was going to kiss her and anticipation flooded her body. She could feel his breath on her face and her lips tingled before his finished descending. It was a short but sweet embrace – he was testing her, but didn’t retreat very far. She pulled him back to her and allowed herself the luxury of exploring his lovely bottom lip before succumbing to the lure of his tongue. Their pace was slow and languorous but eventually she ran out of oxygen and pulled away.

He had placed them with a clear view of the door and she saw his eyes flit involuntarily away from her to a set of newcomers and catch his breath. She turned her head and saw with a start that the couple was Mulder and Mahleah. The woman looked … well, tousled was the best word to describe her. Her skin was flushed, her eyes were bright, her makeup was smeared, and a roving pair of hands had ravished her hair.

Scully fought a wave of queasiness that floated through her stomach and turned her attention to her partner. He too looked well fondled, but his eyes were on her at the moment and she was angry to discover disapproval in his eyes. He had witnessed the kiss, then. Well, it was none of his damn business who she kissed besides he’d just strolled in looking like he’d been thrown against a wall and well and thoroughly…. She censored that thought before the pain in her stomach increased.

Tearing her eyes away from Mulder, she noticed that Adam had apparently left the club at some point as he was returning behind the guilty pair. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face that made her wonder what he was up to.

From the stage the music ended, and Joe called out to Mahleah "Come join us."

She smiled radiantly and headed for the band.

MacLeod lead Scully back to their table. Unbidden both Mulder and Adam joined them. They watched as a hasty consultation took place among the musicians before Mahleah stepped to the mike.

"Change in plans " she announced. "Hope you folks don’t mind if I join in on a couple of tunes."

They counted off and a raucous guitar riff began. Scully prepared herself to endure the sights and sounds of the other woman’s performance. Her teeth involuntarily ground together when a husky voice began belting out the lyrics to Joan Osborne’s "Right Hand Man." Did she have to be a good singer too?

Let me use your toothbrush.

Have you got a clean shirt?

My panties in a wad

At the bottom of my purse

I walk into the street

The air’s so cool

I’m wired and I’m tired

And I’m grinnin’ like a fool.

Scully glanced around the table at her male companions. MacLeod and Mulder were raptly enthralled by the honey haired siren on stage. Adam looked at her and grinned. His gaze held a hint of sympathy and she glared coolly back at him. She didn’t need any pity!

As Mahleah began her chorus, her voice sounded heavy and full of meaning. Her hips were swinging to the beat and her eyes held a challenge for the audience. As her gaze focused on their table Scully stiffened trying to swallow her resentment.

I’ve been on the floor lookin’ for a chair

I’ve been on a chair lookin’ for a couch

And I’ve been on a couch lookin’ for a bed…

Lookin’ for my, my, my right hand, my right hand man.

"I’ll just bet you have " she muttered under her breath. Adam was the only one to notice. The woman’s six feet tall if she’s an inch, she thought, why the hell does she need to wear heels?

…The cops on the block

They know what I’ve been doin’

They see the way I walk

I wonder what they’d say now

I wonder what they’d do

To feel somebody want them

The way I’m wanting you.

Mercifully the song ended, but she dreaded the next one. To her surprise, Mahleah kicked off her expensive satin pumps and slid a guitar over her shoulders. She smiled warmly at Joe who counted off the beat and they were off like a shot.

I’m tore down; I’m almost level with the ground.

I’m tore down; I’m almost level with the ground.

Well, I feel like this when my baby can’t be found.

Reluctantly, Scully felt some admiration for the singer. It appeared she was more than a pretty face – she was a blues player as well. The men on stage with her were reacting to her talent and not her looks. The audience was enthralled, clapping and singing along with the chorus. Mahleah wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty and play with the boys and they loved her even more for it. Damn, why did the woman have to go and do something likeable?

I love you baby with all my might;

Love like mine is out of sight.

I’ll lie for you if you want me to.

I really don’t believe that your love is true.

Oh well, Scully thought ruefully. It was fun while it lasted. Dana, the darling of the dance floor was making a hasty retreat and Special Agent Scully was reappearing. She’d always hated the stereotypical expectations of a situation like this. She did not intend to lose her cool and get into a catfight with this woman because she’d temporarily captivated the men at their table. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Mahleah was a professional musician, so it was really her job, as well as her gift, to do so.

At that moment, Richie reappeared. Unlike his friends he was frowning. A little uneasy now, she leaned forward and asked, "What’s wrong? Did you get stood up?"

"Yeah " he said, then as if hearing his response for the first time visibly examined it and shook his head "No, something’s wrong. I can feel it. Allison would never blow me off like that. If she couldn’t come she would have called the restaurant to let me know."

"She didn’t meet you at Antonio’s?" Scully was running through the possibilities and didn’t like them very much. "That’s odd, she came by earlier and Mac told her where you’d gone."

He looked at her startled "Allison was here?"

"Yeah " Mac told him, his attention pulled from the stage. "I told her you’d gone ahead to the restaurant. I thought she was headed straight there. Could something have happened?"

"I’ve been by her house and the shelter and no one’s seen her," Richie said grimly.

Scully already had her phone out "Agent Bocks " she spoke into the receiver. "I need you to look into something for me."

Mulder put a hand on Richie’s arm "We’ll see if the police can find her."

"I’m sure she’s fine," Adam told him, but his eyes were worried.

MacLeod said nothing, but the concern on his face seemed to radiate in waves that traveled through the air almost visibly.

Mahleah and Joe wrapped up their song, and descended from the stage.

"What’s going on?" she demanded.

Richie looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, full of weary anxiety "We can’t find Allison anywhere."

She immediately understood the implications of his statement. Out of all of the people surrounding him, she was the one that opened her arms and pulled the distraught man to her for comfort. He clung to her like a lifeline as she stroked his hair and silently lent him her strength.

So much for hating her, Scully concluded with a sigh.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The band continued to play, but Mahleah was virtually unaware of the music. She had, unfortunately, been in Richie’s position and she didn’t want to leave him if there was bad news. As soon as the crisis hit, both Mulder and Scully donned their professional demeanors like body armor. They took statements and compared notes, made official phone calls to the agent in charge of the search, and tried to swathe Mahleah’s group in a cocoon of calm activity – things were being done…there would be results.

When the call finally came Mahleah felt guilty for her overwhelming sense of relief – now they would finally know. She had never been good at waiting and though she wanted to provide comfort for her friend her own nerves had been steadily snapping under the strain.

Mahleah immediately saw by the look on Scully’s face as the agent pulled her partner over for a hurried conference that the news was bad. She felt Richie tighten his grip on her hand, which he had clung to throughout the manhunt. Carefully avoiding Duncan’s eyes as he made her feel far too vulnerable and she had to be strong, Mahleah looked at Mulder and silently begged him to give them a definite answer.

Answering her plea, he kneeled beside Richie’s chair and gazed compassionately at the younger man.

"We think we’ve found her," Mulder told him gravely. "We’ll need someone to I.D. the body. Are you up for that?"

Richie’s eyes had squeezed shut at the word "I.D." Now, he drew in a deep breath and answered in an almost steady tone, "Yeah, I can do it."

Mahleah rose with him – not that she had a choice – he still hadn’t released her hand. Mulder nodded in her direction, acknowledging her reason to accompany them. She still wasn’t sure if looking at Mac would give her strength or show her weakness, and so she walked off without a word or glance dedicating her scanty emotional reserves to helping Richie through this ordeal.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Much, much later Mulder drove her to the dojo alone. Joe had volunteered to stay with their distraught friend after he informed them that the decapitated corpse was indeed Allison. She knew they had conspired to give her a break after the near chokehold the grieving man had locked her in after viewing the body.

Mulder walked her inside and she could feel the weight of his glance, and his concern, as they walked through the dojo. He was expecting her to break down now that she was alone with his comforting arms, but she couldn’t feel anything at the moment but a suffocating numbness.

"Mahleah," he said quietly, but she didn’t have the energy to raise her head, so he tipped her chin up himself. "Mahleah, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said wearily. "I’m fine."

She saw him wince with the words and let out an exhausted sigh, "Okay, no I’m not fine, but right now all I’m capable of registering is how tired I am. I can’t seem to feel anything else."

He didn’t waste any breath on platitudes that said how normal her reaction was and how it would all get better soon. She was grateful for that. Instead, he cupped his other hand around her cheek and vowed, "I’ll do everything in my power to find him. I’ll try not to make a promise I can’t keep – like this was his last victim, but I won’t give up on this…on finding this sick bastard."

"I know you won’t," she tried to smile for him, but it was just too much effort.

He pulled her to him and she let herself melt for a moment in his embrace, but then she stepped out of the hug, "I guess I’ll see you later, Mulder."

As she pulled the elevator gate closed, she heard him whisper, "Get some rest, Amarantha."

Upstairs, she kicked off her shoes and began pulling a brush through the tangles of her hair. Mac suddenly appeared through the door to the apartment and she realized that he must have been sitting on the stairs below waiting for her return.

"How’s Richie?" he asked.

"About like you’d expect," she said tonelessly.

"How are you?"

She looked at him briefly, "I’m alive." She tugged absently at her collar, trying to get it unbuttoned so that she could take a shower. Mac stepped closer.

"Let me," he said gently. He freed the buttons from the strands of hair that had gotten twisted around them, and unfastened a button.

"There’s two," she started to say, but felt the give in the material and clasped the front of her dress to her chest.

"Only one was buttoned," he said behind her. "It was in the wrong buttonhole."

"Oh," she replied, not bothering to explain. It was what it looked like – sort of. "Thank you." She walked into the bathroom without another word.

The hot water streamed over her, and she lethargically lathered her body and hair. Standing directly in the stream she let it wash over her until she couldn’t see anything for the steam. She cut the shower off, rubbed her body down absently with a towel, and donned a pair of flannel pajamas. They were not particularly attractive but they were both comfortable and comforting.

She returned to the main room of the loft to discover Mac already stretched out on the couch. "It’s your turn on the bed," he reminded her.

She slid under the covers and turned off the light but didn’t close her eyes. When she heard Mac’s breathing change she began dismantling her defenses piece by piece and examining the damage much as the tongue probes a sore spot in the mouth: involuntarily and insistently. Another young life snuffed out before its time…another funeral to attend…another acquaintance that would never be a friend. Another loss, another ache, another wound to add to the collection she was amassing before she even hit the century mark.

A small sob pushed its way from the back of her throat, and though she tried to muffle it Duncan heard.

"Mahleah, mhuirninn," he whispered from the couch. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she replied faintly as a lonely tear fell to her pillow. "Go back to sleep, Mac."

There was no need for both of them to lose sleep tonight. Besides, as nice as Mulder’s little partner seemed she had no desire to smell the woman’s perfume invade her grief now. It had clung to him throughout their long vigil tonight and for now Chanel No. 5 symbolized pain and devastation.

She sniffed unconsciously and heard his feet hit the floor. Her body stiffened. Was he coming this way after all? She felt the bed sink under his weight and the tips of his fingers brush her cheeks. She bit back a cry of anguish and he felt it.

"It’s okay a leannan," he whispered and gathered her into his arms like she was the child he was addressing. "Let it go."

To her horror she found herself whimpering into his chest. Apparently, he had taken a shower, as she could detect no foreign odors – just his familiar scent, which she could never identify but always associated with strawberries. His long fingers stroked her hair and his other hand lightly rubbed her back. The tears began falling faster and soon she couldn’t hold back anymore. She lay next to him sobbing with both love and hate scorching her heart for her desperate need of this man.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Once again he’d been bitterly disappointed. Allison Barker was special he’d heard so many times. How on earth did a girl with her money end up devoting herself so utterly to the poor and helpless? She was smart, beautiful, and compassionate and killing her had not given him the release he sought. What was it that was eluding him? Why would his reward not come? He sighed bitterly, realizing that his search would have to continue…

****

At 3:30 Scully and Mulder finally drove to their motel. Scully longed to fall into the presumably clean sheets and fall into a dreamless sleep but images burned her brain behind her closed eyelids. The look on Allison’s face haunted her nearly as much as the anguish in her boyfriend’s eyes. She looked so…surprised as if death had tapped her on the arm a split second before hewing her down with his scythe. The innocence of her expression clashed horribly with her the sight of her mutilated body drowning in a pool of blood half a foot away.

She glanced over at her partner and saw he was absorbed in his own thoughts. He needed to find some meaning in this pattern soon, she knew. He didn’t need any more stones for his mountain of guilt. It was inevitable that he would internalize this case since he was working as a profiler but he obviously had a personal stake as well…Mahleah Brennan. Just who was this woman and why had she never heard of her before?

Before she could stop herself the words popped out of her mouth, "Mulder, how do you know Mahleah?"

Reverie broken, he blinked at her and then back at the road, "We meet in D.C. about four years ago."

"Four years?" That would put their introduction at about the time Scully had joined the X-Files.

"Yeah," he repeated. "You were gone on a long weekend and I ended up painting the town green with Frohike and the boys. That’s when we met Mantha."

"Mantha?" her eyebrows went up.

He sounded slightly embarrassed as he answered, "Short for Amarantha. She reminded me of a poem by Lovelace." He shrugged, "Call it a byproduct of Oxford."

"But you didn’t meet MacLeod?"

His jaw tightened, "No, though she did mention him once by last name only. I’d never heard of Duncan MacLeod until we came to Seacouver. The two of you seemed to be getting rather chummy though."

Her own cheeks grew hot, "I’m sorry about that. It was unprofessional of me."

"No," he shook his head. "Be glad you were keeping him company. He now has an alibi. I guess he’s the straight arrow we were told about earlier." He paused for a moment and then continued, "I’m glad you were enjoying yourself."

Their headlights illuminated the motel they were staying at for the duration of their stay. He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the lights and engine.

"I understand," Mulder said softly without looking at her.

"Understand what?" she asked startled.

"Your need to have a life away from the X-Files…away from me. Four years ago you walked away from normality without much of a second thought but now you’ve realized all that you’ve been cheated of. In the last few months you’ve been trying to rediscover the taste of life." He finally looked at her. "Just be careful, huh? After all this time with me it’s hard to recognize true normality."

She was speechless for a minute. "So what, Duncan can’t be normal?"

He opened his door, "He may be all that he seems, but I wouldn’t bet the farm on it. Maybe he’s not Ed Jerse, but my gut tells me he isn’t Joe Average either."

"And Mahleah is?" she said a little waspishly.

Shaking his head a little sadly, Mulder replied, "No, she’s not. I only know a small part of her story but it’s decidedly strange. Fortunately for me though there were no aliens, conspiracies, or smokers involved. At least MacLeod has that going for him."

He walked to his door, leaving her stewing for a few seconds. She went to her own room and prepared for bed but her brain wouldn’t shut down. Duncan, his friend Adam, a wonderful kiss, Mulder’s words, the murder – it all whirled through her mind.

In disgust, she turned a light on and grabbed her laptop. Logging onto the Internet she thought she would review information in the FBI databases, but instead she found herself at a search engine typing in the words "Lovelace" and "Amarantha."

In a minute she’d located the lyric verse she was looking for. As she ran her eyes across it she recalled that one of Mulder’s first comments to Mahleah was that she had cut her hair. Since it was shoulder-length now, it must have been lengthy before and the poem gave her quite a picture:

"Amarantha sweet and fair

Ah braid no more that shining hair!

As my curious hand or eye

Hovering round thee let it fly."

She could almost picture a long braid trailing down Mahleah’s back. "Curious hand or eye" – that certainly described her partner.

"Let it fly as unconfin’d

As its calm ravisher, the wind,

Who hath left his darling th’East,

To wanton o’er that spicy nest.

Ev’ry tress must be confest

But neatly tangled at the best;

Like a clue of golden thread,

Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light

In ribands, and o’er cloud in night;

Like the sun in’s early ray,

But shake your head and scatter day.

Okay, that was just romantic flattery. Lovelace’s speaker was just trying to get some girl in bed using all the pretty words he could find. What did that say about Mulder? A little voice inside her head reminded her.

"See ‘tis broke! Within this grove

The bower, and the walks of love,

Weary lie we down and rest,

And fan each other’s panting breast.

Here we’ll strip and cool our fire

In cream below, in milk-baths higher:

And when all wells are drawn dry,

I’ll drink a tear out of thine eye,

Which our very joys shall leave

That sorrows thus we can deceive;

Or our very sorrows weep,

That joys so ripe, so little keep."

Overwrought sentimental nonsense she thought derisively. What could you expect from the poet that declared, "I could not love thee dear so much loved I not honor more." Death before dishonor sounded fine and noble until one was face to face with stark cold facts. Allison might have liked a choice in her ending, and for that matter so would she. Dying from a brain tumor was not romantic and flowery like the words of the poet. It was painful, messy, and hard. So much for Mulder’s highly prized Oxford education if this was the best he could do with it.

The last line kept echoing in her head though: "That joys so ripe, so little keep." The kiss she had shared with Duncan tonight along with all of the little pleasant moments that had kept her friendship with Mulder intact drifted through her thoughts. In the end, what did they matter? Whether you lost your head through the stroke of a madman or by its own disease-ridden betrayal it led you eventually to the same fate. She closed the laptop but came up with her own poetic quotation, "The grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace…"

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mulder left Scully at the morgue to deal with his least favorite part of a homicide investigation – the autopsy. He ventured instead to DeSalvo’s dojo after a phone call to Richie’s boarding house proved fruitless. There was still no easily seen pattern to the killer’s choice of victims and he wanted to interview the young man now that he would be a trifle calmer in an effort to shed light on the murky ways of his target.

As he walked into the gym, he saw the red-haired young man attempting to put his fist through a punching bag. Approaching slowly, he made a cautious salutation.

"Richie, I’m so sorry about your loss."

"Yeah," the other man grunted in between swings.

"Can we talk somewhere?" Mulder suggested. "I really need to get a clear picture of Allison’s personality. At first glance and even at second there seems to be nothing linking these women but I feel they have something in common…something that drew the killer to them and I need your help to find out what it was."

Richie’s punches began slowing down and finally stopped. He looked over at Mulder and studied him for a very long moment, then grabbed a towel.

"Sure," he said grimly. "I’d love to help you find this guy. We’ll go around the corner and grab some coffee."

"I’d like that," Mulder said honestly. It had been a very long night and the morning held its fair share of perils. Allison Barker’s parents were not merely wealthy – they were also well connected and her death had once again increased the political pressure on the investigative team to find the murderer.

He followed Richie to a nearby café where they took a window booth and ordered coffee. Mulder examined his companion, noticing his bloodshot eyes and haggard appearance.

"Are you sure you’re up to this right now?" he asked softly. "We could do this later."

"No," Richie shook his head vehemently. "Later may be too late for some other woman. No, we have to do this now. So, what exactly do you want to know?"

"How did the two of you meet?"

"Allison’s shelter is about five blocks away from MacLeod’s. Her parents were putting pressure on her to quit. They thought she should just donate money rather than herself." He shrugged. "They were worried about her and looking at what’s happened who’s to say they were wrong? Anyway, she compromised with them – she’d continue her work but she’d take some self-defense lessons. The dojo was the closest place for her to keep her end of the bargain so she dropped by one day." His face lightened for a split-second, "I guess I’m lucky that she talked to me before MacLeod got there."

"Was she a good student?"

"Yeah," Richie said wistfully, "she was a fast learner. I think if she’d been involved in your everyday mugging it would have been the other guy that got the worst end of the deal. She wasn’t prepared for someone to cut her head off, though. Maybe I should have taught her better."

"It’s not your fault," Mulder said as soothingly as he could. "How could you prepare her for some maniac going around decapitating people?"

Richie bit his lip and then laughed a little hysterically, "Yeah, how could I?" Turning his piercing gaze on his interrogator, he changed the topic, "You like Mahleah, don’t you?"

Mulder was a bit at a loss, "Yeah, sure, what’s not to like?"

Richie gave him a genuine, albeit fleeting, grin, "Don’t get me started…I know her all too well. Don’t get me wrong I’d defend her to the death, but she does have her faults. That’s not my point. She seems to care about you."

Mulder didn’t answer, unsure of what to say.

"Being a Special Agent, that’s a rather dangerous job isn’t it?" Richie pursued.

"Sometimes," Mulder admitted.

Richie nodded, "Then it seems to me that she deserves better than ‘what’s not to like’, okay? I mean, how fair is it to get involved with someone when you don’t know if you’ll survive from assignment to assignment?"

"It’s none of your business," Mulder wanted to say, but didn’t. Richie’s words were triggered by his own loss, but that didn’t give them any less resonance. The X-Files were a hazardous pursuit. Did he have the right to involve an outsider, a civilian, in such a personal and treacherous quest?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

As Duncan stepped out of the elevator he was accosted by the sounds of stinging guitars as Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band performed "Adam Raised a Cain" and the sight of Mahleah flowing across the floor oblivious to the one or two other dojo members discreetly watching her. She was attempting to lose herself the way she normally did when something was bothering her, but she hadn’t quite succeeded. Her rhythm was just a fraction off…her movements not quite as smooth as normal. Her hair had been pulled back in a hasty ponytail rather than the usual braid and he thought he could detect faint smudges under her eyes. He knew she hadn’t slept well.

"Cain" turned into "Spirits in the Night" and he realized she was listening to a CD of live music. Personally, he preferred to work out in silence and solitude, but he hoped that she was finding the rock comforting. He briefly lost himself in nostalgia, recalling how hard it had been to break little Mahleah from wanting to move on the beat even as she refused to train without it. Now, he couldn’t imagine her katas being performed in the stillness he had tried to teach her. She abruptly came to a halt, turned on her heel and accosted him.

"Do you have to stare like that?" she demanded. "You make me feel like a kid again waiting to get critiqued by my teacher."

"I’m sorry," he said sincerely. "Would you prefer if I left?"

She shrugged. "It’s your dojo."

He could see that her body was still full of tension, and suddenly asked, "Would you mind if I joined you? I could use a sparring partner?"

Mahleah blinked, then answered almost grudgingly, " Sure, why not."

She allowed him some time to warm up, and then as the beginning notes of "Sandy" tinkled out he faced her. It had been a little while since the two of them had fought each other with bare hands. Skirting each other cautiously, they slowly evaluated defenses and made some preliminary moves that were blocked easily on both sides. A few small tumbles followed suit as they both quickly rebounded and moved on to the next parry, kick, or block.

He found himself admiring the way her skin was glistening in the sunlit room. She had come so far from that little girl he once knew but although she had learned to school her features much better than the old days he could still read her strategies in her eyes. "Sandy" faded to "Paradise by the C," an instrumental piece. A small part of his brain marveled at how he had learned more about rock music in the last twenty years than in the twenty before that. It was amazing how much you could unconsciously absorb of another person’s passions.

His momentary lapse of concentration was enough to allow her a small opening and she threw him heavily to the mat. Sternly rebuking himself, he rose and resumed the bout with renewed intensity. Mahleah had a small smirk of victory on her face that he quickly wiped away. She still wasn’t at a hundred percent, and he was damned if he’d let her win without giving it her best.

The tide was quickly turning. This time it was Mahleah who went to the mat and he quickly followed through – pinning her with his arms and legs. Gazing down at her flushed and panting, he had to quell a fierce wave of desire that began to course through him. Now was not the time or place, was it? She shifted, trying to struggle and he shook his head silently letting the weight of his body more fully trap her beneath him. The dark eyes glared at him and he bit back a grin.

Her body slowly began to relax and he became aware once again of the music coming from the CD player.

I’m driving in my car

I turn on the radio

I’m pulling you close

You just say no

You say you don’t like it

But girl I know you’re a liar

‘Cause when we kiss

Fire

She wasn’t just hearing it, he could tell, she was feeling it. The gift that allowed her to sing so intensely also left her unbelievably vulnerable. The song was tearing through her defenses in a way that he could never achieve with a thousand years of study. He felt slight trembles pass through her and observed with interest that goose bumps were running up her arms. Her breath on his face smelled like toothpaste and cinnamon, probably from the tea that she liked to drink at breakfast.

Late at night

I’m takin’ you home

I say I wanna stay

You say you wanna be alone

You say you don’t love me

Girl you can’t hide your desire

‘Cause when we kiss

Fire

Beneath him, her nipples were hard beneath her tank top and sports bra and her eyes were now looking at him hard and hungrily. He involuntarily moved a whisper closer to her mouth, which twisted in impatience. Like a dash of cold water on his libido, his mind churned up another old memory. He had subtly observed Mahleah and Diana, her childhood best friend, once watching videos on television. There had been one to accompany this very song and the teenage girls’ reactions now came creeping back into his head. Mahleah’s verbal responses had been full of adolescent lust but they rang true today as well with the woman she had grown into. She had thrilled to the way the Jersey rocker performed the song, and as Diana sighed dreamily, had boldly declared, "God, that I were a guitar to be made love to like that."

You had a hold on me

Right from the start

A grip so tight

I couldn’t tear it apart

My nerves all jumpin’

Actin’ like a fool

Well your kisses they burn

But your heart stays cool

At the time he’d found it amusing, but with hindsight he felt a chill. This was a woman who responded body and soul to song. He was a man who couldn’t carry a tune. How could he ever truly expect to become a part of her soul when he had so little of the material she craved? The first guitar player or soul singer that came around would sweep her away with a few measures. Now, for instance, her arousal wasn’t for him, but the mood "The Boss" had created. In the few seconds that he paused over her lips her eyes had changed. They began to veil themselves from him and take her from being in his arms to around the world. Sighing inwardly, he realized that reality had set in and this was his cue to let her go.

He rose and offered her a hand up. She looked over at the dojo patrons who were studiously looking anywhere but at them, which of course meant the whole scene had been witnessed.

"You shouldn’t let yourself get cocky," he warned, trying to return to the fight once more.

Whoops, his mind started kicking itself as the temperature in the room sank to approximately the temperature of the glacier that sank the Titanic. Without a word she walked off.

Romeo and Juliet

Samson and Delilah

Baby you can bet

Their love they didn’t deny

Your words say split

But your words they lie

‘Cause when we kiss

Fire….

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mulder and Richie were still discussing the case. Richie was concerned by the lack of connection between the victims.

Mulder hesitated, but then ventured, "I’m going to have to conduct more research, but my theory is that the selection pattern has more to do with the women’s personalities than with the more usual statistics."

"What do you mean?" Richie asked.

"The very fact that the killer has selected a seemingly different type of woman each time seems to indicate that he is on a quest…searching for something and his kills so far have not satisfied that need. That’s why they’re so different in age, social and marital status, and race. He keeps trying to find the right ‘type’ to fulfill his goal, and so far none of the previous women have provided it. The only thing I have sensed that these victims had in common is their strength. Both physically and emotionally they all seem to have possessed great individuality and strength. They, like your friend Allison, were thought to be special by their peers. If I’m right, it’s that quality that is drawing our murderer, perhaps he is weak himself and wants to tap into their power in some way."

He saw Richie’s jaw clench.

"What is it?" he asked.

Richie blinked, "Nothing. You may be right. I knew both Allison and Cynthia – they fit your description. They were both…remarkable people. So, if he’s so weak, how’s he overpowering them because I know for a fact that Allison and Cynthia would have fought back?"

Mulder pondered this. "Maybe he gave them a drug of some kind…an injection or a drink of some kind. You knew Allison and Cynthia. How many other people in your circle knew them both as well?"

"Surely you aren’t suggesting one of my friends had anything to do with this?" Richie demanded. "I mean Mac and Joe were within sight of your Agent Scully during the time that Allison was killed."

"True," Mulder conceded. "But Allison did drop by the bar before her death. Who else at that bar could have known both her and the previous victims?"

"I’m not sure," Richie confessed.

"I’m going to find out," Mulder rose.

"Then I’m coming with you," the redhead decided.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Did you ever have one of those days, boy? Did you ever have one of those days? When nothing goes right, from morning till night, did you ever have one of those days?" kept repeating through Mahleah’s head all afternoon.

After her aborted workout with MacLeod she was left steaming over the ease with which he could arouse her while remaining unmoved himself. She wondered if it were cruelty or just obliviousness that had caused him to behave in that way. For just a moment she had thought he was lost in the same haze of desire she was feeling, but that hope was shattered a breath later when he pulled away and began criticizing her fight technique. It was so damned unfair. All he had to do was get close to her and she broke out in a sweat but he remained as cool and removed as always. It would be nice to just once get him to lose that self-control…to make him the one drowning in a sensory overload. It would never happen, but it would be nice….

She had thought to release her anger in rehearsal at Joe’s but the band had other ideas. More specifically certain band members had other ideas. When she’d suggested one of her favorite songs, Bobby the keyboard player had objected vociferously.

"Hell no," he spat. "Every time you get pissed off at someone, usually MacLeod, we end up having to play some of that angry woman crap. I didn’t join this group to play P. J. Harvey or Alannis Morisette whenever you’re having a hissy fit."

She gaped at him. Bobby had never made an effort to hide his dislike for her, but this was the first time he’d been so explicit in his disapproval. "But…" she stammered.

"No," he repeated. "Listen, this isn’t your band. You are not our lead singer; you’re not even our lead guitarist. Believe it or not we don’t like it when you waltz in and take over. Just because you’re a friend of the boss, doesn’t mean we have to play along like we’re suddenly your back-up group. You’re going to be here what…a week? If you want to sit in with us on a couple of tunes, fine. Don’t start getting attitude though, like your Janis Joplin reincarnated and we’re merely the humble dregs that are fortunate enough to jam with you."

Mahleah glanced around the stage. Scott, the bass player, was nodding his agreement with Bobby’s assessment. Tom, behind the drums, refused to meet her eyes. She turned to Jim and Bruce, the actual front man and lead guitarist. They were closer to her than the other three musicians and their opinion meant a lot to her. If they wanted her to leave, she would without hesitation.

Bruce was scowling at his band mates. Jim stepped closer to her, "Mahleah," he said softly. "I always enjoy your visits. Personally whatever you want to sing is okay by me, but you have to realize that not everyone feels that way. Bobby over there happens to think that Janis was the last and possibly only woman to ever sing rock. Cut him some slack, he’s still living in the middle ages."

She swallowed her pride and managed to smile at him, "I think I’ll just play acoustic for a few numbers, if you’ll have me."

"Anytime, girlfriend," Bruce assured her. "Anytime."

True to her word, she kept her fingers busy and her mouth shut. Inwardly, she was picking glass out of the open wounds. One reason she had always loved the comfort of a band was she’d always felt like one of the guys. In the music she wasn’t odd or different, beautiful or exotic…she was just a voice and a guitar. Most bands she played with responded to her music and for the most part ignored all of the other quirks of her personality. It had always been nice to feel companionship based upon a mutual love without the stresses of many male-female relationships. The majority treated her as a peer first and a woman second. Now she was learning that there was a flip side to that situation and it stung. Sure, she knew that not every man in the world was going to fall at her feet but the rejection and yes, contempt, she felt from Bobby hurt.

During a break in rehearsal, she saw Richie and Mulder talking to everyone there. She wandered over to see what was up.

"Hey guys," she greeted tiredly.

"Mahleah," Richie gave her a hug, which she accepted gratefully. "I talked to Allison’s parents this morning. There’s going to be a small memorial service for her friends tonight and they wanted to know someone who could sing a couple of things. I recommended you."

"Oh Rich, I don’t know," she protested, but relented when she saw how much it meant to him. "What’s Mulder up to?"

"He thinks that Allison and the others may have been drugged before they were attacked. He’s trying to determine who could have had access to any food or drinks that Allison might have touched before she left."

"Oh," Mulder walked over to them. "Any luck, Special Agent Man?"

He shook his head and her bad pun, "Possibly. I’m still trying to piece together all of the strange clues."

"Such as?" she inquired.

"Such as the mysterious occurrence of all the dogs in a two block radius howling at the same time which corresponds roughly to Allison’s time of death," he told her.

"Really?" she frowned. "That’s bizarre."

"And then there was the bat," he teased.

"Bat?"

"Yeah, I could have sworn I saw a bat hanging in a tree near the crime scene."

"What’s so weird about seeing a bat?" she was lost.

He raised an eyebrow at her puzzlement, "Have you forgotten already?"

Her bewilderment increased, "I guess I have."

Before he could begin to explain, she heard a voice calling her name from the bar. Turning she spotted a familiar face that immediately made her smile.

"Kali?" she called and gave the woman a hug.

"Hey stranger," the dark haired woman exclaimed. "It’s been too long…unless you’ve managed to come to your senses and then it’s just in time."

"Sorry," Mahleah grinned. "I still like ‘em tall, dark and male."

"Damn," Kali swore lightly. "I keep hoping you’ll bend that last requirement."

"If I ever do, you’ll be the first to know," Mahleah promised. Her brain was half on the unexpected encounter with her old college buddy and the other half was still puzzling over Mulder’s bat comment. What was she supposed to remember about bats? She’d never really had any dealings with the creatures and generally went by the rule that they left her alone and she returned the favor. It wasn’t like they were the stuff of her nightmares or anything…. She suddenly stopped in mid-stride. Nightmares—that was the answer. How could she have missed such an obvious tie-in with not just her past but Mulder’s as well.

Chapter Thirty

Fall 1993

Mulder surfed expertly through the stations on the car radio while maneuvering through the free-for-all that was traffic on the Beltway. He and Mantha were en route to a local college library to see if they could discover a clue to her identity. Meanwhile he was experimenting with a theory of his own. Music could often bypass short circuits in the brain and his charge had proven this morning that she had knowledge of rock. He wanted to see if a little alternative therapy could help jog her mental processes and give them a little more to work with.

He was trying to watch the cars darting around them, tune into the classic rock stations and watch Mantha for a response at the same time. It was routine, until he hit a Jimi Hendrix song and felt a grip on his wrist. He glanced quickly over at his passenger. She was humming under her breath, and he smiled and relaxed back into his seat.

"Angel came down from heaven yesterday.
She stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
And she told me a story yesterday,
about the sweet love between the moon and the deep blue sea
And then she spread her wings high over me
She said she's gonna come back tomorrow

And I said "fly on my sweet angel,
fly on through the sky,
fly on my sweet angel,
tomorrow I'm gonna be by your side"

He saw with surprise that she was quietly wiping her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"This is the first song that my dad ever taught me to sing." Her voice seemed to come from far away and his pulse sped up. "It was the only time he came to me after a nightmare and he sang this for me. It was about my mom."

"What about your mom?" he took a gamble on asking.

"She died when I was little," she said sadly, and then seemed to snap out of her mental haze and realize what she had said. "Oh my God, I remembered. She was in a car accident."

"What was her name?" he pursued.

She shook her head in frustration. "I don’t know, it’s gone now."

Sure enough this morning came unto me
Silver wings silhouetted against the child's sunrise
And my angel she said unto me
"today is the day for you to rise,
take my hand, you're gonna be my man,
you're gonna rise"
And then she took me high over yonder

And I said, "fly on my sweet angel,
fly on through the sky,
fly on my sweet angel,
forever I will be by your side"

He could sense her frustration and gripped her hand. "That’s okay, don’t force it. Maybe listening to more music will help clear the cobwebs a little more. It seems that your parents aren’t the trigger for your amnesia so maybe you’ll be able to remember their names eventually."

She considered this, and let out a deep breath. "That makes sense. What should I do?"

"Just relax. Sit back and close your eyes. Listen to the songs and don’t think about anything. Just let your mind drift with the notes and see where that takes you."

She nodded, and obeyed his instructions.

He turned up the radio just as one of his least favorite Rolling Stones’ tunes came on, "Gimme Shelter." It wasn’t that it was a bad song, but there was something so deeply dark about it. He was always reminded of the documentary by the same name that told the story of the murder at Altamont when the age of peace had truly ended in the sixties.

From the beginning with the female backup singers calling, "ooh, ooh," he found it creepy. The initial guitar licks with that strange scratching sound accompanying sent chills down his spine. He saw that Mantha seemed to be enjoying it though. Her head was nodding to the beat and her fingers were tapping on her thighs.

Ooh, a storm is threatening my very life today
If I don't get some shelter, oh yeah I'm gonna fade away
War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away
War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin’, our very streets today
Burns like a red coal carpet, mad bull lost its way

War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away
War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away

Somewhere in the middle of the song, he realized that Mantha’s head had stopped bobbing. He looked across the car to see her stiff and still in her seat, as if waiting for a blow. That’s when the female voice began wailing:

Rape, murder, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away
Rape, murder, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away
Rape, murder, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away

Suddenly Mantha began shaking her head violently, and a cry forced its way from her mouth that started off much like a child’s cry and grew in intensity and horror until it was no longer a human sound. She was trying to pull her six-foot frame up into the seat in a fetal ball.

Before he could say anything to her though, she launched herself violently forward screeching and tearing at something with her hands and fingernails. She was screaming, "No, no, you can’t have her. Oh sweet Lord God above she’s bleeding. Someone help her. Oh no, oh please…no…no…no…please…the blood…"

Mulder cursed. While he was used to talking to someone and fiddling with the radio while battling his fellow Beltway drivers, dealing with a half-crazed wildcat that was incredibly strong didn’t come under the heading of business as usual. Luckily he had locked her door, for she was now yanking at the door handle, and beating at the window trying to get out of the car.

Chapter Thirty-One

Mulder concentrated on pulling the car over into the emergency stop lane. Mantha was still trying to literally go up the walls of the automobile. After putting the automobile in park and cutting off the ignition (and thankfully the radio as well), he freed himself from his seatbelt and began the difficult task of calming the hysterical woman.

"Mantha," he grabbed her arms as gently as possible. "Mantha, calm down. It’s okay, you’re safe…you’re safe." This would be easier, he supposed, if Mantha were her real name. She was still struggling but much weaker than before. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot and showed the depths of the horror she had seen.

"Ssh," he continued. "Take deep breaths." Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to relax.

He pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Can you talk about it?"

She bit her lower lip, giving it some thought and then nodded reluctantly.

"I was just enjoying the music and, like you said, letting my mind wander. Suddenly I saw a man and a woman struggling in an alley. She wasn’t fighting very hard. It was like all her strength was gone. He let her go, and she just crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. H—her throat…it was so bloody. It ran down into her shirt…"

"He’d cut her throat?" Mulder softly asked.

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "There was nothing clean like a cut. The wound it was ragged, brutal…more like a vicious bite." She froze for a second before her fingers and his eyes went to her own neck.

"I think we may have discovered the trigger for your amnesia," he said grimly. "Can you recall anything else? What did she, and more importantly, he look like?"

She swallowed, "I’m drawing a blank on him. Every time I try to focus on his face, it gets blurry. He was tall, I think, and blond?" Her voice rose at the end making it a question. "She was small, brown curly hair, brown eyes…they were open but she was g—gone." She shivered, and he pulled her to him.

"It’s okay, we’ll get there, Mantha. We’ll find her and we’ll find the monster that did this to her," and you, his mind finished.

He glanced behind them and groaned.

"What’s wrong?" she turned to see.

"Just a cop wanting to know what we’re doing in the emergency lane," he said ruefully.

***

After flashing his FBI credentials and explaining that his companion was a witness to a homicide Mulder was able to get them back on the road within a reasonable amount of time. He began mulling over an idea that might help Mantha recall not just more details about the murder she’d seen but about her entire background.

"Mantha, I’d like to take you to see someone this afternoon," he began.

"Who?"

"His name is Dr. Heitz Werber and he specializes in deep regression hypnosis."

She was staring at him, "Hypnosis?"

"Just think about it," he urged. "Dr. Werber can take you under and you can discover what it is you’re hiding from in a safe environment."

"I’ll think about it," she said unconvinced.

***

The libraries were not helpful. They scanned yearbook after yearbook, but were unable to find any pictures that resembled Mantha. Mulder’s new cell phone rang in his pocket, nearly scaring both of them to death. Library patrons scowled at them over the interruption and he grabbed Mantha and dove into the stacks.

"Mulder," he said as quietly as he could.

"Hey big guy," Frohike said cheerfully. "Enjoying hanging out with the coeds?"

"Frohike this isn’t a singles bar. What have you found?"

"Not much I’m afraid. How about you?"

Mulder sighed, "Nothing here, although Mantha did have a short burst of recall on the way in. She definitely witnessed a homicide, guys. The victim was female, small, brown hair, brown eyes. How old was she?" he asked Mantha.

Her brow furrowed in thought, "About my age," she guessed. "And she could have been part Native American…Melungeon maybe."

He raised an eyebrow, "Melungeon? Where did that come from?"

She was puzzled. "I don’t know."

"Frohike, Mantha says our victim, I’m assuming her name was Jill, was her age and possibly Melungeon."

Frohike whistled, "How did she know that?"

"I’m not sure," Mulder admitted. "Look, we’re going to get something to eat and then if she agrees I’m going to take her to see Dr. Werber."

"Good idea," Frohike agreed. "This is what we’ve come up with so far. Most of her clothes could have been bought anywhere in the country except the leather jacket. It, on the other hand, is exclusively carried by a chain of high-priced stores found only on the West Coast."

"West coast?" Mulder was startled.

"Yeah, and even better than that Byers has managed to track down the last known location of that Celtic cross she’s wearing."

"And?"

"It was sold in Paris."

"Do we know who to?"

"Not yet," Frohike admitted.

"Keep at it and we’ll catch you later." He put the phone away and studied his charge intently. There was a large Melungeon population in the Appalachian Mountains, but Mantha’s coat came from the west coast, her cross came from France, and she spoke about two dozen languages. Who was this woman?

Chapter Thirty-Two

When Mulder explained the strange circumstances surrounding his new friend, Dr. Werber was intrigued and eager to help. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday afternoon, he told Mulder that he would be happy to meet with Mantha for a short session.

Mantha was silent on the drive over, and Mulder could feel her doubts and anxieties. It would have to be terrifying to know something horrible had happened to you, but not know what. How could you begin to prepare for the possibilities? He soon found that even he wasn’t ready for the strange stories of a hypnotized Mantha.

*****

Dr. Werber went out of his way to make his new patient feel more comfortable. Once she had finally relaxed into a hypnotic state, he continued to talk to her soothingly, "Now, Mantha, since your memories seem to be troubling, I want you to choose a memory that makes you feel safe and happy. Can you do that? Agent Mulder tells me that you’re a musical person, perhaps something related to a song? Names are causing you pain so we’ll work on those later. Just concentrate on finding a warm, safe memory."

Mantha was smiling now.

"Have you found it?"

"Yes."

"Tell us about it."

"I was attempting to recover from a traumatic ending to a college love affair when a friend invited me to Berlin for spring break. The wall had just come down and he was checking out the new Germany while recording there."

"Recording?"

"Yes, he and his friends belonged to a band. I met them when I was rather young and we had endeavored to stay in touch throughout the years."

"So, they were recording…" Dr. Werber prompted.

She frowned, "They were trying but nothing was working. For the first time they were not on the same page musically. Half of the group thought, ‘if it’s not broken why tinker with it,’ and the other two wanted to experiment with new sounds. It was causing so much friction that I was worried they were going to break up."

Mulder was puzzled. This was a happy, safe memory for her? Something about it was tickling the back of his memory. Where would he have heard a similar story?

"What happened?" Dr. Werber pursued.

Mantha’s lips curled up in a glorious smile, "Magic…breathtaking, fantastic magic. Just when the band was resigned to the fact that all they were doing was prolonging the inevitable and destroying friendships that had begun in their teens in the process, something incredible happened. They had been working on a song and came up with a couple of interesting guitar parts. Someone wondered what it would sound like if they were played together. The guitar player started playing one into another and suddenly sets off a chain reaction. The drummer and bass player fall in as naturally as leaves drifting from the trees in autumn. Then, just like the corniest, most wonderful old Technicolor musical, the singer went up to the mike and began singing – a song was born."

Mulder realized he was hanging on Mantha’s every word. Her attitude had altered from the frightened young woman he knew. Now she appeared confident and somehow much, much older. Her words had a strange formal flow to them…rather like a professional storyteller, or a bard.

"The song was good?"

"No," she corrected, "the song was perfect. It was universal, describing the relationship between the band members at the moment but anyone could relate to it that had ever experienced an intense, sadly sweet relationship. It perfectly fit the way I felt toward my ex at that time and it became the song for me. I’ve been on every side of it in my long lifetime, but it never fails to move me."

"Your long lifetime?" Mulder couldn’t help but ask. "How old are you?"

The dark eyes found his and a chill ran down his arms.

"Too old to answer impertinent questions, young man," she answered huskily.

Mulder’s heart beat faster. Had they manage to regress Mantha back to a past life?

"Are you Mantha?" he asked quietly.

She studied him calmly for a long moment. "Yes, I am the girl you refer to as Mantha." He could have sworn that her eyes twinkled at him. "Quite a compliment, I must say, to be named after Lovelace’s lady." He blushed involuntarily and she continued, "Yet she is not me – at least, not yet."

What did this mean? Was Mantha suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder? Her psyche could have fractured itself in order to deal better with the horrors she had witnessed.

As if reading his mind, she tilted her head to the side and said, "No, there’s only one person here. If it makes it easier for you to understand, think of me as a future version of the girl you know."

Future, Mulder’s eyes widened. If Scully were here she would say this whole thing was ridiculous. Mantha was playing a joke on them or her mind was inventing an implausible story to put off dealing with reality.

"Tell me about the future, then," Mulder challenged, ignoring the stern look the doctor was giving him.

She laughed at him, "You know better than that Agent Mulder. Telling you such things could alter history, and believe me I’ve worked too long and hard to prevent that. Now, she doesn’t even realize that she draws on me, so don’t tell her unless you want to cause her even more pain. Let her keep the memory of Berlin, though. It’s a comfort, both then and now."

"Any other suggestions?" Mulder inquired, not a little sarcastically.

She ignored his attitude. "You need to ask her about Kenneth. He’s where the problem began and she must deal with him before she can move on to the current issue. Not today, though, she’s beginning to tire."

Mulder and Dr. Werber exchanged a look, and the doctor nodded. "I think she’s been under long enough for today," he agreed, and set about ending the trance while Mulder sat back trying to make sense of the session.

Chapter Thirty-Three

As Dr. Werber talked quietly to Mantha, Mulder’s phone rang. It was Langly.

"Hey, how’d the session with the shrink go?" the computer guru asked.

"Rather unique," Mulder commented. "Have you found anything?"

"Yeah, we have. I’ve found pictures of three Jane Does that were discovered in the past 36 hours. Do you think Mantha might be able to identify one of them?"

Mulder frowned, "Possibly, but I don’t think today would be the best time to try it. Some weird things came up in her trance. I need you to check on a rock group that would have been recording in Berlin the year the wall came down. That seems rather vague, I know, but there’s just something familiar about it. I’ve heard that story before."

"Somebody famous, you think?"

Mantha walked up to Mulder and he told Langly to hang on. "Mantha, do you still remember Berlin?"

She smiled, "Yes. It’s wonderful to finally have a fragment of the past I can hold onto."

"Tell me something…your friends, the band, were they American?"

"No," she answered immediately.

"Where were they from?" he probed.

She closed her eyes and thought. Oddly, she seemed to be listening rather than trying to visualize the scene. Leaning her head to the side, she declared, "Ireland."

Mulder’s breath caught as the last clue tumbled into place. He fought back a scowl and told her, "Mantha, why don’t you found out when Dr. Werber can see you again?"

She nodded and walked back over to the hypnotist.

"Langly, I think this is probably a dead end. She’s remembered something but more than likely it’s something she’s read or heard at one time."

"Are you sure, man?" Langly queried. "After all, this chick could be anyone."

"Let’s just say it’s possible but rather improbable," Mulder countered. "On the other hand, it seemed to make her feel better so here’s what I want you to research for me…." He went on to give Langly the best search parameters he could.

As he put the phone away, Mantha reappeared.

"Dr. Werber says he’ll work us in tomorrow," she said, grinning. "I believe he’s as interested in finding out who I am as we are."

"Quite possibly," Mulder said with amusement. The good doctor was, no doubt, fascinated by the appearance of Mantha’s alter ego. "Shall we go?"

****

On the drive back to Mulder’s apartment, he heard Mantha humming several times. When he asked her what the tune was, she replied that it was the song from her trance. He was still rather skeptical about the authenticity of the memory considering it likely that she had read or heard this story somewhere. The song in question though, appeared to have therapeutic value for her so after he unlocked the door and let them in his apartment he moved over to his CD collection and pulled out a certain jewel case.

"Mantha, I have a surprise for you," he said. "Is this the song?"

She sat down in the floor, cross-legged, and waited for the music to begin. As two drumsticks counted off the beat and a guitar began playing, Mantha sat bolt upright. A huskily pleasing male voice began crooning.

Is it getting better
or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now
You’ve got someone to blame?
You say one love, one life
When it’s one need in the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves you baby if you don’t care for it.

Mulder could sense her excitement. She turned to him with her eyes large and dancing.

"Yes, this is it," she exclaimed.

Did I disappoint you,
or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you’ve never had love
and you want me to go without.
Well, it’s too late tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We’re one but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other
One…

"Are you sure?" Mulder asked carefully.

"Absolutely," she was humming again. "I would recognize this song anywhere."

She was singing now along with the stereo and once more, he enjoyed the quality of her voice. Even through his pleasure, though, his mind was debating whether he should believe this whole tale.

"Mantha, do you know the name of this group?" he asked.

She thought about it, and then shook her head. "No, names still aren’t there yet. Who is it?"

"It’s a group called U2," he said slowly.

"U2," she mulled the name over as if trying it on for size. "That sounds right, even though I don’t remember."

He debated on the best way to say this before plunging ahead, "Mantha, they’re one of the biggest rock groups in the world, if not the biggest."

She took this end, and shrewdly guessed, "You don’t think it’s real, do you? My memory of Berlin and the studio?"

He sighed, "It would have to be tricky to distinguish between genuine experiences and ones you’ve read about when your whole past is a blank."

Regarding him calmly, she observed, "How does anyone tell the difference? How do you know that all of your memories are genuine and not something you read in a book or watched on television?"

He was silent for a long moment, remembering his own sessions with Dr. Werber that allowed him to recover the memories of his sister’s abduction by aliens. How did he know that this was real and not the amalgamation of all the strange missing person reports and old science fiction movies he had encountered in his lifetime? He had staked his career and perhaps even his life on that belief.

"You just know," he said, clumsily.

She nodded, "Something inside here," she tapped his head, "and here," she put her hand over his heart, "just tells us it’s right." She looked at him, and something stirred in the deep brown-black of her irises. "You know, I’d love to remember the rest of my life. It sounds fascinating: traveling, knowing all of these languages, associating with rock stars…."

He smiled, "You’re certainly not the average girl off the streets, Mantha."

"I guess I’m glad I flattened Frohike," she chuckled, and leaned forward. "You and the Gunman have been incredible to me. Thank you."

"You’re welcome," he smiled.

She leaned in further and kissed him on the lips. He could tell it was meant to be a friendly gesture of gratitude, but something in the air around them shifted. While his mind told him this was a bad idea, his mouth responded to the feeling of soft skin pressed against his own. Just as their lips opened and tongues got adventurous Mantha stiffened.

Mulder, with his eyes closed, never saw the blow coming. One minute he was exploring Mantha’s tangy-sweet taste and the next he was across the room with his head spinning in a most uncomfortable way and his ribs burning.

He opened his eyes to see Mantha cowering next to the couch. Obviously frightened by her own behavior, she was biting her lower lip in an effort not to cry.

"I’m so sorry," she told him woefully.

"We can add a knowledge of martial arts to that list of your accomplishments," he said flippantly, trying to make her feel better.

He rose, groaning and she winced. "I don’t know what happened," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "It was like in the car before…I just felt panicky, terrified, overwhelmed with the urge to get away."

He checked himself out gingerly and concluded there was no serious damage, although he was going to be stiff in the morning. "It’s okay, Mantha. It was as much my fault as anyone’s. I should have known better."

Desolate and confused, she finally looked him in the eye again, "Who am I, Mulder? What happened to me?"

He stood by her and gingerly touched her hair. When his arm wasn’t snapped off, he stroked it lightly. "I don’t know, but we’re going to find out."

Chapter Thirty-Four

Since the earlier music had a calming influence on Mantha, Mulder let her explore his CD collection while he stayed discreetly out of harm’s way. She found several that she liked but she kept coming back to the couple of U2 CD’s that he owned. They ate pizza, and eventually experimented with the television. Luckily for Mulder, Mantha seemed to enjoy the old science fiction movies he preferred to watch and they spent a companionable evening on his couch watching cheesy B flicks and forgetting about the traumas of the day.

When it was time to go to sleep, he was rather embarrassed by the amount of junk he had to clean off his bed – he usually fell asleep on the couch. Mantha was gracious about it and helped him change the sheets. He was careful to make no sudden movements that might startle her – a gesture that earned him a raised eyebrow and amused glance.

Around dawn, he was awakened by a small sound in the next room. Concerned that Mantha might be experiencing a new bout of nightmares he crept slowly to the doorway of the room. His guest was moving quietly across the floor in fluid movements. Despite the dim light she was sure-footed with not a step out of place. She was oblivious to his presence and he wondered at first if she was sleepwalking. Aside from the occasional squeak of a floorboard she moved silently – her hands deftly fighting off an invisible intruder.

He watched in wonder for several minutes before realizing she was aware of his presence. When she nodded in a brief acknowledgment of his watchful gaze he decided his time might be best spent in the kitchen making French toast. As he grabbed a loaf of bread, he idly wondered what Scully was doing.

Breakfast was a success with Mantha giving Mulder warm compliments. He had to ask, "What were you doing earlier?"

She shrugged self-consciously, "I don’t know what it’s called. I had a dream that I was moving that way and it gave me a sense of peace, so when I woke up I decided to try it."

"Well, we can edit the list of skills…not just knowledge of martial arts," he chuckled, "expert knowledge of martial arts." He took a sip of coffee and then asked slyly, "How long have you been studying?"

"Since I was a kid," she said automatically, and then smiled. "You did it again. Yeah, I started learning early."

"Who was your teacher?" he asked, hoping for another lucky strike.

She frowned, and then shook her head, "I don’t know. It’s like I can sense him but not see him. I know I always felt safe and warm around him – loved. Maybe he was a family member?"

"Could be," Mulder agreed. "Well, are you up to seeing the Gunmen?"

Mantha nodded, "I want to get this over with."

******

Arriving at his buddies’ headquarters, Mulder called, "Hope you’re all decent."

"Mulder, you know better than that," Langly shot back from his computer. "Frohike hasn’t been decent a day in his life."

"Well at least I have sense enough to go to the door when a beautiful lady comes calling instead of being glued to a computer monitor," the little man retorted.

Mantha smiled at them all, "Good morning to you too," she said cheerfully.

"Mantha, are you ready to look at the images we found?" Byers inquired gently.

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Are you sure?" Mulder asked with concern. "We don’t have to do this now. We can come back after your session with Dr. Werber…"

"No," she decided. "I’m tired of this. I’m sick of being scared of shadows. It’s to the point where I’m not only dangerous to myself, I’m hurting the people who are helping me. I’m not running any more. One way or the other it has to end – I have to know the truth, however ugly or painful it may be."

Mulder saw the admiring glances of the Gunmen and felt his own affection for the woman increase. He could empathize with her desire for the truth but more than most he knew what a double-edged object that virtue was. The truth could set you free, it was said, but it could rip your guts open at the same time and leave you unable to appreciate that freedom.

Mantha walked over to Langly’s workstation and Mulder could detect no signs of hesitation. As the longhaired hacker tapped at his keyboard, the FBI agent moved to stand behind her, lending strength if she happened to need it. As the first image began to appear on the screen, Mantha’s right hand reached out and Mulder gave it a squeeze. Her fingers trembled within his, but that was the only outward sign of her nervousness. She stared at the digital picture before her a long time before declaring, "No, that’s not her."

As the second image began to form, her hand gripped his painfully. Before the image was completely downloaded, she quietly announced, "That’s her."

"Are you sure?" Byers asked.

She nodded, "That’s the woman I’ve seen over and over in my head." Mulder noticed a spot of blood on her lower lip where she had bit it. "That’s Jill."

Chapter Thirty-Five

"So, does this Jill have a last name?" Langly inquired.

Mantha glared at him, "Do you think I wouldn’t have told you?"

Mulder tried to take a more diplomatic approach, "Can you tell us anything at all about her?"

She pursed her lips in thought and dropped his hand, "She was my friend," she said finally and began to pace about the room. "She was in some kind of trouble and I was supposed to help." She stopped with her back away from them, "I was supposed to protect her."

"From what?" Langly asked, and then grunted as Frohike kicked his leg.

As she turned around Mulder could see by the blank expression on her face that she had no clue where Jill’s trouble had lain.

"What have you guys found out?" he turned the focus back to the Gunmen.

Byers cleared his throat, "Well, the police have not identified Jill yet. She was found in an alley a few blocks away from a part of town that contains several popular nightclubs."

"Did Jill have a stamp on her hand?" Mulder asked.

Frohike nodded, "Yeah, the same tiger imprint we found on Mantha’s. They’d definitely been to the same place that night. We’ve been checking into it and narrowed it down to one of two different clubs. We hope to have the right one by the time you’re done with the hypno-therapy stuff."

"Good," Mantha said softly but firmly. "Then, after we deal with my little personal traumas we can actually investigate what happened to my friend and how I failed her."

*****

"Now, Mantha," said Dr. Werber. "I want you to remember that warm, safe place we talked about yesterday. Whenever you feel scared I want you to pull that feeling around you like an emotional security blanket, okay?"

Mantha nodded. Mulder studied her, wearily wondering what surprises her mind had in store for them today.

"At our last session you mentioned someone named Kenneth," the doctor continued. "Do you remember him?"

Mantha shuddered and Mulder could see chill bumps run up and down her arms.

"You’re safe," Dr. Werber said soothingly. "Your friend Mulder is here with you and you have your security blanket. Kenneth can’t hurt you now. Who was he?"

There was a long pause and just as Mulder thought she wasn’t going to respond, he heard, "My boyfriend."

"Good, now what did Kenneth do to you?"

Mantha sighed, a sad and bitter breath, "He taught at my college but not in my department. We dated for a few weeks. He caught me when I was vulnerable…"

"And?" came the prompt.

"I…had lost someone dear to me and fought with the closest friend I had. I’d turned away from the people who loved me and focused on Kenneth. He came over to my apartment one night and…attacked me."

Mulder felt his heart constrict. If she would only give him a last name he would hunt this bastard down and show him what it felt like to be passed around among inmates in one of the federal prisons. There had been a strange hesitation in her voice though, when she said the word attacked. He saw that the doctor had noticed it as well.

"Mantha, I know you don’t want to relive it, but we need to know the details. Describe the events for me. You were in your apartment, what happened next?"

Her voice shook, but she went on, "He was there for dinner, but he just played with his food. I had made the decision to sleep with him that night, so I excused myself and went into the bathroom to change into a new nightgown."

Mulder felt his curiosity burning. So far this had been a tame event. What had triggered the man’s violence?

"Keep going," Dr. Werber encouraged.

"When I came out, Kenneth told me I was beautiful and began kissing me and nibbling on my neck. My head was spinning and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. We ended up on the bed and I felt myself giving into the most incredible sensations when I felt pain."

Pain? What had the sicko done to her?

"Keep going, he can’t hurt you now," the doctor soothed.

"Kenneth bit my neck…hard, but then my head went all fuzzy again and I didn’t notice it anymore. I managed to open my eyes and that’s when I saw it."

"What?" Mulder asked impatiently.

"His face," she whispered, "it wasn’t human anymore. His brow was ridged, and his teeth…oh God," she moaned, "he had fangs. When he smiled at me I could see blood all over his mouth – my blood."

Dr. Werber looked at Mulder, evidently at a loss. Mulder felt his pulse race with excitement and horror. A vampire had attacked Mantha. Why hadn’t he put it together sooner? In hindsight it was so obvious what had made the puncture marks on her throat and thigh. He moved closer to his distressed friend and took her hand.

"Mantha, this event is what is holding back all your memories. I know it’s painful but you have to remember it all." He caressed her fingers. "It’s all in the past and you’re here with us now."

"He gloated and said that my blood was ambrosia. He moved down and bit my thigh and drank from there, too. After the first shock of pain it felt heavenly but dreadful at the same time…he was killing me and I felt like begging for more. When he raised up, he said that I needed to taste myself and he kissed me." Great, racking shudders ran through her body.

Mulder took his free hand and lightly caressed her face, and then her hair. Gradually the trembling subsided some and she managed to go on.

"He said he’d promised himself one last delicacy and that I would love it. I knew that he was going to drain me dry this time, but my head was so cloudy and my arms were so heavy. I wanted to fight back, but it just seemed impossible." A tear dropped from an eye. "He ripped the front of my gown open and bit my nipple. It was like a thousand needles stabbing me at once, but then it was the most erotic sensation I’d ever felt. My arms flew over my head, trying to grip the bed…and then my fingers felt the wooden dagger mo saighdear-bàrd had carved for me when I was little. Somehow I found the strength to bring it down and stab him in the back with it." The tears were now pouring in a silent flood. "Luckily, I hit the heart."

"What happened?" Mulder whispered.

"He turned to dust," she answered simply.

"How long were you in the hospital?"

"Over a week."

The doctor was looking at them both very strangely. Oh, I guess it’s okay to believe in aliens but not in vampires, Mulder thought dryly.

"Dr. Werber, take a look at this," he suggested and moved Mantha’s collar out of the way so that the man could get a full view of her scar. "There are other marks on her that correspond with her story."

"But vampires?" Dr. Werber protested.

"There have been numerous unsolved murders that involve exsanguinations of human beings – especially in southern California. Interesting paradox, huh? One of the sunniest places on earth has the highest percentage of vampire attacks, especially in some little town called Sunnydale."

"But vampires?" Dr. Werber repeated.

"Whether you believe in them or not this girl truly believes she’s been a victim of one and in repressing her memories of that event she’s hidden all other memories from herself as well. We still need to find out what happened to her friend Jill, but I think she needs a few minutes to herself. Bring her out of it for a while," Mulder suggested.

Dr. Werber complied with his face still expressing his doubt about the entire situation.

Mantha blinked, and then looked up at Mulder incredulously. "Vampires?" she asked, skeptically.

****

It took a lot of discussion from Mulder and some serious meditation on the matter before Mantha would seriously consider the vampire angle. Eventually she announced that despite her initial hesitation, and the fact that in a logical sense it just seemed insane, everything within her agreed with that interpretation of the facts.

"But why can’t I remember anything else?" she asked. "Why can’t I remember my name or what happened to Jill?"

"I have a hunch about Jill that we’ll have to investigate, but perhaps I can explain the name thing. You hate feeling like a victim. In your mind you could have done more to prevent the attack so you’ve got a person in your head with your name labeled ‘helpless.’ You don’t want to be that person."

"So, my brain made me no one at all," she said grimly.

"Well, for now you’re Mantha," he reminded her. "Do you feel up to trying again?"

"As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose," she said with a hollow smile.

****

"Mantha," asked Dr. Werber. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," came the surprising response.

"Do you think you can tell us something about Jill and what happened to her now?"

"We went to high school together, but when we graduated I went to college on the West Coast and she moved to the D. C. area. I got a frantic phone call from her a few days ago that she was in terrible trouble. I took the first available plane and rushed out here. When I called her, she asked me to meet her at a club. I went there and looked around for her only to see her leaving with a dark good-looking man. Something about the situation didn’t look right to me, so I followed. He took her to an alley and they started to neck. I started to get frustrated and thought about leaving but then I heard her cry out in pain. He was hurting her. I rushed in, but when he looked up at me, I saw that he was…like Kenneth."

"A vampire?" Mulder asked.

She nodded. "There was blood running from his mouth. It was staining his collar. I could see Jill’s eyes beyond him. She was begging me for help, but I was frozen. He backhanded me and said something about saving me for a later dessert. I could hear him drinking her…it was all I could hear. I started crawling away, then managed to stumble to my feet. I ran as fast and as hard as I could until I ran into Frohike."

Mulder felt a knot in his throat. No wonder she had lost her memory. His cell phone chirped at him and he grabbed the offending object. Nothing should sound that cheerful right now.

"Hey, Mulder, we’ve found your club, man." Frohike was pleased with himself.

"Do you think you could have been any slower about it?" Mulder snapped at his friend.

"Huh, hey chill big guy. I think we’ve done well considering how little we’ve had to go on. Don’t start getting your boxers in a bunch now."

"I’m sorry, Frohike," he calmed down. "I just heard what happened to Jill, and to Mantha."

"That bad?" Frohike sighed. "Well, the hand stamp belongs to a club called ‘The Tiger’s Paw.’ Cute, huh? What time do you want us to meet you there?"

"We don’t," Mulder said firmly. If vampires were involved he had no intentions of getting the Gunmen in the way. They might be three strange, bizarre, freaky men, but they were his best friends.

After insisting that they not show up, he wrote down the address and turned back to Mantha who was sitting in her chair pale and downcast. Dr. Werber had pulled her out of her trance and she was dealing with the past.

She looked up at him with self-loathing, "I’m a coward."

"No," he denied.

"I left my friend to be eaten," she spat. "That’s not exactly the act of a hero."

"No," he agreed, "but it is the act of a tortured human being. I wish you had been able to help her, Mantha but you were faced with the living nightmare that had almost devoured you before. It’s understandable that your mind would shut down to anything but an instinctive need to flee."

"It’s not understandable to me," she told him. "She asked me for help, and all I could do was listen as that hell-fiend drank her down like champagne. I’m as responsible for her death as he is."

He sensed she needed more than soft words. She was a very physical woman and there was only one solution for her right now.

"Would you like to find the hell-fiend again?"

Her eyes blazed, "Yes."

"Then come with me," he invited.

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Mulder," Mantha remarked later on the way to The Tiger’s Claw. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he agreed.

"Why is it that you immediately believed in vampires? I mean I could tell Dr. Werber was really struggling there. He wasn’t sure whether the best help he could give us both wasn’t to call the men in the white suits. So why did you accept my story so easily?"

"Well, I haven’t actually seen one before, if that’s what you’re wondering," he chuckled, then grew serious. "I guess I haven’t told you exactly what I do for a living and how I met Dr. Werber in the first place."

"No, you haven’t."

"I work on cases that are labeled X-files—strange circumstances that defy logical explanations. In just the last few months I’ve dealt with a liver-eating mutant, a wild beast-woman that was drawn to Atlantic City, a poltergeist, a killer AI program, parasitic alien worms that drive their hosts to violence, and multiple government conspiracies that I believe all lead back to the same shadow group. You might say this is just another day in the office for me," he said with a smile.

She stared at him for a long moment. "Parasitic alien worms?" she finally asked. "Really?"

"Yep, and they were thousands of years old, too."

"So, how did you meet Dr. Werber?"

His smile vanished. "When I was twelve years old my sister Samantha vanished. There was an extensive investigation into her disappearance but she was never found. Dr. Werber allowed me to recover my memory of what happened that night."

He felt her gaze at him in an empathetic silence, "What did you remember?"

"Sam and I were playing Stratego and fighting over the television. Our parents were playing cards with the neighbors. Suddenly, a bright light and a strange humming noise invaded the living room. It was like time stopped. A presence drew Sam away and I stood there, frozen in place and terrified, calling her name. I’ve never seen her again."

Her fingers brushed his shoulder, "I’m so sorry."

"At least you know I understand what it feels like to be unable to help someone you’re supposed to be protecting," he added grimly.

Mulder’s cell phone rang. He grabbed it from his coat pocket and thumbed buttons. "Mulder."

It was Byers. "Agent Mulder we have new information for you."

"What?"

"It seems that Jill’s unfortunate demise is not the first to happen in this area of the city. In the last year four young women have either died or never been seen again. At least two of those were last seen at The Tiger’s Claw. Are you sure that the two of you don’t need some backup out there?"

"No," Mulder lied. They really could use backup but the bureau would not understand or be prepared for a vampire hunt, and he would never forgive himself if Byers, Frohike or Langly got hurt. He felt responsible for Mantha too, but she had proven herself capable of defending herself on more than one occasion. If she could get past her mental block, she would be the best backup he could get really.

Byers sighed. "It goes without saying, but be careful," he cautioned and hung up.

*****

As Janet Jackson’s "You Want This" blared over the speakers, Mulder wondered uneasily how he’d let himself get talked into splitting up. Mantha argued that they could talk to more people this way and she could perhaps catch the attention of the vamp trolling the club.

He’d tried casually inquiring about Jill, but the few people he’d accosted had given him a strange look and quickly left. He was sitting at a table now watching Mantha gather the attention of most of the patrons of the establishment. Between her height, her exceedingly long hair, and her extraordinary dance abilities more than a few pairs of eyes were on her at the moment. She couldn’t have chosen a better song, he thought. Quite a number of men were indicating that yes, indeed they did want this. He couldn’t blame them. Right now she was segueing from some hip-hop moves to a belly shake that really needed some veils for the proper effect. Apparently this was something else her body could remember without any help from her brain.

He glanced at the nametag of the waitress replacing his beer. "Hey, Tracy," he said with as much charm as he could muster. "I wonder if you could help me out."

"I don’t date the customers," she said automatically.

"No, no, nothing like that," he laughed uneasily. "I was hoping you’d be able to help me find someone I was supposed to meet here. Her name’s Jill. She’s small, in her early twenties, with brown hair and brown eyes."

She looked away uneasily, "Look we’re not supposed to talk about Jill. The boss thinks it will be bad for business."

"I just want to know where she is," Mulder coaxed.

Tracy sighed. "She’s dead, mister. They found her body in an alley a few blocks away. Not that I’m terribly surprised."

"What does that mean?" he asked, startled.

"Jill was in trouble. She wouldn’t say much, just that she thought she was being stalked. She got a creepy feeling every time she walked out the door. I thought it was just her imagination, but then…" she shrugged.

"Why didn’t she go to the cops?" he inquired.

"She didn’t trust them. Came from some small town out in the boonies somewhere and she’d had some trouble with the local police. She did say that she was going to call an old friend though. Said that this girl she knew could kick anyone’s ass and had even saved her life once. They came from the same hometown but the girl lives on the West Coast now. I don’t know if she ever made that call or not."

"When did you see her last?" Mulder pursued.

"The night she died actually," Tracy admitted.

"Did you see her talking to anyone unusual? Did she have trouble with anyone?"

"Now you sound like a cop," she said shrewdly. "No, she didn’t have any fights or anything. In fact, she looked like she was having a good time talking to Mr. Charming."

"Mr. who?"

"That’s what we call him ‘cause he’s so good looking. We never been able to learn his name but he always gets whatever woman he takes a fancy to for the evening. That night was Jill’s good luck."

"Great luck," he commented. "What does Mr. Charming look like? Is he here tonight?"

"Yeah," she nodded. Her eyes scanned the room. "In fact, there he goes now, out the front door with that tall girl."

With a shudder, Mulder realized that the tall girl was Mantha and Mr. Charming matched her description of the vampire.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Mulder hastily paid for his drink and left the club, cursing under his breath. Damn the woman! She couldn’t have given him some sort of sign to back her up before she went out carousing with blood-sucking monsters? An ugly thought crossed his mind. Perhaps she’d had no choice in the matter – it was possible that the vampire had hypnotized her. Tracy had said that he was always able to leave with the woman of his choice, and their recent therapy sessions could have left Mantha’s mind susceptible to such manipulations.

Hoping he wouldn’t be too late, Fox Mulder rushed down the street. Up ahead he spotted the gleam of honey hair disappearing and sprinted after it. As he feared, Mantha was standing entranced with the stranger whispering in her ear. He pulled a stake out of his pocket and shouted, "Get away from her!"

The assailant looked around at Mulder and frowned in annoyance. The FBI agent momentarily froze in place. The man’s eyes were glowing an amber-yellow, his brow was ridged, and his teeth were wickedly pointed just as Mantha had described. The vampire took one look at the stake in Mulder’s hand and hissed angrily.

Mulder began moving forward again, stake at the ready. "I said get away from her," he repeated.

The vampire moved suddenly in a blur of motion that took Mulder by surprise. He found himself dangling in the air with a grip like iron around his throat. Spots began to form around the edges of his vision. He desperately attempted to swing the stake around but his attacker knocked it from his hand like swatting a fly.

Looking beyond the monster, he saw Mantha caught in a paroxysm of fear and uncertainty unable to meet his eyes. His sight was beginning to darken but he thought he saw another woman standing near her. The newcomer was much smaller, as fragile looking as a china doll, with short brown hair. She seemed to be speaking to the stunned woman.

She obviously said something right because Mantha began to swing into action. She rushed the vamp and his victim and Mulder sailed through the air to land, hard, on a metal Dumpster. With his head throbbing, his ears ringing, and his larynx nearly crushed Mulder fought to see what was happening. He saw Mantha pick up his stake, and then the world finally crashed on top of him.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mulder’s mind was swimming hazily through dense fog. He could hear a noise somewhere, very pleasant sounding and he moved toward it. It was humming he realized. A woman was humming, but what woman? He liked her voice, and decided to stay here for a while.

After a few moments the humming stopped and she began speaking, "Mulder, I don’t know if you can hear me but I wanted to say thank you so much for all your help. Without you, I might never have found myself again. I just wish you hadn’t gotten hurt." He felt a soft tingling sensation on his lips and realized she had kissed him.

"The doctors say that you’ll be fine. I wish I could be here when you wake up but I have to leave now. My friends and family have been worried sick about me and finally managed to track me down. I have to get back to grad school, too." Her voice lowered in pitch and increased in intensity. "Mulder, I don’t want you to look for me. There are things in my world that are too dangerous for you to deal with. I’ve been taught to defend myself from them since I was a small kid, but you wouldn’t know where to begin. So, it’s best if you never find out who I really am. I’ve talked to the Lone Gunmen and they’ve agreed to ‘forget’ about any of the info they discovered about my background." He could sense her smile, "It’s amazing how far you can get with a hug and a kiss. They’re good guys, I’m going to miss them. I’ll miss you, too. You take care of yourself, Special Agent Mulder. I hope you find your sister some day."

She was gone, and his mind allowed itself to wander for a long time.

"Mulder, are you awake?" It was another woman’s voice, familiar and welcome.

He managed to open one eye and saw his redheaded partner, Dana Scully, standing by his bed. She was frowning but when she saw him open an eyelid she smiled. He opened the other eye to get a better view. It was worth the stab of pain between his temples – Special Agent Dana Scully had the prettiest smile in the world when she cared to employ it.

"Scully?" he managed to croak. "What’s going on?"

She raised an eyebrow, "I was hoping you could tell me, Mulder. I’m all prepared to enjoy the last day of my vacation when I get a mysterious phone call that you’re in the hospital. What have you been up to? You’ve got bruises on your throat, multiple scrapes all over your body and a concussion. What happened this weekend?"

"Met a girl," he said, with a half grin.

"A girl?" Her voice took on a dangerous quality. "Is she coming back?"

"Probably not, why?"

"I was going to reserve a room in the ER" she replied tartly.

Mulder settled back against his pillow. Scully was back to throwing verbal darts at him. All was right with the world.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Seacouver 1997

Now Mahleah understood Mulder’s reference to bats. Obviously he thought there was a vampire connection to this case, but she didn’t see it. Why would a vampire cut off his victim’s head? To hide the telltale bite marks? Most vamps didn’t even think that far ahead, since when they were hungry obtaining food was all they could concentrate on. It would take a master to actually formulate strategy. No, she didn’t think the answer lay in that direction.

It was interesting to recall that weekend when she was completely lost. Mulder had helped her deal with her past traumas and move on to the current dilemma. When he came to her rescue in the alley, she was momentarily stunned by the enormity of her fear but the oddest thing had happened – she’d had a brief vision of Jill while a voice in her mind, her voice actually, had screamed at her to act.

While waiting in the hospital to hear the results of Mulder’s injuries, she looked up to see Duncan walking in her direction and suddenly her memory was back. Oddly, it wasn’t like a flood of images whirling through her brain. Instead it was more like a light switch was suddenly clicked on in her mind. There was a momentary sense of well-yes-of-course-I-knew-that and then she looked serenely at her closest friend and said, "Hi, Mac."

It turned out that the message she had left for Diana on the answering machine hadn’t been found until recently and everyone had been worried sick over what could have happened to her. Joe had even employed the Watchers to help out, and with their reliable information MacLeod had known exactly where to find her. She had apologized profusely for scaring the wits out of everyone but it was a touchy subject for several weeks.

Now one of her friends from her earliest days at college was here to see her. Kali had lived across the hall from Mahleah and Diana’s dorm room and as a native Californian she’d been a lifesaver to the two newcomers. Granted it had taken Diana some time to warm up to the openly gay woman – some prejudices died hard and this was one it had been rough for her to shake. Eventually though Diana had realized that any suggestive remarks Kali threw in her direction were only meant to yank her chain. By the time they were preparing for graduation, Diana had been extremely upset when Kali had died in a car crash. Mahleah was unable to tell her that Kali was now Immortal. Instead, she’d explained to the very confused new Immortal what had happened and had arranged for her to attend a rather different kind of graduate school that specialized in combat training.

When Mahleah had felt the warning tingle a few minutes ago, that told her that an Immortal was nearby, she had expected to see Duncan. It had been a genuine, if pleasant, surprise to see her old friend.

"I don’t know if you want to hang around here," she told Kali. "It’s kind of dangerous at the moment."

"So I’ve heard," the woman responded lightly. "What’s up with all these women losing their heads? Is it one of us?"

"I don’t think so," Mahleah said in a low voice. "All of the victims have been mortal."

"Well, then I’m safe, aren’t I?" Kali replied cheerfully. "So, where’s the tall, dark and brooding stud? Have you two ever gotten over the whole will-we or won’t-we chapter of your relationship?" At Mahleah’s face, she teased, "Lord, girl what are the two of you waiting on? Unless, of course, you’ve finally seen the error of your ways and decided to throw him over for someone else -- I’m available, you know."

Mahleah looked at her in surprise – not for the joking come-on, that was standard operating procedure for Kali, but for the implications of her remark. "You are? What happened to Helen?"

"The face that launched a thousand ships has sailed away," Kali’s tone revealed a sting of bitterness.

"I’m sorry," Mahleah said sincerely. "I wish I could show you a better time this evening but I have to sing at a memorial service."

"Mind if I tag along?" Kali inquired. "I haven’t heard you perform in a long time. Who’s the service for?"

"Her name was Allison and she was Richie’s girlfriend. She was the latest victim of the serial killer," Mahleah explained. "He requested that I sing tonight."

Kali’s face crumpled, "Oh the poor guy. Where is he? I’ll pay my condolences."

"He’s working with an FBI agent to try to find the monster that killed her," Mahleah said grimly. "I think he’ll be busy until this evening."

"So, I’ll just spend the afternoon cheering you up," Kali decided. "Later on tonight we can have an old-fashioned night of girl talk with just the two of us."

"That sounds wonderful," Mahleah agreed. "First, though we have to get through the memorial and that’s not going to be fun."

****

Later that evening, Duncan had just finished having a heart to heart talk with Richie and was watching Mahleah prepare to sing when he heard a familiar but almost forgotten voice near him.

"Hello, Highlander, good to see you again."

"Kali," he greeted her pleasantly. "I heard someone say you were in town. How was the training with Amanda?"

Kali grinned, "Mahleah knows me all too well. She found the perfect teacher for my personality. Amanda was great. She’d spend the morning beating the stuffing out of me, the afternoon shopping, and the evening dancing the night away. We had a blast. Up until I met Helen that is."

"Who’s Helen?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh just my ex," she told him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Ouch," he said empathetically, rather feeling like he’d stuck his foot in his mouth.

"That’s okay," she told him. Looking up at the raised area where Mahleah stood, she commented, "She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?"

"If you don’t know better," he chuckled. Indeed Mahleah looked very sweet and serious in a black dress with her hair down.

"Oh, I didn’t mean her personality," Kali countered. "We both know she’s rather a hell-cat at times. I wouldn’t really change her though. Would you?"

"No," he agreed. "Life would be a lot more boring."

"With that in mind," she turned on him, "what the hell is your problem?"

"I beg your pardon," he stammered.

"It’s not my pardon you should be begging, it’s Mahleah’s. Why on earth do you keep her dangling like this? It’s time to make a choice my friend: do you want to be friends or do you want to be lovers? It’s not fair on her to keep straddling the fence like this. If you don’t want her, tell her so she can move on with her life."

"It’s not that simple," he protested.

"Bull," she said succinctly. "It’s exactly that simple. You two have been doing this high-wire act of sexual tension for so many years now that the rest of us are dizzy and I don’t think you can see straight either. What’s holding you back, MacLeod?"

"I don’t want to ruin our relationship," he admitted.

"I never thought I’d live to see the day when Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod admitted he was a coward," she said scornfully. "Realistically, I don’t think the two of you could screw up your relationship. I mean, yeah you’d be angry for a while and might not talk for a few years but there’s no way I could see you not speaking for eternity. It just wouldn’t happen. So, what’s the worst that could happen? I mean, really? You make her happy?"

He stared at her, "You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?"

She smiled at him sadly, "I have been for years but it’s no use. There’s only one person in the universe that she would see to hell and beyond and that lucky sucker is you, Mac."

His head was swirling. He knew, had always known that Mahleah loved him. He knew that her love had changed over the years into a romantic love, as had his own, yet he had doubted lately that she still felt the same way. Was he that blind? Kali thought so.

"I’m sorry," he said gently.

"Don’t be," she said bluntly. "I wouldn’t. That’s the way life is."

They were silent as Mahleah performed a selection of hymns chosen by Allison’s parents. For her last number, she chose something more personal for her, U2’s "Mothers of the Disappeared."

Midnight our sons and daughters
are cut down taken from us --
Hear their heartbeat,
We hear their heartbeat.

Mac saw Richie wiping his eyes and made his way to him.

In the wind we hear their laughter
Through the rain we see their tears.
We hear their heartbeat.

He pulled his former student to him, and let him sob.

Night hangs like a prisoner
stretched over black and blue
Hear their heartbeat
we hear their heartbeat.

In the trees, our sons stand naked.
Through the walls, our daughters cry
See their tears in the rainfall…

Chapter Forty

After the service, the weary band of friends made their way to Joe’s. Kali picked up drinks for their party and brought them to the table. She was scowling.

"What’s the deal with that bartender?" she asked. "He’s so slimy I’m nearly afraid to taste my drink."

Mahleah smiled quietly, "He’s just filling in until Joe’s regular assistant gets back from vacation."

"Speaking of Joe," Kali picked up the thread. "Where is the man, anyway? This is his place, shouldn’t he be around somewhere?"

Richie nodded toward the stage, "He’s up there with the band."

Kali tilted her head and regarded her old chum, "And why aren’t you going to join him, Miss Chanteuse?"

"Just not in the mood, I guess," Mahleah told them.

They stared at her in wonder.

"Not in the mood?" Kali repeated. "Since when? I mean, I know it’s a sad evening but that’s never stopped you from belting songs out before."

Mahleah wet her lips, "I think the band would prefer it if I didn’t join them."

"Why?" Duncan wanted to know.

"Yeah, why?" Kali emphasized. "You mean there’s actually a group of guys on this planet that aren’t bowled over by you? I don’t buy it."

"Kali," Mahleah feebly protested. "Just leave it alone, okay. I am not, nor have I ever been, the end-all and be-all of womanhood. It’s quite natural that there are men out there who don’t like me."

"Don’t like you?" Richie snorted. "Mahleah, what are the odds on that?"

"Pretty good, actually," she returned brightly.

Kali studied the band carefully, "Why? Don’t they have eyes…ears…balls?"

"Kali!" Mahleah hissed, her cheeks flaming red.

"I meant figuratively not literally," Kali replied evenly. "I mean it’s not necessary to have their physical equipment to find you devastatingly attractive, but it helps if you’re not easily intimidated."

"Could we change the subject, please," Mahleah pleaded.

"Wow," Richie said in astonishment. "I’ve never seen anyone embarrass Mahleah like that before."

"You haven’t known me very long," Kali told him sweetly. "Don’t worry once you have I’ll do the same for you."

"What’s Joe doing?" Duncan interrupted to both Mahleah and Richie’s relief.

"I think he’s giving the band a break," Mahleah said. "He must be doing a solo."

Sure enough, Scott, Bruce and the rest were leaving and Joe was settling himself with an acoustic guitar on the edge of the stage.

"I want to send my deepest sympathies to one of my good friends," Joe said into the microphone. "Richie, I know things are terrible right now, but this is for you. Mahleah, would you help me out here?"

With surprise, Mahleah rose and went to him.

"Don’t worry, you know this one," he told her and began playing. He sang the first two verses as she listened appreciatively.

Lately I’ve been running on faith
what else can a poor boy do?
But my world will be right
When love comes over you

Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep
I can’t imagine what I’d have to say
Except my world will be right
When love comes back your way

He nodded to Mahleah, who took her turn:

I’ve always been
One to take each and every day
Seems like by now
I’d find a love who cares just for me

Together, they went on:

Then we’d go running on faith
All of our dreams would come true
And our world would be right
When love comes over me and you

Their voices blended together in an interesting harmony. Mahleah felt her admiration for the Watcher increase with every moment. She loved playing with him and his gesture for Richie was emblematic of his generous nature. She was glad that he and Mac would be staying with the young Immortal tonight. He really didn’t need to be left alone; he was liable to go out and do something rash. It also meant that she would get to spend the rest of the evening in uninterrupted girl talk with Kali and catch up on all the news.

A couple of hours later Kali and Mahleah were cozily established in Mac’s loft.

"So what happened with Helen?" Mahleah wanted to know.

Kali made a face, "Another woman."

"No! She was cheating on you? The little trollop!"

"Oh, her new girlfriend has a summer home, a winter home, accounts at Tiffany’s and Harry Winston as well as the desire to share it with someone else," Kali said gloomily. "I hope she’s fabulously happy in her mink and sable and that protesters hit her with rotten eggs. But, I don’t want to talk about my ex, the gold digger. I want to hear about you and Mac."

"There’s nothing to tell," Mahleah informed her. "He runs hot and cold. One minute I’m sure we’re about to spontaneously combust and the next he’s pulled away again. I swear the man has better control than a monk."

"Never gives way, huh?" Kali pursed her lips. "Not even a little?"

"Oh, about this much maybe," Mahleah said, indicating about half an inch. "Then he pulls back. I swear Kali, the man’s driving me crazy."

"So do something about it," Kali exclaimed.

"What exactly do you suggest?" Mahleah asked tartly. "Join him in the shower?"

"Couldn’t hurt," her friend chuckled. "I hardly think he’d say no then, but I think there’s other ways to persuade him."

"Do tell," Mahleah was curious. "I’m all ears."

"Girl, I shouldn’t have to tell you. You’re the one who can do the dance of the seven veils. You’ve got powerful weapons in your arsenal – use them. Play your cards right, and he’ll lose control all over the place."

"Well, I’ve tried everything else," Mahleah pondered it over.

"Sugar, you have to be direct. You two have been sashaying around the topic for years. One of these days one of you is going to have to be direct about it," Kali advised. "Just admit everything and ask point blank how he feels. And if you chicken out, you could always try jumping his bones."

"Kali!" Mahleah threw a pillow at her guest, but the wheels in her mind were turning.

Chapter Forty-One

The next day found Mulder and Scully interviewing witnesses and arguing over theories.

"Mulder, how can you even suggest there’s something supernatural here?" Scully asked in exasperation. "These women had their heads cut not bitten or enchanted or whatever you’re suggesting."

"I’m telling you there’s some bizarre facts here that you’re ignoring, Scully. You’re the one that told me about the busted ear drums."

"I admit that’s odd, but there’s going to be a logical explanation for it," she protested.

"Okay, how do you explain the dogs howling at the time of death and the bat at the last crime scene?" he persisted.

"Coincidence, Sherlock," she replied dryly. "Contrary to popular belief whether a dog howls or doesn’t howl usually has little to do with a murder investigation."

"Usually," he repeated. "Have you figured out how he subdues them?"

"Well, there are gases that could sedate them and then pass from the body," she offered.

"Or, he could be compelling them," he countered.

"Compelling?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I’ve seen it happen," he insisted. "A perfectly strong woman, quite capable of defending herself, allowed her attacker to right up to her."

"Strong woman, are we talking about Mahleah here? If you’re looking for secrets Mulder, there’s where you should look. It’s evident she’s hiding something."

He frowned. He didn’t like it, but he sensed Scully was right. Mahleah and her friends, even Richie, were hiding something. He felt sure she thought it unimportant to the case or she would have told him. Still, Scully’s barb rankled.

"Oh, like MacLeod, the original suspect is entirely clean? He may not be our killer but the man has guilty knowledge blinking from his forehead in neon letters," he shot back.

"He’s hiding something," Scully assented.

"You agree?" he was surprised. He’d been certain she would defend the handsome Scot.

"It’s obvious," she replied. "Why are you so shocked that I can see it?"

"I thought you liked the guy?" he stammered.

"I do," she answered honestly, "but there’s only one person in this investigation that I trust – you."

He swallowed hard, touched by her statement. "Well, I hope that trust is justified," he said wearily. "I know that the killer is targeting women he sees as special in some way. They all seemed to be spirited women, highly regarded by their peers. That’s not enough though to establish a pattern. I’ve no idea who he’ll target next: single, married, young, old, Caucasian, African-American? This guy doesn’t care."

"Why is he killing?" Scully asked. "Problems with his mother?"

"Probably," Mulder nodded. "With this deep-rooted a psychosis being fixated on strong women, he’s had bad experiences with female figures in the past -- mother, sister, grandmother? I just wish I knew the trigger. Something set this guy off, Scully, and I need to know what it was."

"Could it have been a similar event?" she asked cautiously. "After all Seacouver has had numerous beheadings in the last five or ten years."

He looked at her with excitement running through him, reached out and kissed her on the forehead. "Scully, you’re a genius. Let’s hit the microfilm."

Chapter Forty-Two

That evening it turned out that Joe had had a long talk with certain band members. Mahleah didn’t care. She had other things on her mind. Before taking off in search of Mulder and Scully, Richie had taken her aside and lectured her on the absurdity of not doing or saying anything to Mac. Listening to his life is short speech, she had concluded that he and Kali were right. This situation had gone on far too long. Tonight she was going to let her voice and her fingers take control.

She was nearly afraid he wouldn’t show up, but halfway through their second set she felt a buzz and saw him enter the bar with Kali. She was in the middle of a guitar solo in Led Zeppelin’s "How Many More Times." She wasn’t singing on this one, although thanks to her dad she could have and not missed a chord. She was trying to learn to play better with others though, so she’d sung few numbers tonight, preferring to wait until her voice could do her the most good.

After they wrapped up that number, she exchanged guitars for an acoustic and mentally thanked Joe for reminding her of this tune. Kali didn’t know that she and Mac had actually slept together once and now Mahleah wanted to recapture that moment. She didn’t want to resort to out and out seduction…not yet. Instead she was relying on honesty. The lyrics were evocative enough to allow her to pull his mind back to that night she was convinced gave to both of their minds frequently.

I can feel your body
When I’m lying in my bed
There’s too much confusion
Going around through my head

God, how true this was! There was barely a night that had passed since she became Immortal when she didn’t still feel him with her as she lay alone. Looking into his brown eyes, she could see the memory flare in his own mind.

And it makes me so angry
to know that the flame still burns
why can’t I get over?
When will I ever learn?

This was true as well. If he couldn’t make up his mind soon, she was going to move on…or at least try to. She was weary of all the games they were playing with each other.

Old love, leave me alone
Old love, go on home.

In his face, she saw pain, confusion, and finally understanding. He had sensed she wasn’t playing with this song and finally got the message she was putting across -- decide.

I can see your face,
but I know that it’s not real.
It’s just an illusion,
Caused by how I used to feel

And it makes me so angry
To know the flame will always burn.
I’ll never get over
I know now that I’ll never learn.

The song ended and in keeping with her new policy, she relinquished vocal duty to someone else. Since she was such a good sport, they let her have the last song. As a final statement, she chose Melissa Etheridge’s "Don’t You Need."

I had a dream late last night.
The water was running low
and my fields were on fire
Burning my sky.
My body was moving slow
and when I awoke,
I tasted the sweat of desire in my mouth.

Yet again, she focused on Duncan, and his attention was on her as well. Kali was talking to him, but it wasn’t evident whether he was hearing her. He seemed to be barely breathing. Mahleah let all the raw longing she felt come out with no filters, no protection. There was no way he’d be able to claim he didn’t know what she wanted.

Don’t you want to lay it down and feel your skin against the ground?
Don’t you want to ride the storm and then sleep inside the calm?
Don’t you want to get that high?
Don’t you want to be satisfied?
Well, if you don’t want it from me, don’t you need?

Was that an answering fever she saw in his eyes? It was time to find out. After the last song, Joe began subtly herding people out. The band hooked up with Kali, who by the look on her face had plenty she wanted to say to them. In thirty minutes or so, she and Mac were the only two remaining in the club.

Chapter Forty-Three

Scully was going through microfilm records and Mulder was surfing the net for strange incidents or deaths in the area. After hours of searching, Mulder finally found something that made him sit up straighter in his chair. It was an account of the disappearance of one Paige Cardon.

"Hey Scully, look at this," he called.

She slid her chair over to his computer.

" ‘Seacouver Police is investigating the mysterious disappearance of Paige Cardon, 28.’ Mulder, we don’t even know what happened to this woman. She could still be alive."

"No, this is it," he insisted. "Look, she vanished one week to the day the first victim of our killer showed up…and her last known location was about two blocks away from where our first victim died. This is it. Whoever killed Paige disposed of her body, but this is the trigger that set our boy to whacking."

"But Mulder," she started to protest when she was interrupted.

"Did you say Paige Cardon?" a voice interrupted them.

They turned to see a dirty, disheveled man who reeked of cheap whisky stumbling toward them. Mulder knew that public libraries were favorite places for the homeless. You had water, a place to sit out of the weather, and free reading material. The only catch was you had to leave when the building closed, but still for most of the day as long as you didn’t make a nuisance of yourself, you had shelter.

"Yes," Scully said politely. "Did you know her?"

He nodded, "She wasn’t really 28, you understand. She was much, much older." He swayed a little, and Mulder caught his elbow.

"Steady there. So, how old was she?" he inquired, curiosity getting the better of him.

"One hundred and thirty seven," the old man said proudly. "I still remember. She died in the first year of the Civil War."

Scully pulled her partner to the side, "Oh no, Mulder. Don’t even bother letting it settle in your brain. The woman was not 137 years old."

Something had caught his attention, though. "Scully, he has a tattoo on his arm."

"So," she retorted. "I have a one on my back. What is that supposed to mean?"

"I’ve seen this one before on a friend of Mahleah’s the other night." He told her. "He knew me and all about the first time I’d met her four years ago. She was in a big hurry to get me away from him."

A crease appeared in her forehead, "And you think these men belong to some kind of organization that does…what?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "So let’s find out."

*****

Throughout the evening, Kali had been telling Duncan exactly what was wrong with his approach toward Mahleah in excruciating detail. Although, she had become a little annoying she had made some good points the most striking of which was that so far he had called all the shots in their relationship. He had been the one to initiate their one and only sexual encounter and he had been the one to call it a mistake the next day. He had been the one to have the let’s-wait-and-see attitude because he wanted her to be certain about what she wanted. Thanks to Kali’s comments he realized that Mahleah saw him as having power over her and she resented it. Tonight he was resolved to let her set the tone and he would pick up his cues from her behavior.

"Alone at last," she flashed him a smile. "Joe asked if I would lock up for him and I said sure. Care to help me?"

"Sure," he repeated.

She turned on the radio and began stacking chairs on the tables. Mac recognized the radio station as being one of both Mahleah and Joe’s favorites. It played a variety of music and would often surprise you by playing something really good that most people had never heard before. Right now he recognized a familiar voice coming from the speakers.

It’s time to go again
to your blue room
got some questions to ask of you
in your blue room.

He glanced at Mahleah, since this was her favorite band and favorite singer in the world. She was, he knew, still getting advanced copies of every album they made.

The air is clean
Your skin is clear
I’ve had enough fun hanging ‘round here
It’s a different kind of conversation
Your blue room

"Would you like to dance?" he asked softly. He hoped this wouldn’t be considered another power trip.

She looked at him, and he saw her eyes spark. "Yes, I would," she answered.

And time is a string of pearls…your blue room
See the future just hanging there…your blue room
A new frame, a new perspective
Looking down on my objectives
Your instructions whatever their directions
Your blue room

He led, but she was really in charge. Her hands were running through his hair and pulled it out of its clasp. She leaned into him and inhaled deeply.

"Mmmmmmmm," she purred from the back of her throat. "I love the way you smell."

He made a mental note to buy a case of the cologne he was wearing…anything to get her to make that sound again.

Her fingers started roaming down his back, up his sides, and across his chest. She traced every contour through the silk of his dress shirt. As he looked down, she licked her lips.

"You feel good too," she told him.

Zooming in
Zooming out
Nothing I can’t do without
A lens to see it all up close
Magnifying what no one knows
Never in company
Never alone
No car alarm
No cellular phone

She began backing him up towards the bar. When his back touched the edge, she lightly ran her tongue up his Adam’s apple and across his lips.

"But you taste even better," she whispered, and then kissed him. At first her mouth was just a whisper, a promise of all the things to come, but then she ravaged his mouth. He began losing his breath and realized there was a growl coming from one or both of them.

The song on the radio changed to the Moody Blue’s "Nights in White Satin." Mahleah put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down on a stool.

She nibbled her way up his neck to his ear lobe. "Don’t move," she warned him. "Just let me touch you."

He nodded in agreement and something wild and joyful appeared in her face.

Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I’ve written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I’d always missed
With these eyes before.
Just what the truth is
I can’t say anymore.
‘Cause I love you,
yes I love you,
Oh, how I love you.

Duncan allowed himself to be passive under her hands. Her fingers were driving him crazy in their explorations, and then he felt her unbuckling his pants. He wondered what exactly she had in mind while he was sitting on this barstool. She reached up and kissed him again, deeply and he felt her hands dive through the layers of clothing to lightly stroke him. He shuddered, and she broke the kiss, smiling.

"Relax," she told him. "I’ll take care of you." With that promise, she slid down his body to capture him with her lips and he closed his eyes involuntarily.

Gazing at people
Some hand in hand
Just what I’m going through
They can’t understand
Some try to tell me
Thoughts they cannot defend
Just what you want to be
You’ll be in the end.
And I love you,
Yes I love you,
Oh, how I love you.

He gripped the stools beside him and tried to stifle a moan. Lord, he’d known that the woman had a talented mouth but this was the first time he’d truly understood how wickedly, dangerously gifted it was. He didn’t want to think about whom she might have learned such things from so he decided to put it down to her profession. Thanks to harmonica playing she had an incredibly nimble tongue, her fingers could play the most delicate of instruments as finely as guitar strings, and Lord God the woman understood rhythm.

She sensed he was biting his lips and pulled away to look up at him. "Don’t hold back," she instructed. "Remember I’m a woman in love with sounds – I want to hear you."

When she went back to her self-appointed task, he obeyed. Frankly, he was glad that the bar was there to support him or he would have slid right out of the stool onto the floor.

Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I’ve written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I’ve always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can’t say anymore.

To reward him, she demonstrated the proper way to hum. His eyes rolled back in his head as he screamed her name, and then his mind completely shut down.

And I love you,
Yes I love you,
Oh, how I love you….

*****

"Mulder, you can’t believe any of this?" Scully hissed.

The old man had spun them a fanciful tale of secret societies and individuals that could live forever – if they didn’t lose their heads. She figured he expected a reward for this information, but as far as she was concerned it was completely useless except as a fairy tale for children. Her partner, however, had that gleam in his eyes that she recognized all too well.

"Henry, why did you leave the Watchers?" Mulder asked.

Henry smiled sadly. "It’s not an easy job you know, keeping watch on Immortals. Some of them are downright evil. I watched one bad one too many. I’d already started drinking. I asked to be removed from Kalas’ chronicle and they replaced me with a fresh-faced, young rookie. Kalas caught him, tortured him, and killed him. It should have been me. After that my drinking grew worse and eventually they asked me to leave."

"So," Mulder was mulling over the possibilities. "Immortals are evil, then?"

"Lord bless me, not all of them," the old man exclaimed. "Most of them are capable of both, like mortals. Oh, there are good ones out there. Like the child," he said dreamily. "I knew all along she was Pre-Immortal. I told ‘em so. Why else would the Highlander have practically raised her? He has a good heart, that one, but that was excessive even for him. No, he taught her all she’d need to know to survive once she died. He started when she was three teaching her languages, other cultures, and martial arts. ‘Course he’s had problems since then. As Shaw points out, Galatea must resent Pygmalion after all. As they grow older though, they’ll figure it out. Those two were born for each other."

"The Highlander?" Mulder asked sharply. "Who is that?"

"Yes, I can see her now with all of that pretty honey hair blowing in the wind."

Mulder’s cell phone rang and he answered it impatiently.

"Yep, MacLeod doesn’t know it yet, but little Leah is his soul mate," Henry went on, and then coughed.

Scully stood stone still. Mulder hadn’t heard this last comment. He was frowning on the phone.

"Yeah, we’ll be there in ten minutes," he said and hung up. He looked at Scully and said gravely, "There’s been another one."

****

Mahleah’s smile was so large her jaw was trying to lock. It had taken some effort but she had managed to leave Duncan panting at the bar, trying to recover.

The phone rang, which startled her a little.

"Damn, I forgot to turn on the answering machine," she muttered. Still, the least she could do was answer Joe’s phone while he was gone.

"Joe’s," she said cheerfully.

"Mahleah, good you’re still there," said a male voice, slurring a little.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"It’s Bruce. You know we went out with your friend, Kali. Well, she got in a fight with some of the guys and left. I’m sorry."

"That’s okay," Mahleah said reassuringly. "She’s like that. She didn’t hurt anyone, did she?"

"Oh no," he said hastily. "I just thought you might want to go get her, ‘cause you know that killer’s still out there somewhere."

"Thanks for telling me, Bruce. I’m sure she’s fine," she told him.

After hanging up, her mind began screaming at her. Hush! She commanded. No Immortals have been targeted. She’s safe.

Suddenly a voice in the back of her head pointed out, "If the killer isn’t Immortal, how could he tell one from a mortal?"

"Oh God," she said aloud.

"What’s wrong?" Duncan asked, picking up on her change in mood.

"Run!" the voice commanded her. Mahleah had learned the hard way it was best not to ignore that voice. She grabbed her coat and dashed for the door.

"Mahleah, wait! What’s wrong?" Duncan called after her, but she didn’t have time to answer.

Down the street she sprinted in the direction Kali would have taken to her hotel.

"God no, oh God no," she pleaded. "Don’t let this be happening."

She was several blocks away when she heard dogs howling and remembering Mulder’s description headed in that direction, picking up her pace. Before she had quite reached the alley, she saw a bolt of lightening descending from the sky. It was heading for her.

"No!" she screamed, and then the Quickening took her.

In the storm of meshing personalities, she recognized a familiar presence. "No, Kali," she moaned.

" ‘Fraid so," the presence answered. "I’m glad you were here, Mahleah love."

The rush was over, but Mahleah stayed on her knees, looking up at the stars with a wet face and a broken heart.

*****

Hell and brimstone! He fumed. He finally found the right woman and this bitch had stolen his prize away from him. Just who did she think she was, anyway?

She was making feeble efforts to move and he realized she was weak. Now was his chance. He could take her and finally achieve the treasure he’d been seeking so long.

As he moved closer to her though, he heard the voice of Duncan MacLeod.

"Mahleah, what happened? Are you hurt?"

He crept back into the shadows and scurried up a fire escape. There would be another time, he thought. This time he knew whom he wanted.

Interestingly enough, just before he left earshot he heard her tell MacLeod, "Don’t touch me!"

Chapter Forty-Four

Upon arriving at the crime scene, Scully was shocked to see Mahleah sitting on the sidewalk weeping. An uniformed police officer was attempting to speak to her and Duncan MacLeod as well, but the woman was ignoring them all. She was swaying back and forth and making soft keening noises.

"Oh God," Mulder said beside her. "What’s happened?"

Agent Bocks, spotting them, walked over. "I’m glad you’re here," he confessed. "That gentleman’s been asking for you."

"Who was the victim?" Mulder demanded.

Bocks consulted his notes. "Her name was Kali Maglione, age 26. It seems she was in town visiting an old college friend…"

"Mahleah Brennan," Mulder concluded. "Oh God, another of her friends."

"We haven’t really been able to get a statement from her," Bocks nodded in Mahleah’s direction. "She was in that same position when the police arrived, so I’d say she’s discovered the body or seen something."

Scully glanced at Mulder. He was more likely to get answers from his friend than she was. They approached the still crying figure slowly.

"Mahleah," Mulder said in a soft voice. "I’m sorry about Kali."

She looked at him with glassy eyes. "She’s gone…just like that. Gone, finished, nevermore as the raven says." She began crying harder. "No, never gone…never gone…never gone…she’s right here…" She hugged herself tightly and rocked.

Classic denial, Scully thought ruefully. She was willing to bet that the young woman had seen something, but the shock of it hadn’t worn off yet.

"Mahleah," Duncan MacLeod looked nearly worse than the grief-stricken woman did if that was possible. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked away as if his fingers were red-hot.

"No!" she screamed unexpectedly. "I told you not to touch me ever again."

He turned away with a look of pain as acute as if she’d given him a mortal wound. Scully recalled the old man’s words, "MacLeod doesn’t know it yet, but he and little Leah are soul mates." She dismissed them impatiently. To accept them meant she had to reexamine the rest of his story and she wasn’t prepared to do that without better evidence. It was clear to her, though, that the man was in love with Mahleah and was just beginning to realize how much.

She decided to help Mulder out and guided MacLeod away from the hysterical witness. Let Mulder calm her down.

"Mac," she said gently. "Tell me what happened."

"I’m afraid I don’t know much," he said sadly.

"When was the last time you saw Ms. Maglione alive?" she prompted.

"We both came to the club to hear Mahleah," he told her. "Joe had asked Mahleah to close for him and I stayed to help her." A crimson flush began staining his cheeks, but she tactfully didn’t mention it.

"Where did Ms. Maglione go?"

"Kali went out with the band. I think they were going to some other club, I’m not really sure."

"How did you end up out here?" she asked, hoping to get back to what Mahleah had possibly seen.

"There was a phone call at Joe’s," he said slowly. "I think Mahleah said the name Bruce, so I assume it was the band calling to make sure Kali got home okay. Mahleah told him something like, ‘Don’t worry, she’s like that.’ Then she thanked him for calling. She was laughing about it, but then she got this worried look on her face like she was pondering something. Then she said, ‘Oh God,’ and ran out the door. I followed her but she was racing like a pack of demons were on her heels. When I found her, she was just like you see her now."

"Did you see anyone around?" Scully asked sharply.

He thought for a long minute and then shook his head, regretfully. "I looked around once I realized what had happened, but I didn’t see anything. Honestly, I was more worried about Mahleah. She’s in shock."

"Mulder’s helping her," Scully said reassuringly, and then realized it was the wrong thing to tell him. He flinched.

"Go home," she suggested, kindly. "Get some rest. If Mahleah asks for you, I’ll call."

Realizing he had no other choice, MacLeod agreed. "What are you going to do with her?" he asked.

"If we have to, we can put her in a motel room next to us," she said, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.

Duncan took her hand, "Dana, you’re a doctor. Please take care of her." She nodded and he walked slowly away.

******

"Mahleah," Mulder asked as gently as he could. "What happened here? What happened to Kali?"

"She’s gone," Mahleah whispered. "Another one gone." She fixed her eyes on Mulder. "Why? Why do they all go? First my mom, then Kevin, Darius, Tessa, Jill, Fitz, Charlie, and now Kali. It should have been me," she moaned. "It’s my fault. He should have taken me, not her."

"No, listen to me Mahleah. It is not your fault. Do you hear me? It is not your fault. We are going to find this guy, I promise you. When we do, I’ll see that you get to pull the switch on him, okay? It’s his fault, not yours."

"I shouldn’t have let her go off by herself. I should have gotten here sooner." She was hearing him.

Scully came over from questioning MacLeod and filled him in on what little she had learned.

"He’s hiding something," Mulder declared when she’d finished.

"Yes, he is," she responded. "The fact that he’s head over ears in love with Mahleah."

Mulder gave a double blink. "I should have seen that one," he admitted. "But there’s something else."

Scully hesitated before opening her mouth to say, "Mulder, you shouldn’t give this too much credence but when you got the call about the body Henry said something."

"What?" he asked anxiously.

She licked her lips, "He said that MacLeod doesn’t realize it yet, but he and little Leah are soul mates."

Mulder stared at her for vacantly for so long that Scully was afraid he’d gone into shock as well.

"Mulder?" she called, trying to pull him back to reality.

With a start his eyes focused again. "That’s it Scully, that’s what I’ve been missing all the time. I’ll catch you later." He started off for their rental car.

"Mulder, where are you going?" she was getting angry. Here he went ditching her again.

"I need to talk to someone," he called back. "Take Mahleah to the motel and see if she’ll calm down enough to talk. I’ll be back soon."

"But if you take the car, how are we…" he was gone, "supposed to get to the motel," she finished with a growl. One of these days, she was going to kill her partner.

After very little persuasion, Scully got Agent Bocks to drive her and her new patient to the motel. She really should be heading to the morgue to do the autopsy, but the living had priority over the dead. Besides, MacLeod had personally requested her to take care of his friend. Oddly enough she wasn’t jealous to discover that the big Scot was in love with Mahleah. In fact, the more she thought about it the better she thought the two of them fit together.

Mahleah was still not very cognizant, so Scully led her into her own room and pushed her toward the shower. Hot water would be good for the other woman’s state of shock. Luckily, the stupor wore off enough for Mahleah to recognize what was expected of her. Scully had been afraid she would stand motionless in the bathroom. She had been eerily quiet since Mulder left.

"Mahleah, you shower and I’ll find you something to wear, okay?" she asked with concern, but was relieved to see a nod in reply.

She shut the door behind her and began rummaging through her things before realizing that she’d never find anything in her suitcase that would fit the very tall, very long-legged woman in the bathroom. She frowned, and then checked the door handle of Mulder’s adjoining room. It was unlocked, so she slipped in and walked over to his suitcase. Surely, Mulder wouldn’t mind donating a few things to his old, dear friend.

When Mahleah came out of the bathroom, she’d found the sweats that Scully had left for her. "Would you like something to eat?" Scully asked her, but a small shake of the head indicated that Mahleah had no stomach for food.

After Mahleah settled herself cross-legged on one of the twin beds, Scully asked her gently, "Are you ready to talk now?"

The witness swallowed hard, nodded and began telling her story.

"Kali and Mac came in while I was playing at Joe’s. She stayed until closing time and then went off with the band. They were heading for some other club…I don’t know where. Gabriel’s maybe? I had told Joe that I would close up for him, and Mac offered to help me." She stopped abruptly.

"Yes," Scully encouraged.

"I should have went with Kali," Mahleah said bitterly. "Instead..."

"Instead what?"

"I got a phone call from Bruce, one of the band members. He was drunk but sober enough to be worried about Kali. He said she’d had a fight with some of his band mates and stormed out. He thought I should know since the streets were dangerous. I thanked him and hung up. I was reasonably sure that she would be okay."

"Why?" Scully wanted to know. "After all, the streets are dangerous right now."

"Kali can fight," Mahleah told her. "She’s always been able to take care of herself. Like I said I thought it likely she was perfectly fine."

"What changed your mind?"

Mahleah shook her head, "It’s hard to say exactly. It was just a feeling. There was a voice in my head pointing out all the things that might make Kali the next victim."

"What sorts of things?" Scully asked sharply. Even Mulder hadn’t been able to figure out the killer’s pattern.

"Well, I know Mulder had said that he liked women who were special and strong-willed…that was Kali in a nutshell. And, I remembered that each time the killer seemed to pick something different from his other victims: age, marital status, ethnicity, job. He had killed single women, divorced women, married women, and pregnant women. I wondered if he might be interested this time in targeting a gay woman since all of the others had seemed to be straight."

This was an interesting point, Scully thought, mulling it over. Mahleah might be on to something.

"So, there was a voice pointing out all of these things?" she said eventually.

"Yes, and finally it screamed at me to run." Mahleah shrugged her shoulders. "So I did, but it was too late. It’s all my fault if I hadn’t been…" she stopped once again.

"Been…." Scully repeated.

Mahleah closed her eyes and turned an unhealthy shade of green, and her eyes looked grainy and bloodshot, "If I hadn’t been giving Mac a blow job, I could have been there for my friend." She stumbled from the room, and Scully heard her throwing up.

Well now…she thought. If there had been any doubts before…

*******

It took Mulder quite some time to track down his new source of information. The library had closed and Henry had gone looking for other shelter. When he finally found him, he was sitting in the park, waiting for a cop to run him off.

"Henry," Mulder greeted him, hoping the man was a little more sober than he had been earlier.

"Mr. Mulder," the old man responded.

Mulder sat down beside him. "Henry, I need some more information. Earlier you were talking about an Immortal you called the Highlander. Is his name MacLeod?"

Henry nodded wearily. "Yes, there are actually two of them: Connor and Duncan."

"Which one took in the Immortal child with the honey hair?" Mulder asked urgently.

"Duncan," the ex-Watcher said automatically. "He’d known her mother for years and years. She was from MacLeod lands, originally. She’d made him swear an oath that if anything happened to her, Duncan would take care of her little girl, Mahleah. After Catriona left, he practically raised her."

"But you said earlier that they were soul mates," Mulder protested.

"Oh, she never lost her father. Duncan looked after both of them."

"Sounds sick to me," Mulder muttered.

The old man’s eyes brightened and he spoke quite lucidly, "Oh no, he had no designs on a child. You would have to know their entire, complex history in order to understand the evolution of their romance. They’ve always been close, but it’s taken her entire lifetime practically for them to move past the boundaries of platonic friendship. You have to think of it this way, my friend. Where else could the Highlander find someone who understood him better? Even if she is younger than he, she has experienced a lot in her lifetime and she knows him inside and out better than anyone living if she’d only allow herself to trust her instincts."

Mulder shook his head in amazement at this wisdom, "Henry, you need to be doing something better than holding down a park bench. Would you like me to find you a job?"

Henry chuckled, "I’m not sure if I’m fit for one these days. I still drink, you know."

"I’ll get you help," Mulder promised. "Now, I wanted to ask if you knew anything about this recent string of murders…"

****

Methos sipped his single malt Scotch and reflected that he was spending far too much time with MacLeod. The other man’s habits were beginning to rub off. He glanced over at the woman standing at the bar using the telephone. Mahleah had come in this morning still noticeably upset about her friend’s death. She had withstood numerous jibes from the less civilized members of Joe’s house band and spent a while conferring with the owner. Joe had seemed intrigued and a little nervous about her suggestion that an ex-watcher was speaking to Mulder. Apparently the delicious Scully had insisted on giving Mahleah a sleeping pill in the wee hours of the morning. An Immortal system tended to fight sedatives, however, so when Mulder returned in the middle of the night Mahleah had overheard part of their conversation.

Personally, Methos wasn’t too concerned about these particular FBI agents finding out about Immortals. He’d heard of Mulder before – a man who searched for truth in strange unlikely places and down paths no one else chose to tread. He was unlikely to give an interview to the Washington Post on his findings. First, because no one would believe him, and second because he cared about Mahleah and wouldn’t want to bring her trouble.

Right now Mahleah was waving one of her hands around and looking very agitated. He regarded her with amusement mixed with affection. Damn, but that woman could slip under your skin so easily. Of course with him, she had an ace she didn’t even know about. Thousands of years ago, he had met a woman who resembled Mahleah as much as Harrison Ford resembled Han Solo. She was the only thing he liked to remember about those days. She had saved his life, and then they had quarreled violently. He’d hated her at first, and later fallen violently in love. Those kinds of passions rarely last, though, he reflected…at least not for him. Morgaine had been secretive and mysterious in a way that made Methos look like an open book, and he’d always felt that in her heart she was yearning for someone else. Eventually they became the best of friends, but she had dropped out of sight a century or so ago and he hadn’t heard from her since.

It had been a shock to see his old friend’s face on a stranger. When he’d first met Mahleah he had thought she might be Morgaine, but she was pre-Immortal. As their first encounter went on, he decided she was definitely much younger than the woman was he’d known yet she seemed to have an old soul. He didn’t really believe in reincarnation, especially for Immortals, but at times, he had to stop himself from calling her by the wrong name. The biggest giveaway really though was Mahleah’s smile. When she was happy she lit up the room with a warm glow and a perpetual grin. Morgaine rarely smiled. She always had an aura of sorrow around her – something so terrible she couldn’t bear to speak of it. Right now, Mahleah resembled Morgaine more and more.

He regarded the woman across the bar as she angrily slammed down the telephone, exclaiming, "Bitch!"

She stalked regally across the room and threw herself into a chair at her table.

"Insufferable, money-hungry, selfish bitch," she growled.

At a nearby table, Scott leered at her, "Describing yourself are you?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Well, you said insufferable, selfish bitch," he repeated. "That describes you to a tee. After all, what were you and MacLeod up to when your friend was getting her head whacked off?"

"Hey," Joe said sharply from the bar. "Knock it off, Scott."

"Sorry," he got up from his table and left.

Mahleah’s face crumbled, "He’s right," she whispered. "I could hardly have acted more self-centered."

Okay, Methos thought, that’s enough of that. This one’s for you, old friend, because you didn’t smile enough.

"You mean you’re going to accept the judgment of some two-bit, half-brained jackass just because you’re mad at yourself for not being in two places at the same time?" he asked.

"But Adam, you don’t understand," she said pathetically. "I knew the streets were dangerous, I knew there was a killer out there, and I let Kali just walk right out of here. She was my friend, my guest, and I abandoned her. And all for what, to show Mac just how adult I really was? That I could actually take control and make him lose his mind?" She shook her head sadly. "How stupid can you get?"

Methos sighed impatiently. Duncan MacLeod and Mahleah Brennan were the two most perfectly, irritatingly, made-for-each- other people he’d ever met. He just wished to God that they’d figure that out for themselves before they drove everyone around them crazy. It was one of the main reasons he’d interrupted their dates with the FBI agents…well, that and the fact that Agent Scully was delightful and easy on the eyes.

"Mahleah, you may have known there was a killer on the streets but up until now he’d never targeted an Immortal before. How were you to know he’d start with your friend? Besides, when she left she wasn’t alone, was she? If you want to blame someone blame those morons that let her storm out by herself. By the time you found out it was already too late."

"I should have went with her," Mahleah pointed out. "I mean, I know her temper and I knew she wouldn’t get along with a couple of members of the band. In fact, I’d almost bet she got in a fight with them because they were badmouthing me. Scott and Bobby can’t stand me."

"Okay, once again I’ll point out that you are not responsible for the incredibly moronic acts of an individual like Scott," Methos retorted. "It’s only a shame that Kali didn’t choose to party with the type of man that finds you irresistible."

"Type?" she scoffed. "What does that mean?"

He sighed again. Hadn’t she realized yet the nature of the men that loved her? "Okay, since you obviously haven’t been paying attention let me be the first to point it out to you. While you are incredibly beautiful, etc. your charms are mostly devastating to a certain type. Shall we say the intense, brooding, honorable, slightly Byronic type?"

She raised her eyebrows incredulously.

"Think about it," he persisted. "Think about all of the men in your life that fell madly in love with you. Don’t they have some things in common? As I said, the ever so slightly haunted hero is drawn to you like a magnet. The rest of the world, depending on how close they come to this mold either like you or hate you. Now, Scott and his ilk can’t bear you because of their own insecurities. You are the ultimate in intimidation for him: strong, beautiful, intelligent, talented, and compassionate. You’re with a man because you choose to be and not because you need to be. He can’t wrap his puny little brain around that concept."

She shook her head in disbelief, "You make it sound so simple."

"Isn’t it?" he asked calmly. "It makes total sense to me." He leaned forward, "Answer this for me: didn’t Kali fit into that pattern as well? Granted she was a bit more eccentric, but that was what made her interesting."

Her eyes grew round, "Yes, on the outside she was always joking and larger than life but under it all she was rather intense and brooding. What are you saying?"

"I’m saying, my dear girl, that Kali was in love with you," he replied patiently.

Her eyes welled up, "Please, don’t say that."

"Why not?" he was puzzled.

"Because that means that I’ll have let her down even more than I thought I had," she said, biting her lower lip.

He took her hands in his, "Mahleah, listen to me. Kali recognized a long time ago that you couldn’t return her feelings. She was okay with it. Now, don’t say you’ve let her down because in fact you fulfilled her dearest wish."

"What was that?"

"Kali told me herself that if it were up to her, you would receive her Quickening. So you see, you should let yourself off the hook. If you hadn’t run out as fast as you had, she would have been lost. Instead she’s inside the person she loved the most in the world. That would have made her very happy. What would have upset her is the idea that you would punish yourself like this. She would want you to be happy, Mahleah. That’s what love is."

Tears were raining down her cheeks now. "Thank you for telling me this," she said in a quivery voice.

"Glad I could help," he said a little gruffly and pulled her to him for a hug. As he rocked her gently, he added, "Now, about MacLeod and the bruised and battered heart he’s wearing on his sleeve right now…" He heard her chuckle softly and tipped her chin up to see a faint smile on her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a step in the right direction.

****

Mahleah’s explosive curses on the telephone had been directed toward Helen, Kali’s ex-girlfriend. She had explained how it was impossible for her to attend any kind of funeral or memorial service as her new lover was extremely jealous and didn’t like reminders of the past. She had learned a bit of important information, though: Kali preferred to be cremated and didn’t want any kind of traditional funeral or memorial service.

With that in mind, Mahleah and her closest friends had gathered in Green’s Crematorium to witness the burning of Kali’s body. Mr. Green had asked if any special music was requested and Mahleah had told him she would bring her own CD. She had rather doubted he would own a copy of Passenger’s "Original Soundtracks 1." It was really U2 with a few extra musicians, but it was unlikely to be included in the stock of funerary orchestrations that the man had on hand.

She could hear it playing now: "Miss Sarejevo." She was fairly sure that Kali would have approved.

Is there a time for keeping your distance
A time to turn your eyes away
Is there a time for keeping your head down
For getting on with your day

She stood between Joe and Richie, ignoring the concerned looks that Mac was sending her way. She realized that this tragedy was not his fault, but she was still having trouble disconnecting their moment of passion from Kali’s death.

Is there a time for kohl and lipstick
A time for cutting hair?
Is there a time for high street shopping
to find the right dress to wear?

Here she comes.
Heads turn around.
Here she comes
to take her crown.

She sniffed a little, but she was managing to hold the tears at bay. God knows she had cried enough to sink a battleship in the last 36 hours. Richie put an arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. It felt right for the two of them to stand together now.

Is there a time to run for cover
A time for kiss and tell?
Is there a time for different colors
different names you find it hard to spell?

Is there a time for first communion
A time for East 17?
Is there a time to turn to Mecca?
Is there a time to be a beauty queen?

She felt Joe move closer to rub her arm consolingly. Across the room Methos stood with Duncan, and further back she could make out Mulder and Scully. She rubbed her cheek against Richie’s shoulder for comfort and listened to the beautiful voice of Luciano Pavarotti, who had a solo in the middle of the song. She automatically translated the verse.

Dici che il fiume (You say that the river)
Trova la via al mare (Finds the way to the sea)
E come il fiume (And like the river)
Giungerai a me (You shall come to me).
Oltre I confini (Beyond the borders)
E le terre assetate (And the thirsty lands)
Dici che come fiume (You say that as a river),
Come fiume (Like a river…)
L’amore giunger (Love shall come).
L’amore… (Love…)
E non so più pregare (And I’m not able to pray anymore)
E nell’amore non so più sperare (And I cannot hope in love anymore)
E quell’amore non so più aspettare (And I cannot wait for that love anymore)

****

Joe’s heart bled for Mahleah. It was obvious she was still blaming herself for Kali’s death and in the process punishing Mac. He saw her listening to the alternate voices of Bono and Pavarotti and thought about the frantic phone calls he and Mac had made on her behalf. Hopefully, there would be a payoff as soon as they made it back to the club tonight.

Is there a time for tying ribbons
A time for Christmas trees?
Is there a time for laying tables
and the night is set to freeze?

It had taken some major pleading and Mac vouching for his creditability to pull off his little stunt. He hoped it was worth it. He also prayed that Scott and Bobby would behave themselves. He glanced over, uneasily, at Agent Mulder. He needed to have a talk with the man, but this was not the time.

Methos came over and taking both of Mahleah’s hands kissed them. "I’m sorry for your loss, but remember what I told you."

She thanked him wanly. Mac and Mulder moved in at the same time. MacLeod politely stepped aside and let the other man speak first.

"Mantha, I’m more sorry than I can say. This is more my fault than yours – I should have caught this creep by now."

She gave him a hug and softly said, "Let me know how I can help. I won’t let him kill again if I can stop it."

Joe cleared his throat, "Agent Mulder, tonight’s a special performance at my club. Please drop by, and bring your partner."

Mahleah looked at him curiously, "Special performance?"

"Something Kali would have approved of," he told her firmly.

"I’ll speak to Scully," Mulder told them, "but I’ll think we’ll drop on by."

"Good," Joe replied. "I think we need to discuss a mutual friend."

Mulder looked intrigued but held his tongue and stood aside for MacLeod to approach. Richie and Joe made hasty excuses and left them with some privacy.

Joe hoped they would be able to patch things up. He watched them stand awkwardly. He had his hands in his pockets and she had her arms folded across her chest. Neither seemed to be looking the other in the eye.

"Lord, have we got our work cut out for us," he muttered.

****

Mahleah was curious about Joe’s announcement of a special performance. Was he planning to dedicate a song to the fallen woman? She was quiet on the ride over, looking out the window and deliberately not looking at Mac who was driving. She listened to the soft chatter of the three friends in the back seat and was glad that they were all together.

When they went into the club, Joe steered her to a table practically on the stage.

"What’s going on, Joe?" she asked quizzically. "Why are you being so secretive?"

"Mac and I have arranged a little surprise for you," he said, glancing over at the Highlander. "Some old friends of yours were in town and we asked a couple of them to drop by tonight."

"Old friends?" she was completely blank. "Who?"

"You’ll see," he said mysteriously, and left.

"Mac, what’s going on?" she turned to the other conspirator.

"Something you’ll like," he promised.

She sat back, silent and hesitant.

The house lights dimmed and without any introductions or fanfare the band walked onto the stage with a couple of new members.

"Oh my God," she said in wonder. "How did you manage to fit this into their schedule?"

"It wasn’t easy," Mac replied.

Onstage her favorite singer in the world stood next to his band mate, who was world renowned for his skill on the guitar. He held out a hand to Mahleah, who shook her head, but he refused to take no for an answer.

"Good evening," he said with a soft Irish lilt. "Tonight we were asked to perform for this special, and sorrowful occasion. I wanted to take the opportunity to sing with a talented woman I’ve known since she was a scrawny little thing in pigtails. Come on Mahleah," he extended his hand again. "This song is for Kali."

She closed her eyes and took his hand as he began singing.

I can’t believe the news today.
I can’t close my eyes and make it go away.
How long, how long must we sing this song
how long, how long?

She swallowed, hard. She’d always loved this song but didn’t know if she were up to singing it with him. He nodded at her to take the next verse and she took a deep breath and told herself it was for Kali.

Tonight, we can be as one tonight
Broken bottles under children’s feet
Bodies strewn across the dead-end street
But I won’t heed the battle call
It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall.

Together they sang the chorus, "Sunday Bloody Sunday."

As the song progressed, she found it harder and harder to hold back her tears and at the end she couldn’t take it anymore and dropped out, leaving him to go on alone.

And it’s true we are immune
when fact is fiction and TV reality.
And today the millions cry
we eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
The real battle yet begun
To claim the victory Jesus won
On Sunday Bloody Sunday.

He gave her a hug and let her go back to her table. She sat wiping tears from her face. Mac reached her his handkerchief and she looked him in the eye for a moment. His pain and empathy were too overwhelming for her at the moment, so she averted her glance and murmured, "Thank you."

On stage, the singer watched them intently, then declared, "Mahleah, darlin’ we know you miss your friend, but we’re more concerned with you. The first song was about the past, but now we’re dealing with the present and the future. Don’t cut yourself off."

He began crooning.

You’re dangerous ‘cause you’re honest
You’re dangerous, you don’t know what you want
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt.

"How did you manage to get them here?" she asked Mac.

"It was Joe’s idea," he admitted. "But he needed me to get anybody on the line to explain what we wanted. That was the easy part, actually. They were eager to do this for you, but trying to make room in their schedule was a nightmare."

Well you stole it ‘cause I needed the cash
and you killed it ‘cause I wanted revenge
Well you lied to me ‘cause I asked you to
Baby, can we still be friends?

She thought about the trouble all of her friends had taken for her. She wasn’t worth all of the fuss, but she was very grateful for it and them.

Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again
Don’t turn around, your gypsy heart
Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again
Don’t turn around, and don’t look back.
Come on now, love, don’t you look back

"Thank you," she said simply but sincerely.

His mouth curved up. "You’re welcome."

Who’s gonna ride your wild horses?
Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who’s gonna taste your salt water kisses?
Who’s gonna take the place of me?
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses?
Who’s gonna tame the heart of thee?

The music died away and the singer began again a cappella.

Don’t believe what you hear.
Don’t believe what you see.
If you just close your eyes,
You can feel the enemy.
When I first met you girl
You had fire in your soul
What happened your face
Of melting snow?
Now it looks like this

And you can swallow
Or you can spit
You can throw it up
Or choke on it
And you can dream
So dream out loud
You know that your time is coming ‘round
So don’t let the bastards grind you down.

As he sang, Mahleah thought about the lyrics. This bastard who had killed one of her closest friends had taken more from her than Kali. He had taken the joy temporarily out of her life, Richie’s life and by extension all of their companions. He had inadvertently tainted her relationship with Mac, who was the most precious thing in the world to her. She imagined how she would feel if he were in as much pain as she had been and had denied her the opportunity to comfort him. Looking up, she saw his warm brown eyes watching her and she stared back unflinching.

A ringing guitar chord rang out as the melody shifted to another tune.

Six o’clock in the morning
You’re the last to hear the warning
You’ve been trying to throw your arms
Around the world.
You’ve been falling off the sidewalk
Your lips move but you can’t talk
Tryin’ to throw your arms around the world

I’m gonna run to you, run to you, run to you
Be still
I’m gonna run to you, run to you, run to you
Woman I will

"You know every time I hear this song I think about how much he’s describing me," Mac said wryly. "There have been so many moments in my life when I’ve neglected the things that are most important to me because I’ve been too busy trying to save the world."

She nodded, understanding completely. "I feel the same way."

Sunrise like a nosebleed
Your head hurts and you can’t breathe
You been tryin’ to throw your arms around the world.
How far you gonna go
Before you lose your way back home?
You’ve been trying to throw your arms around the world

"I didn’t know you paid that much attention to song lyrics," she remarked.

He smiled at her, "They bring me closer to you."

Her heart speeded up. At that moment, a hand reached down from the stage and pulled her up into the singer’s arms. He smiled and began slow dancing as he continued his song.

Nothin’ much to say I guess
Just the same as all the rest
Been trying to throw your arms around the world.
And a woman needs a man
like a fish needs a bicycle
when you’re tryin’ to throw your arms around the world.

She relaxed and let herself enjoy the moment. Glancing for a moment out at the audience she saw Mulder staring at her with a shocked expression. She tried to suppress a smirk and didn’t quite make it. Well, she’d told him years ago, but he didn’t believe her.

When she looked at Mac, he was smiling at her but something in his expression was rather sad. A voice in her ear said, "This is for me, but it’s also to point you to the right path, young lady."

She whispered, "Thank you."

"We couldn’t have little Leah crying all the time," came the warm response.

She stepped down from the stage and stood in front of Mac indecisively. A prompt came from her nearby friends.

My love is cruel as the night
She steals the sun and shuts out the light
All of my colors, they turn to blue
Win or lose

Mac stood up and pushed his chair back. "Would you like to…" he started to ask.

"Yes," she answered hastily, and put her arms around him.

She does it slow dancing…slow dancing…she does it slow dancing all night long

They moved away from the tables and swayed to the music. Tonight they avoided all the fancy steps. It would be too much, too soon. Besides, they needed to reestablish contact and cheek to cheek wasn’t a bad way to go about it.

Scarlet eyes and a see-through heart
She saw me coming right from the start.
She picked me up, but had me down on my knees
Just a begging her, begging her please
Take me slow dancing…she took me slow dancing…all night long.

"I’m sorrier than I can say about Kali," he told her. "But I don’t regret what happened between us. I think I needed that kind of pleasant shock to make me realize how you really felt."

"I thought it was rather obvious," she said in surprise.

"Not to me," Mac admitted. "I was afraid to read too much into anything."

"I thought you were rejecting me," she told him.

He held her closer. "Never," he swore.

"So, where does this leave us?" Mahleah asked.

He pulled away enough to look into her face. "Wherever you want it to," he answered.

"Let’s…let’s take it slow," she said. "I still want you, but I’m just not ready to do anything about right now."

He pushed her hair out of her face. "That’s fine." He kissed her very softly between her eyebrows.

She felt a burden lift from her heart. Maybe it wasn’t the right moment for them to become lovers, but now they both knew it was just a matter of time. The bastard hadn’t managed to steal that from them. She felt a strange fluttering sensation in her heart and imagined it was Kali laughing in delight.

My love is restless as the wind
She moves like a shadow across my skin
She left with my conscience – don’t want it back
It just gets in the way
If you want to go slow dancing…she took me slow dancing…all night long…

Chapter Forty-Five

Mulder made his way to the bar where Joe was watching the band as well as Mahleah. He was still reeling from the shock of seeing the performers on stage. Mahleah had told him four years ago that she knew these people, but he had been so sure that she was just confused. Well, the laugh was on him this time.

Scully pulled on his arm, "Just who are these people anyway?" she hissed. "I mean, normal citizens don’t get personal performances from world famous rock stars."

He raised his eyebrows at her, "Haven’t you figured out yet that these are not normal citizens?"

Joe saw them approaching and waved them to follow him. He took them down a back hallway to a storeroom, which he unlocked and led them into. After closing the door, he said, "I’ve heard that you’ve been talking to Henry."

"That’s right," Scully said with surprise. "How did you know?"

"Look at his wrist," Mulder instructed. "He’s a Watcher."

Joe sighed. "Yes, I am," he admitted. "You are not supposed to know about me or what I do. Henry may have caused us all a great deal of trouble."

"Henry is a sweet, caring old man who deserves better than a life in the streets," Mulder shot back.

"I agree," Joe responded mildly. "So, what has he told you?"

"Who the Watchers are and what they do – whom they keep an eye on," Mulder told him. "We know about Immortals and The Game. He also told us that he doesn’t believe an Immortal is the killer we’re looking for."

"I agree," Joe concurred. "In fact, until the last two killings Immortals had absolutely nothing to do with the whole thing."

Scully started, "Allison was Immortal?"

"No," Joe shook his head. He stared at them carefully, as if weighing his words before replying, "But she was dating one."

"Richie," Mulder said softly. Facts were beginning to snap into place for him. "What about Kali?"

Joe’s face suddenly looked its age, "Kali was Immortal – the first that the killer targeted."

"How do you know that the killer is not Immortal?" Scully asked. "I mean, if he’s insane he could be stalking women with another agenda entirely and Kali was just two birds with one stone."

"No," Joe shook his head. "If the killer were Immortal, he would have received her Quickening."

"Mahleah did instead," Mulder guessed.

Once again the Watcher scrutinized him as if deciding whether he could be trusted with such important information. "Yes," he finally answered.

"What would have happened if Mahleah had not been in the vicinity?" Mulder was curious.

Joe’s eyes were sad, "Kali would have been lost…everything she was, everything she knew would have been gone forever."

"I hate to point this out, especially since I find this whole business ridiculous," Scully said slowly. "But what if Mahleah herself is the killer. Maybe she didn’t kill the other women but she could have taken advantage of the confusion to take a head and gain power." When the other two stared at her, she shrugged her shoulders, "According to you guys that’s what Immortals do, isn’t it?"

"Some," Joe said roughly. "Not Mahleah."

Mulder chastised his partner, "Scully, you were with Mahleah that night. You know how upset she was and still is."

"That could be the result of a guilty conscience," she retorted. She had to agree with him though. She found it hard to believe that the woman she had taken care of the other night could have done the deed they were referring to.

"Mahleah couldn’t have done it," Joe said, not a little angrily. "She was here with MacLeod up until the last little bit and then she ran out. She wasn’t very far in front of him, and in case you’re going to suggest she had enough time to kill Kali and then retreat to the spot he found her you should know that Vernon, Mahleah’s Watcher, was on the job last night."

"What did he see?" Mulder asked eagerly.

"Nothing that would really help the investigation," Joe said sadly. "Vernon confirmed that Mahleah had nothing to do with the death. She arrived just in time to receive the Quickening and didn’t move from that spot until Agent Scully took her away to the motel."

"Didn’t Kali have a Watcher?" Scully asked.

Joe frowned, "Yes, she does. Her name is Robin and I’m afraid it’s my fault that she wasn’t on assignment that night. With the killer targeting so many women I was afraid he might find her and I forbade her to go out following Kali after dark."

There was a knock on the door. When Joe cautiously opened it, he found MacLeod and Richie on the other side.

"What’s with the secret conference?" Richie asked.

"We were talking about the investigation, and this seemed like the quietest and most private place," Joe said pointedly.

"You know I’ve been thinking about this and I have two suspects in mind," Richie announced.

"Who?" Joe inquired.

"Jake, your new assistant bartender and Scott, the bass player," he told his friend grimly.

Mulder looked interested. These were two of his favorite suspects. "Why?" He asked.

"Jake has had contact with several of the murder victims. He could have put something in one of their drinks to knock them out. Scott, I don’t know he seems to know things he shouldn’t and he’s a jerk. He has a horrible attitude toward women. Isn’t that one of the prerequisites?"

"Yes," Mulder told him.

Joe was remembering something, "I heard Scott taunt Mahleah with a barb about what she was doing with MacLeod while Kali was getting killed. How would he know that? He was supposed to be out drinking with the rest of the guys."

"Maybe he was on the scene listening when I found Mahleah crumpled on the sidewalk and Kali dead," Mac said angrily.

"I think we should find out," Mulder declared.

At that moment, Mahleah popped in the doorway. The two Immortals had already swung around in anticipation of her entrance. Mulder wondered if he’d ever get used to that.

"Hey, what’s going on?" she asked cheerfully.

"Concert over already?" Joe asked her.

She nodded. "They had to get back to their hotel. Tomorrow they’re leaving for LA."

"Good, then maybe we can grab Scott and talk to him now," Mulder declared.

She shook her head, "No, he’s already left. He couldn’t wait to clear out. I think my friends made him nervous."

"Scully, you stay here with Joe and Mahleah and interview Jake," Mulder decided. "MacLeod, Richie and myself will go have a long chat with Scott."

He saw her temper start to blaze and pulled her aside. "Come on Scully, we have two suspects. You know we need to question both of them as soon as possible."

She sighed, relenting. "Okay, as long as this has nothing to do with trying to keep me away from danger."

"Never," he said, lying through his teeth. His money was on Scott – the man fit the profile well – and he would have plenty of back up with two Immortals handy. Scully, also, would be well protected with Mahleah at hand, just in case his hunch was wrong. He had little doubt that Joe had a gun stashed somewhere and Mahleah had proven many times she could move quickly and lethally. Now, it was time to collect a murderer.

Chapter Forty-Six

"You know, I think this is all starting to come together," Mulder announced from the back seat of Mac’s Thunderbird.

"How’s that?" Richie asked.

"Well, to start off with you have your basic borderline psychotic, repressing some rather nasty violent fantasies toward women, probably dating back to his childhood. One night he’s out for a walk and spots an odd sight: two Immortals fighting. I’m assuming the victor was a man and the loser a woman named Paige Cardon. A Quickening involves a pretty intense light show from everything I’ve heard and that’s what our boy witnessed."

"So, you’re saying that he’s been trying to recreate that incident so that he’ll receive the Quickening," Mac concluded.

"Yes," Mulder agreed. "Only he has no way of telling who the proper victim is, so he keeps trying different types."

"Kali and Allison died because this creep wants to be Immortal but doesn’t know enough about it to realize he hasn’t got a chance?" Richie asked in disgust.

"That’s pretty much it," Mulder responded. "There’s only one thing out of this that I don’t understand."

"What’s that?" MacLeod asked.

"When did Mahleah become Immortal? I mean, I know she wasn’t four years ago when I met her, right?"

Richie looked across at his friend and said, "I think you’ll have to answer that one, Mac."

******

Mahleah and Scully approached Jake together.

"Jake, sweetie, we need to talk to you a minute," Mahleah purred.

"It will be in your best interests to cooperate," Scully added.

He gave both of them a once over and said appreciatively, "Yeah, sure, anything you say, ladies."

"What do you do when you’re off-duty?" Mahleah continued in a husky tone.

"Anything you want, doll," he replied.

Scully stepped forward, "Jake, how is it that you were the last person to speak to several of the murder victims?"

"Whoa," he said nervously, wetting his lips. "That doesn’t mean a thing."

"Why is it that women started dying when you arrived in the neighborhood?" Mahleah’s tone was turning darker. She was going to get answers from this slimy little weasel, if she had to squeeze them out of him.

*******

Arriving at the address supplied by Joe, the three men knocked on the door of Scott’s apartment. They could hear the sounds of a television playing loudly carrying through the wood.

Richie winced, "Now I know it’s him, Mac. What sane person watches ‘The Sound of Music’ if he doesn’t have to?"

Before MacLeod or Mulder could answer, Scott came to the door.

"What brings the three of you here?" he asked nervously. "Look, I’m sorry I hurt her, okay? You don’t have to get all bent out of shape about it."

"Her?" Richie stepped forward quickly and backed the man into the room. "Which her are you referring to and just how did you hurt her?"

The other two men followed him with grim faces.

"Who do you think I mean?" Scott demanded.

Richie’s hands were on his collar. "Allison?" he asked through his teeth.

Scott turned pale.

*******

"Now, now look," Jake protested. "I had nothing to do with the deaths of those women. Sure, I hit on a couple of ‘em. What’s wrong with that?"

"And when they rejected you, you followed them and got your revenge." Mahleah’s mood was ugly.

‘No," he exclaimed. "God no. Why would I do that? One woman is the same as another to me. If one turns you down there are ten more to take her place."

Scully grimaced in disgust. There were some things bothering her, though. "Joe," she called.

He hurried toward them.

"Joe, did Jake leave the bar before Allison’s body was found the night she died?" she asked.

He thought for a long moment and then shook his head. "No, he didn’t. The band was really hot that night and the customers were really thirsty. We stayed very busy that night and since I spent some time on the stage he had to cover the whole bar."

Scully pulled Mahleah aside. "I don’t think this is our man," she said.

"I agree," Mahleah told her. "I think I know how to find him."

*****

"No, no, no," Scott yelled. "I didn’t hurt Allison or Kali or any of the others."

"Then who did you hurt?" Mac demanded.

"I meant Mahleah," he gulped. "I know the two of you are tight and I’ve said some nasty things to her lately. I figured you guys were here to tell me to shut my mouth."

"Speaking of the things you’ve been saying," Mulder came up closer to Scott. "How is it that you know what Mahleah and MacLeod were doing while Kali was out walking by herself?"

Scott’s mouth dropped open in shock.

******

"How?" Scully demanded.

"We have to set a trap for him," Mahleah explained grimly. She walked over and slipped on her coat.

"Now?" Scully protested.

"Yes, now," Mahleah hissed. "There are women getting killed practically every night. This bastard needs to be stopped tonight."

She started for the door. Scully rushed after her. "Wait a minute. Think about this for a second. You could end up like your friend, Kali."

"Kali had only been Immortal for a few years," Mahleah said impatiently.

Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "Just how long have you been Immortal?"

"A year," Mahleah admitted. "Look, you don’t understand. Kali had only been trained for a couple of years. When I was in high school I got in a fight with five of the toughest guys on the football field and I won. I’ve been taught to fight since I was three."

Scully remained unconvinced. She still wasn’t certain that Immortality wasn’t some sort of mass delusion or cult that had hypnotized itself into believing it could live forever. "What if you’re wrong? He’s managed to subdue all of his victims so far."

"Then I’ll be glad I have you to back me up," Mahleah replied pleasantly and walked out of the door.

*******

Mahleah wished she hadn’t been quite as blasé to Scully. Yes, she felt prepared to defend herself but she was getting seriously edgy. It was one thing to expect an Immortal to attack you – you got a nice little warning buzz to tell you if someone was around – but a mortal was a whole other picnic.

She walked down the street taking her time but keeping her eyes and ears alert. Once she reached a deserted parking lot she thought she heard the sound of a footstep. Finally, she thought grimly.

She skirted through some bushes into a nearby park. After a five-minute walk she felt someone behind and turned.

"Well, well, look who we have here," she said mildly.

******

"Is that supposed to be a big deal?" Scott licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. "I thought everyone knew about it."

"I don’t think so," Mac growled. "So how did you know?"

"Someone mentioned it to me," he stammered.

"Who?" Richie demanded.

"Jake, maybe," Scott said wildly. "No, no wait it was Jake but he said he’d heard it from…"

*****

"Such a pleasant evening for a stroll," Mahleah said facetiously.

"Isn’t it?" Bobby replied. "Too bad it’s your last."

"You know I underestimated you," she told him. "I always thought of you as Scott’s lapdog. Shows you what I know."

"Same here," he laughed unpleasantly. "I had dismissed you as nothing more than MacLeod’s pet whore. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you hold the prize I’ve been looking for."

"Prize?" she echoed. "Oh my God, you stupid little man. You don’t even know, do you?"

"Know what?" he asked suspiciously.

"You want a Quickening. Well, buddy, I’m sorry to tell you this but it’s never going to happen."

"You stole it from me," he snarled.

"Oh no," she spat back. "Even if I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have gotten it. You’re not one of us, Bobby. You’re just a mediocre musician with a fixation on women…probably because you couldn’t get laid if you paid for it."

His eyes gleamed, "I’m going to take great pleasure in this." He displayed his sword.

"Oh that goes double for me, sweetheart," she taunted as she pulled out her katana. "You want my head? You’re going to have to work for it." She attacked.

******

Scully had started cursing under her breath but her swearing was growing louder by the minute. First her damn rental car had decided to die in the middle of the street and when she finally got it started she barely caught a glimpse of Mahleah ducking into the park. Just as she was about to go after her she felt hot sticky fluid running down her face. Hell’s fires, just the perfect time for a nosebleed! She grabbed a handkerchief and waited breathlessly the time needed for her to move without a river trying to gush down her throat, then jumped out of the car.

She was heading in the vicinity she thought Mahleah was heading when she heard the sounds of swords clashing. She began to run.

*****

This guy might have bought a sword but he had little idea what to do with it, Mahleah thought. How the hell had he subdued Kali? She should have taken him out within a few blows, just as Mahleah was about to do…now. His sword, a rather cheap reproduction anyway, broke at the tang and went spinning off into the night.

"Give me one good reason," she said murderously. "Any reason at all why I shouldn’t split you open and leave you for the buzzards."

He opened his mouth and she thought he was actually going to respond to her challenge. What emerged however, were not the normal tones of a human voice but something unearthly and devastatingly high-pitched. It slammed at her ears and grew more painful by the minute. She moaned and dropped her sword. Even with her hands over her head, she could feel the noise inside her head. She fell to the ground. Blood was pouring out of her ears as their drums burst. She tried to stagger to her feet, but her balance was shot. Looking up, she saw he had Tora in his hands.

"You think you’re so special, don’t you, bitch," he spat on her, then proceeded to kick her in the ribs, stomach, face and legs. He caught her hand on the ground and ground his heel into it. She winced as she felt the bones shatter.

I’m sorry Mac, she thought sadly. I love you.

*******

Scully had headed toward the sounds of the fight, but then she’d heard something terrible. She’d fallen to the ground and covered her ears until it stopped. Rising again she made her way swiftly towards the sound of someone cursing.

Stepping out from the trees, she saw Bobby, the keyboard player from Joe’s band, raising a sword high above his head, preparing to swing.

"Freeze!" she shouted. "Drop the weapon now!"

He turned and looked at her in amazement. "Agent Scully, what a happy coincidence. I’ve heard several people say what an amazing person you are. Shall we find out if that’s really true?"

He’s completely over the edge, she thought frantically. "Drop the sword," she ordered again. "I will shoot you if I have to, Bobby."

"I don’t think so," he said and started to open his mouth.

******

Behind Bobby, Mahleah opened her eyes groggily to realize that her vision was nearly as fuzzy as her hearing due to the blood running in her eyes. She thought she could make out a small figure in a trench coat standing in front of the lunatic about to kill her. Scully, she realized. But she doesn’t know about his voice, he’ll deafen her too, and then kill us both. She gathered her strength and moved.

*****

Scully wasn’t sure what he thought he was about to do, but she didn’t like the look of it. Her finger tightened on the trigger. Just as she fired, though, Mahleah staggered to her knees behind him and knocked him over. He slumped to the ground. Scully rushed over and cautiously checked him with her weapon still ready. She realized that her shot had not hit its intended target…instead the bullet had caught him in the throat. He was bleeding massively. She knelt and began to care for his wound as well as call for an ambulance.

******

MacLeod was traveling at high speed back towards Joe’s when the three men heard the sound of a gunshot. Mac hit the brakes and they looked at each other.

"It came from the park," Richie offered.

Mac drove in that direction, praying it wouldn’t be too late.

*****

The first thing Mulder saw was Scully leaning over a man’s body.

"Scully," he rushed up to her. "Are you okay?"

When she raised her face to look at him, he saw the blood smears from her nose to her mouth.

"Oh, Scully," he said softly.

"I’m fine, Mulder," she snapped. "This man isn’t and neither is Mahleah."

"Mahleah?" he asked in alarm. "What’s wrong with her?"

He looked over to see MacLeod and Richie helping the Immortal woman to sit up. He hissed in shock. She was cradling her right hand next to her chest and the bones were sticking in funny directions. Her face was a mass of bruises and blood. He could barely see skin.

MacLeod took a good look at her and immediately headed for Scully’s patient. Mulder grabbed him before the man could do something Mulder would regret – something that would mean he’d have to arrest the man despite feeling the same urges.

"No, Mac" came a harsh gasp. Duncan turned around and saw Richie helping Mahleah toward him. "I’ll be fine. He," she pointed with her left hand, "won’t."

The paramedics arrived and relieved Scully of her unwanted burden. She turned her attention to her partner in this little exercise. Oddly, the woman smiled and walked toward her. Mulder saw her examine every inch of Mahleah’s face. They had wet a handkerchief and wiped the blood away and now barely a trace of the violence was left on her face.

"Thanks for the rescue," she told the bewildered FBI agent. "I think we make a pretty good team." She held out her hand and Scully took it and was shaking it before she realized that this was the hand that had been crushed. She turned it over in her palm, speechless.

Mahleah began walking away with Richie and MacLeod on either side. She sighed wearily. "You know what I’d like?" she said.

"What?" Richie asked.

"A steaming hot bubble bath that lasts for two hours," she said dreamily. "And then you know what I’d like?"

"I can guess," Richie said smirking, and looking at Mac.

"To sleep for two days," she told them.

"As you wish," Mac said and dramatically swept her off her feet.

"Hey," she protested, then relaxed. "You know I normally don’t go for this kind of macho stunt but right now it feels too good to protest."

Mulder turned back to Scully, who still had her mouth hanging open.

"Did you see that?" she demanded. "Her hand…it was smashed beyond recognition. She was looking at hours and hours and hours of re-constructive surgery and even then she still probably wouldn’t have gotten full use of her hand back."

"Nope," he said grinning. "I didn’t see a thing, and you didn’t either."

"Huh?" she was confused. "Mulder, this is the kind of thing you dream about. That was proof…scientific proof of Immortality."

"Nope," he said again. "Listen to me carefully, Scully. Immortals don’t exist…they can’t exist. If they did, every scientist and government agency in the world would want to take them apart molecule by molecule. These aren’t case studies, Scully. They’re people. What do you think the conspiracy we’re always fighting would do with that kind of knowledge?"

She was silent for a moment, and then replied, "I don’t know what I was thinking Mulder. Of course, there’s no such thing as Immortality."

"I thought you’d see it my way," he chuckled, and putting his hand on the small of her back steered her toward a car and a long, hot bath of her own.

Chapter Forty-Seven

On Mahleah’s last night at Joe’s, the club was packed. A cousin of Bruce’s had replaced Bobby, Mike was back to take over from Jake, and Scott was back to being himself. At least some things didn’t change. Mahleah was leaving in the morning for a gig at a club in San Francisco. She had told Mulder that she was only in Seacouver for a short time but he found it hard to believe that after everything that had happened she was just going to leave.

She was onstage now, playing acoustic guitar with Joe and singing.

Spent my days with a woman unkind,
smoked all my stuff and drank all my wine.
Made up my mind to make a new start,
Going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there’s a girl out there
with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.

He knew it was a tribute to her slain friend, but it was poignant rather than chilling. Right now, he had other fish to fry as once again Scully was attacking his latest theory. Methos and Richie were listening with amusement and MacLeod, who was trying to listen to Mahleah, frowned at them all.

"Mulder, there was nothing supernatural about Bobby’s abilities. You heard Bock’s report: the man liked to tinker with gadgets, especially ones that made noise. He just developed a device that allowed him to make that god-awful sound," she protested.

"Scully, how can you say that?" he asked with exasperation. "You heard him, that was no machine or device – it was him."

"How do you explain it then?" she challenged.

"Bobby spent his childhood suppressing the rage he felt towards his mother and sisters," Mulder told her. "At some point, probably in his teens, he discovered that he could channel all of his anger into one primal scream."

"A primal scream?" she raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Yes," he insisted.

MacLeod glared at them, "Children, do you think you can hold it down? Some of us would actually like to listen to the music."

Scully blushed, but Mulder went on the offensive.

"Well, Mac I don’t understand why Mahleah’s leaving anyway? I mean I thought the two of you…" his voice trailed off at the Immortal’s deadpan face and very expressive eyebrow. "Aren’t you two getting together?" The other eyebrow raised and Mulder decided that there were some things in the world that just weren’t his business after all.

Joe stepped away from the stage leaving Mahleah who gifted the audience with a wicked grin.

"I just can’t feel sad tonight," she declared. "I’m surrounded by friends and I can feel Kali with us tonight. Her influence will longer far longer than her physical presence. Right now, I want to dedicate a song to the woman who saved my life and if it gives another friend of mine ideas that’s all good too." She winked in Mulder’s direction and began strumming her guitar furiously in a song Mulder recognized as a Springsteen tune. He tried to repress a smirk.

Well brunettes are fine, man
And blondes are fun
But when it comes to getting the dirty job done
I’ll take a redheaded woman
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman
Get a dirty job done

Richie snorted, "Kali’s influence all right."

Well listen up stud your life’s been wasted
‘Til you got down on your knees and tasted
A redheaded woman
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman
Get a dirty job done

Scully’s face was as bright as her hair. "Just what kind of relationship does she think we have?" she hissed.

"Who?" Mulder’s face was innocent. "You and her or you and me?"

Tight skirt, strawberry hair
Tell me what you got baby waiting under there.
Big blue eyes that look like son
they can see every cheap thing that you ever done.

"She’s got that part right," Mulder couldn’t hold onto his laughter any longer.

"You think this is funny?" she was incensed.

"Yes, and you do too, if you’d admit it," he scolded her.

She glared for a moment longer and then couldn’t hold it any more. She started laughing as well and the whole table erupted in merriment.

Well, I don’t know how many girls you’ve dated
But you ain’t lived till you’ve had your tires rotated
By a redheaded woman
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman
Get a dirty job done.

Mahleah finished the song with a flourish, then put her guitar away and left the stage. Walking to their table she announced, "That’s it for the night – I want to dance!"

"By all means," Mulder took her hand. "Allow me."

Leaving a staring Scully and a steaming MacLeod they went to the dance floor.

Bruce and the boys cranked up the bubbliest, cheeriest music Led Zeppelin had ever produced, "Dy’er Mak’er."

Ohh oh, oh, oh ohh, ohh
You don’t have to go oh, oh, oh, ohh, ohh,
You don’t have to go oh, oh, oh, ahh, ahh
You don’t have to go.

"So how did you become Immortal exactly?" Mulder asked her. "I mean I asked your friends but they just told me it happened sometime last year and left the details vague."

Ayy ay, ay, ay, ay, ayy
All those tears I cry ay, ay, ay ayy
All those tears I cry oh, oh ahh ayy,
Baby please don’t go

She smiled, "I hit my head against a tree, but I really don’t want to talk about that tonight. What about you and my new friend, Scully?"

"What about us?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, come on," she replied. "I’ve seen the way you are around her. You obviously care a great deal for her."

"Yes, I do," he answered. He realized that she’d noticed his overcautious nature when it came to his partner. Since she didn’t know about the cancer she attributed it to love. He didn’t want to spoil the mood with such a morbid topic so he just let her have her fun.

"You know you really should do something about that," she teased. "Take it from me…long drawn out courtships get irritating after a while."

When I read the letter that you wrote me,
It made me mad, mad, mad.
When I read the words that it told me
it made me sad, sad, sad.

"So why are you leaving?" he asked.

Her smile got a little sadder. "I need a little time away from Mac. Things aren’t…It’s just not the way it should be. I can’t stop thinking about how I failed Kali." She put her fingers up to stop him from speaking. "I know everyone says I didn’t fail her, but I need to get past feeling that I did. Don’t worry, I’m not talking a matter of years here."

"Things are complicated between Scully and me," he admitted. "I think it’s the same way with us…not the right time."

"But you admit you have feelings for her?" she persisted.

He sighed, "Yeah."

"Good," she beamed at him. "We’re making progress."

But I still love you so;
I can’t let you go.
I love you
Ooh baby I love you.

A hand suddenly appeared, lifted Mahleah’s hand from Mulder’s shoulder and shifted another partner in her place.

"Excuse me," MacLeod said pleasantly. "I think this is my dance."

The two partners looked at each other and then looked at the couple dancing together. MacLeod swung Mahleah out, twirled her and then brought her in cheek to cheek.

"You think they’ve done this before?" Scully asked sardonically.

Oh, oh, oh, oh ohh, ohh
Every breath I take oh, oh, oh ohh,
Ahh every move I make a-yeah,
Oh baby please don’t go, ahh.

Mulder drew his partner in and began leading her in a dance of his own. "Many times I suspect," he answered lightly.

"So you aren’t too disappointed then that she chose Duncan over you?" Scully persisted.

"No," he answered honestly. "Every time the situation with Mantha got romantic something stopped us. I guess I know why now. I’m glad she has someone who suits her so well. How about you, are you sorry that MacLeod chose Mahleah over you?"

"There was no choice," she countered. "I was never really interested in Duncan and he wasn’t in me."

"Uh huh," Mulder was unconvinced.

"Would you look at them," she said in exasperation.

When I read the letter you sent me
It made me mad, mad, mad.
When I read the news that it brought me,
It made me sad, sad, sad.
But I still love you so,
and I can’t let you go,
I love you
Ooh baby I love you.

The Immortals were weaving in steps that Mulder had only seen before from professionals. They were completely at ease, though. Mahleah was laughing in delight and Mac was grinning at her. At the song’s conclusion, he spun her, pulled her up onto his hip, and dipped her.

"That looked like fun," Scully said wistfully.

"Would you like to try it?" Mulder suggested.

She looked tempted, but finally shook her head, "I’d hate to have to tell Skinner that you couldn’t work Monday because your ankle was twisted and your back was out."

"Killjoy," he muttered.

The band changed tunes, and Mulder thought with a chuckle that they were trying to give Mac and Mahleah a little help.

I ain’t lookin’ for just excitement
Baby that’s just a fact
If you want to get to her heart
You better let her know just where you’re at

Mahleah was laughing harder and whispered something in Mac’s ear. They looked over at Mulder and Scully and winked.

"What was that about?" Scully wondered.

"Oh, just something Mahleah mentioned earlier," Mulder said evasively.

It ain’t written in the sky above
No fortune teller told me this
You got to tell her that you love her
Tell her that you need her
And give the girl a great big kiss
Give the girl a great big kiss

Could he actually get by with it? Mulder wondered. He glanced at Scully cautiously. There was a good chance that she would slug him.

Now if you’re such a fool you think
It don’t matter, baby, what you say
Maybe you better tell her how you’re feelin’
It ain’t gonna happen any other way

He saw Mahleah motion to him, go on, go on, she was urging. What about you, he gestured. She smiled and looked up at her dance partner who was staring at her lips.

It ain’t written in the sky above
No fortune teller told me this
You got to tell her that you love her
Tell her that you need her
And give the girl a great big kiss
Give the girl a great big kiss

MacLeod needed no more urging. He pulled Mahleah to him to follow the song’s instructions to the letter. Looks like fun, Mulder thought. He looked back at Scully, who raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked.

Now baby all I wanna do
Is darlin’ make sweet love to you.

Oh well, he thought nervously. What’s the worst that could happen? On second thought he didn’t want an answer to that question. It’s just a kiss, he argued with himself. Never just a kiss the answer returned. The song was heading into its final chorus. Mac and Mahleah’s lips were still locked. It must be nice to know you couldn’t die of asphyxiation, he thought. It was now or never.

It ain’t written in the sky above
No fortune teller told me this

"Scully," he ventured tentatively.

"Hmm?" she turned her head back to him and away from the osculating couple nearby.

No guts no glory, he thought and went for it, expecting at any moment to find a knee in his abdomen. Instead, he met soft, sweet lips that opened for him without protest.

You gotta tell her that you love her
Tell her that you need her
and give the girl a great big kiss

A long moment later, he raised his head to find her smiling at him.

"What was that all about?" she inquired.

"Just got carried away, I guess," he said.

They looked at each other and had a silent conversation that decided the kiss had been wonderful, they’d both thoroughly enjoyed it, but it wasn’t time for such things. With a happy sigh, they returned to dancing.

Epilogue

Paris, France
Several Months Later

"So, was this a good surprise?" Mahleah asked as Mac opened the door of the barge for her.

"The best," he told her. "And you’re going to be staying put this time, right?"

"Well, you intimated I could stay with you," she said coyly.

"I’d be upset if you went anyplace else."

"So, now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?" she said in a husky voice.

He turned on the stereo and made a special selection.

"Dance with you," he declared.

"Dance?" she was surprised. "You were dancing with me at Joe’s. We could have stayed there."

"Nope, I didn’t want an audience," he smiled at her.

She smiled back, "So what are you putting on – U2?"

"Nope, I thought I’d surprise you," he told her, walking over and drawing her to him. "Thanks to you, I have a rapidly expanding music collection."

And I will stroll the merry way
and jump the hedges first
and I will drink the clear
clean water for to quench my thirst

"Van Morrison," she exclaimed in delight. "This is wonderful."

"Well, I can’t sing but that doesn’t mean I don’t love music."

"I know that," she said, kissing his chin. "No one could dance the way you do and not love it."

And I shall watch the ferryboats
And they’ll get high
On a bluer ocean
Against tomorrow’s sky
And I will never grow so old again
And I will walk and talk
In gardens all wet with rain

They moved slowly together, enjoying the closeness. "You make me feel young," he whispered, stroking her hair.

She arched her back, enjoying the sensation. "You make me feel old," she said lightly.

"What?" he was startled.

Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing.
And I shall drive my chariot
Down your streets and cry
‘Hey, it’s me, I’m dynamite
And I don’t know why’
And you shall take me strongly
In your arms again
And I will not remember
That I even felt the pain.
We shall walk and talk
in gardens all misty and wet with rain
and I will never, never, never
grow so old again.

She nibbled on his neck, "I mean that when I’m with you I feel something much older than I am. It’s like we’ve known each other all through eternity. Sounds silly, but it’s the only way I can explain it."

"No, I know what you’re saying," he replied slowly. "I feel like there’s never been a time that I didn’t know you."

"Exactly," she was moving up to more lush territory.

He decided to put off trying to find the words for what he was trying to say. What did it matter right now anyway? He claimed her mouth joyfully. For once there were no rivals, no tragedies, no misunderstandings and no old enemies coming out of the woodwork. There was just the two of them, together at last.

Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing.
And I will raise my hand up
Into the night time sky
And count the stars
That’s shining in your eye
Just to dig it all and not to wonder
That’s just fine
And I’ll be satisfied
Not to read between the lines
And I will walk and talk
In gardens all wet with rain
And I will never, ever, ever, ever
Grow so old again.
Oh, sweet thing, sweet thing
Sugar-baby with your champagne eyes
And your saint-like smile….

The Washington D.C. Area
Spring 2000

Scully woke with a start. Where was she? Looking around in the gloom she recognized Mulder’s apartment. That was right, she had been talking to Mulder – telling him about the strange events that had happened to her while he was in England investigating crop circles. She must have fallen asleep on his couch. She glanced down to discover that he had covered her with an Indian blanket.

She must have fallen asleep while he was talking. What had they been saying? She had offered the opinion that there was really only one choice in life and there were signs along the way to direct you. He had been mulling that over and had said something…what was it? Oh yeah, he’d said that meant that all of the paths would have led the two of them to that very moment which said a lot. That was just as she had dozed off.

She reflected on that theory. Every decision she had ever made led her to be sleeping on Mulder’s couch tonight. Well, why not? They had danced around and evaded the subject of their feelings for so long but it was inevitable that they would have to deal with them one day. What was stopping them from becoming partners in the romantic sense? On that day three years ago when he had taken the opportunity to kiss her during a dance he had cautiously steered them away from that course until New Years this year. When the year 2000 had begun, she had turned to find Mulder leaning in for a traditional buss. It had been short, but the sweetest kiss in the world and they had found themselves grinning at each other afterward.

"The world didn’t end," he commented wryly, suggesting that perhaps the Y2K people weren’t the only doomsayers to be proven wrong at that moment.

She rose. For the past several months she’d felt like the ball was in her court. He would never press her, but he was waiting for her response to his overture. Finally, she was ready to give one. Slowly, but surely she walked into his bedroom and gazed at him sleeping in the moonlight.

"It’s time," she decided, and crawled into the other side of the bed. He didn’t stir and she thought that perhaps she’d just surprise him when he woke. Temptation got the better of her, though, and she leaned in and grazed his lips with her own.

He twitched under her and opened his eyes.

"Hello," he said gravely.

"Hello," she replied.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked.

"No," she reassured him.

"Good," he told her, and then pulled her down to him.

Continue to A Stolen Season