Title: Curtain Up
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Rating: R (sex, language)
Category: MSR, X
Spoilers: set post-allthings
Archive: Sure.  
Summary: The mysteries of life, love and a string 
of Hollywood suicides would be a lot easier to 
solve--if Mulder and Scully only had a script.
Disclaimer: Fox. 1013. Chris Carter. They own 
them. I just have fun with them.


Curtain Up

January 27, 1953
Barrymore Theater
New York City, 8 PM

Hank once again had difficulty catching his 
breath. She was standing there, front and center, 
as they lifted the curtain separating reality from 
fantasy. The strong white lights accentuated a 
creamy complexion offset only by crimson hair and 
ruby lips. The living embodiment of the painting 
he had found years ago; the subject of many a 
teenaged wet dream. A nude redhead lying against a 
rock. Unblemished white skin; lips parted and 
waiting. . .  Of course, he had never seen 
Charlotte nude. Not yet. But he still hoped she 
would fill the role his phantom lover had so very 
long ago.

He had seen her in rehearsal dozens of times, 
although his presence was never required. She was 
good. But in actual performance--there was a 
difference. The audience. They set off a light in 
her. A light that made every single individual--
male or female--adore her. Almost as much as he 
did.

Later tonight, he would be her audience of one. 

He prayed she'd seduce him with the same 
enthusiasm she used on the crowd.

Same evening
11 PM

Hank pulled Charlotte into an alleyway and pushed 
her against the wall.  She lifted one perfectly 
groomed eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

She could feel his erection through all the layers 
between them. Tuxedo and overcoat for him; heavily 
beaded gown and full-length mink coat for her. He 
pushed his pelvis even closer.

"Only you can help me, baby."

She didn't have to push him away. She didn't have 
to lecture him. Her clear green eyes looked deeply 
into his and he knew. He moved back and gave her 
ample space.

"I would die for you," he whined. "You do know 
that, don't you?"

"Of course I do. All in due time. All I ask for 
now is that you treat me like a lady until I give 
you permission to do otherwise. Understood?"

He swallowed hard. She was a difficult woman but 
unlike any other. He wanted her. The wait, no 
matter how tortuous, would be worth it. 

"Yes. Anything for you, Charlotte."

She stepped up to him and put her hand on the 
crook of his elbow. 

"Let's go. My feet are beginning to get cold and I 
need more champagne."

The elegant couple left the alley and headed 
toward the Plaza Hotel to celebrate her triumphant 
opening night performance.

January 27, 2000
New York City

Hank woke with a start.

"Charlotte," he whispered in the darkness.
 
He sat up in bed and brushed his pajama-clad arm 
across his face. His eyes felt gritty. 

He went into the bathroom and put in his teeth. 
Then he pulled out an eye-lining pencil and 
accented his lower lids.  He stepped back and 
looked at his features.  His tired eyes no longer 
saw wrinkles and a hairline that had lost the 
battle and retreated long ago. He saw a damned 
fine looking young man. 

"Like Montgomery Clift," he thought.

He walked into the bedroom to gather the clothes 
he wanted to wear for this occasion. He looked 
toward the bed and could almost see her again. Her 
back leaning against the pillows; long red hair 
splayed out as if a set decorator had arranged 
every strand. He came to her in worship that 
night. Anything she would have wanted, he would 
have given. Even his life.

He dressed in his tuxedo and left the overcoat in 
the closet. It was cold but he wouldn't notice. He 
was on a mission. He needed to prove his love.

Once and for all. He needed to show Charlotte that 
his devotion was total and complete.

The old man walked out of the residential hotel 
and down several dark city streets until he found 
the one he was looking for.

The alley was still there--untouched by years of 
city improvements and the elevation of new 
buildings. 

He was not alone. A homeless man was huddled by 
the dumpster, sleeping as soundly as possible. 
Hank walked to the wall and pressed himself 
against the brick. He could almost feel the beaded 
dress against his chest. Smell her perfume. Sense 
her disdain.

He stood back. She wanted respect. She wanted 
adoration. She wanted a level of devotion that was 
total and complete and, until he proved himself, 
she wanted nothing to do with him.

Fine.

He would give her a demonstration. It was time.

He pulled out a container from the inside of his 
tuxedo jacket. He opened it and poured the lighter 
fluid all over himself. 

"I would die for you, Charlotte," he said, and 
struck a match.


March 20, 2000
6:15 AM
Mulder's Apartment

He heard the alarm clock go off and let it ring 
for a moment. He didn't want to open his eyes, 
pretty much knowing what he would find.

He mentally braced himself for the worst. Maybe 
he'd be surprised. Life doesn't always have to 
suck, does it?

"Show time," he thought as he opened his eyes and 
turned directly to the nightstand to switch off 
the blaring alarm. He took a quick, deep breath 
before turning to his right, his mouth poised for 
a smile, in case he needed it.

He didn't.

"Fuck," he said out loud. To himself. To his empty 
apartment.

He got out of bed and opened the shade to the 
outside world. A cold, rainy, gray day.

Welcome to the real world.


Hoover Building
8:45 AM

Mulder's mood had not improved.

Being summoned to Skinner's office five minutes 
after he entered the basement didn't help matters. 
Being told Scully was already with Skinner--before 
9 AM--clinched it.
 
After being waved through to the inner sanctum by 
Kimberly, Mulder opened the door to find Skinner 
and Scully in their usual places. 

"Hail, hail. . .the gang's all here," Mulder said 
briefly, taking his seat, lacing his fingers and 
cupping both hands over one knee. Scully looked up 
with a half smile and Skinner nodded a greeting. 

"Agent Mulder, let me bring you up to speed." Was 
that a dig? Because if it was, Mulder refused to 
show remorse for not arriving as early as Scully 
had. It was a normal, working day as far as he was 
concerned. No one ever threw him a party for all 
the times he started working before dawn. 

"You are leaving for Los Angeles this afternoon," 
Skinner informed him.

"Oh? Are we doing another movie, sir?" Mulder 
asked, dryly. 

A small grimace passed over Skinner's face before 
he continued.

"Four deaths over the last three and a half 
months. All--rather unusual."

Skinner slowed down a bit--his attention 
momentarily diverted by Scully. She didn't notice. 
She seemed to be too busy staring at her hands. 
Why shouldn't she? She didn't have to pay 
attention. According to Skinner, she had been 
"brought up to speed" eons ago. 

When he saw that Mulder had taken note of his 
obvious distraction, Skinner dropped his eyes back 
to the paperwork before him.

"The first one occurred in January. The apparent 
suicide of Hank Costas. Rather well known Broadway 
producer in the 50s and 60s. Doused himself with 
lighter fluid and set himself on fire in an alley 
on 53rd street in New York City.  Second one--Jim 
Downey. Retired career military. Drank rat poison 
with his warm milk before bed. Third and fourth--
well, you probably heard about this one. Two old 
time actors--getting together for a publicity 
shoot for an old friend--stabbed each other during 
a mock duel."

"And the X-file is. . ." Mulder prompted, catching 
Skinner in a sneak peek again.  Skinner looked 
down at his notes, seemingly searching for a bit 
of information held within. Mulder cast a sidelong 
glance at the object of Skinner's furtive glances.  
Scully had shifted position since he had first 
entered the office. Her leg was crossed--in the 
opposite direction from where he was sitting--and 
her rather tight white blouse had pulled down just 
enough to show a very clear bruise on the rise of 
her left breast. 

Great. 

"The two apparent suicides left notes," Skinner 
continued. "Mr. Costas left one saying, 'I would 
die for you, Charlotte.' Mr. Downey left a note 
reading, 'Charlotte--I always keep my promises.' 
And Gary Lawrence and Mark Burns were both caught 
on video tape before the dueling scene was 
supposed to be filmed, openly arguing about 
Charlotte."

"Charlotte?"

"Charlotte Colby."

"The old movie star?"

"The one and only," Skinner said with the air of a 
man who had a former crush on said actress.

"So? It's odd but there are fans and there are 
fanatics. I still don't get the X-file." 

"The X-file is that these men were all involved 
with Miss Colby at one time or another but hadn't 
seen her in years. No contact whatsoever. They 
were all old men. All, in some ways, killing 
themselves or each other for her.  They had gone 
on to lead normal lives after their breakups, 
Mulder. They weren't carrying torches for years."

"So, let me get this straight. I have to turn 
somersaults to get you to approve travel on some 
very clearly defined, genuine X-files and now, 
we're traveling across the country on a 
potentially high profile case that more than 
likely has nothing whatsoever to do with them. On 
whose whim?"

Skinner did not flinch.

"Charlotte Colby was once involved--had 
connections--with someone here. A retired someone-
-rather high up in the ranks. A nervous retired 
someone who feels he might be possessed by 
whatever spirit is moving these men to do 
themselves in.  convinced it's an X-file. He 
requested your assignment. Does that answer all 
your questions to your satisfaction, Agent?"

Mulder smirked.

"Absolutely. I don't suppose the Bureau is going 
to be putting us up at the Beverly Hills Hotel for 
our troubles?"

"No."

"Damn. Liked the bathtubs and the champagne there. 
Well, that's that, then." Mulder stood up and 
walked toward the door. He briefly looked back to 
see Scully rising from her seat. He realized she 
hadn't said one word during the entire meeting and 
barely glanced in his direction. He caught Skinner 
in one last, quick look at Scully's blouse. 
Busted. He looked at Mulder with a question in his 
eyes. Mulder simply scowled and Skinner gave up; 
his silent question unanswered or answered in 
whatever direction his own imagination decided to 
take him.

"I expect to be given daily progress reports, 
Agents. That will be all."

"Thank you, Sir," Scully said.

 Mulder thought. 

In the hallway, she surprised him.

"Look, Mulder. I'm going home to pack. I'll meet 
you at the airport, okay?"

"Sure. You might want to change your blouse."

She looked at him, a question and a challenge in 
her eyes.

"When you sit a certain way, you can see. . ." He 
wanted to run a finger over her cleavage to point 
out the exact spot but settled on training his 
eyes there. She looked down and buttoned another 
button. Other than that, her expression didn't 
change.

"I'll wear a sweater. Thank you for telling me."

"It's the least I could do."

She looked up at him sharply. God. He wanted to 
wring her neck. Or pull her into a kiss. Instead, 
he fell back to a long-established pattern. Attack 
first; think later.

"For having the gall to leave a mark that no water 
or silence can erase. The least I can do is have 
the decency to give you the opportunity to find 
other methods to cover up your mistake."

He turned and quickly went into the elevator. He 
watched Scully sigh and head toward the door to 
the stairwell as the elevator doors closed.

End of Chapter One


Chapter Two

March 20, 2000
Somewhere over Colorado
6 PM

Scully leaned back against her seat and tried to 
relax her neck muscles. Reading the files in front 
of her several times over had brought on a 
definite kink.  This was an unwelcome addition to 
the already existing tension of pretending to 
believe Mulder was sleeping when she knew he 
wasn't. She had to make things better and there 
really was no better place than in the plane.
 
She ran her finger over the hand he had resting 
against his knee. He brought it back with a jerk.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No. It's all right. You just startled me," he 
said, turning away from her slightly.

"That's not what I meant. I'm sorry about this 
morning."

He closed his eyes again. 

"I don't want to talk about it, Scully."

"We have to, Mulder. Please."

He looked at her, not bothering to conceal the 
pain and anger he felt.

"We had this discussion. Yesterday evening you 
told me why you bolted from my bed yesterday 
morning.  I was hurt but understood. This morning, 
you did it again.  I'm beyond hurt and understand 
absolutely nothing. What can you say that's going 
to help make sense of this?"

"I--just got scared."

"Great. The woman who can face liver eating 
mutants takes one look at my puss in the morning 
and leaves before the sun can fully rise."

She ignored his flippancy.

"Mulder, I've been trying to put it all in 
perspective. These last few days have been so 
strange for me. I've not only felt more open to 
all the extreme possibilities presented to me but 
I've acted on those feelings. I don't fully 
understand why, myself.  I have always tried to 
balance my instincts with my rational side but you 
and I both know that the rational side tends to 
dominate. I certainly don't normally make life-
altering decisions on the spur of the moment."

"I didn't ask you to come to my bed, Scully. That 
was your idea. You had your little epiphany and 
crawled in and if I had been thinking clearly, I 
might have stopped you to ask if you were sure of 
what you were doing. But forgive my stupidity--I 
was so fucking happy you made the decision  to finally let yourself love me that 
I just went along with your un-Scullyish behavior. 
I should have known better."

"No. I'm not making myself clear. I was ready. I 
was sure. About us."

"Then why the hell did you leave? And, okay--you 
explained. Twice now. Yesterday, you were scared 
of us. Today, you are scared of your own actions. 
But the end result is the same. You ran out the 
same fucking way two mornings in a row. Fool me 
once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

"You're channeling my mom, Mulder," she smiled but 
her attempt at levity was met with a grimace. "I'm 
not trying to 'fool' anyone. Least of all you. I 
would never intentionally hurt you but, I--you 
were so intense, Mulder."

"I don't want to talk about this here."

"Mulder--this is the perfect place to talk about 
it. You can't run from me."

"Oh, well, too bad we didn't make love up here. 
Maybe you would have stayed afterwards."

Scully gave a brief, unamused smile. 

"You were so intense, Mulder. We usually deal in 
subtleties.  The things you said and the things we 
did. . ."

He turned to look directly in her face as he 
spoke. He kept his voice down to a controlled 
whisper but the emotion was there. 

"Fuck subtlety. I'm sick of talking in riddles, 
Scully. That's all we do. Say just enough to keep 
the other one guessing but never stating exactly 
what we mean. We do it all the time. Skinner--even 
he does it. Probably learned from us. He doesn't 
come out and tell us that he has some chicken-shit 
assignment to appease some paranoid old coot and 
we're the only crackpots suitable for the job. He 
doesn't come out and ask if I gave you that 
massive hickey on your chest or if you're seeing 
someone behind both our backs even though his eyes 
are fucking falling out of his head at the sight. 

I'm so sick of this. You were in my bed. You were 
soft and warm and finally--I thought--mine. Damned 
right I was going to tell you every thing in my 
heart and head. I had been storing it up for so 
long and thought, foolishly, that it was a pretty 
good occasion to lay my cards on the table. And as 
for the things we did--I didn't hear one word of 
complaint while we were doing them."

"There was nothing to complain about, Mulder. 
That's not it at all. It's just--I'm used to 
living in a state of denial. Maybe if it had been 
less intense of an experience, I wouldn't have 
felt the enormity of my decision in such a way. I 
 ready for it. In a more controlled, maybe 
less passionate, way. Real life is very different 
than the scenarios we run through our minds. I had 
no time to think and in the morning, with you 
asleep. . .it just hit me and I couldn't stop 
myself from leaving. Either time. I tried but I 
guess I'm just too used to the denial. It's so 
much easier."

"You imagined our first time together as 
basically. . .what? Tame? Dull, even?"

"No. I pictured it as being nice."

Mulder gave a short bitter laugh.

"Well, sorry to have over-exceeded your 
expectations. I can see your point of view. I do 
tend to order a full lunch and damn the 
consequences, while you stick to your yogurt and 
bee pollen and worry whether it will go straight 
to your ass.  We're very different. No reason to 
believe we'd be any more compatible in bed than 
out."

Scully didn't quite like the look on his face. She 
liked his next words even less.

"Well, fine. We'll just go back to easy."

"What?"

"We'll go back to the way we were two days ago. 
No. We'll go back to the way we were last week. 
Before you met up with Daniel again and decided to 
take your 'hot for teacher' hormones and use them 
up on me. No harm, no foul."

She knew he was striking out in any way that would 
hurt but she was determined to remain calm and 
reason with him.

"I love you. Only you. I told you so, and God 
knows, I don't take those words lightly," she said 
softly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head 
back again. His eyes suddenly closed tighter but 
not before Scully saw a trace of moisture try to 
escape from under his now closed lids. He gave up 
the snide remarks and the fight.

"Two days ago, we had a partnership and I had hope 
for more. This morning, I woke up and felt like a 
fuck buddy who didn't even realize that was my 
role in life."

"It's not.  I just need time to get adjusted.  I'm 
used to depriving myself, Mulder. I don't know--
there's just part of me that's completely 
frightened to take what I want. Like it will all 
disappear because I'm finally being selfish. 
That's all it is. I know it sounds like some awful 
line--but it really is 'me, not you.' I'm sorry 
you are suffering the consequences but I just 
don't know how to make it any easier on either of 
us. It's something I have to work out. . ."

She touched his shoulder and he did not flinch. He 
did not open his eyes, either. 

She'd have to settle for that. For now.

Sunrise Hotel
Los Angeles, California
9 PM

Mulder hesitated before knocking on the door to 
her hotel room. He had a problem. As a trained 
psychologist, a woman approached him and basically 
gave him a pretty decent self-diagnosis. He wanted 
to forgive her completely. He was too tired to 
continue this. Too tired to fight. He believed her 
when she told him she loved him. And really, what 
else mattered?  There really was nothing to 
forgive. No one could completely predict or 
dictate another's person's actions or reactions. 
She felt and did what she felt she needed to at 
the moment and he'd have to live with it. 

But damn it, there was another part of him that 
was not so willing to let it all go. They had 
discussed their problem in detail the night before 
and she turned around and did the same thing all 
over again knowing it would hurt him. What 
guarantee did he have that this wouldn't happen 
again and again, with him expected to understand--
again and again.

He almost wanted to check his shoulders. The good 
angel versus the bad angel. Were they sitting 
there, dictating his thoughts?

He drew in a quick breath. He'd have time to 
psychoanalyze himself and/or Scully in more detail 
later. Now, he had to let her know that they were 
still on-duty. And it was time he put all the 
personal baggage aside and act accordingly. He 
rapped on the door and she let him in.

"We have an audience with the Queen tonight," he 
said.

"Tonight?"

"She doesn't do mornings, apparently. She does, 
however, stay up all hours. Anyway, she wants to 
see us at 11 so I thought we might go over a few 
things. Plan a strategy so we can wrap up this 
case and get back home."

"We just got here. Don't you like L.A.?" she 
asked, knowing the answer.

"I like it when we are being pampered. This is not 
exactly pampering." He took in her room. Pretty 
much a mirror image of his own across the hall. 

"It's a standard room, Mulder. We've seen worse."

"That we have," he sat down at the functional desk 
and pulled out a pad of stationary the hotel 
provided.
He spoke as he wrote.

"So--there are no leads to follow up on Hank 
Costas. He was a widower; two grown children with 
families of their own. They had moved out of New 
York long ago and didn't have more than annual 
holiday contact with their father. He was somewhat 
active in Broadway charities and was a regular at 
a senior center in town but had never mentioned 
Charlotte in a more than casual way to anyone. 
Autopsy report?"

Scully stopped her unpacking and chimed in. 
"Damage was consistent with the method of suicide. 
Third degree burns all over his body--mostly on 
the head, face, chest and upper back. He was DOA 
upon arrival at St. Luke's. That was about all 
that was noted. Of course, no one was looking for 
anything specific or out of the ordinary because 
it seemed like a pretty cut and dried suicide. And 
his remains were cremated. . ."

"So, dead end with him. Pun intended.  Next case--
Jim Downey. He lived here. In L.A. Adult daughter 
nearby. We can try to set up something with her 
tomorrow and with the producer of that promo 
commercial or whatever they were filming when the 
two golden oldies killed each other in such a 
grand fashion. We'll need to go to the County 
coroner to pick up the complete autopsy reports 
since the LA office decided to do our work for us 
and give a summary instead of the files 
themselves."

Scully smiled. Trust Mulder to expect her to make 
connections that no one else did. At the very 
least, he still believed in her--professionally.

11:25 PM
Drawing room
Charlotte Colby's estate

Scully found herself blinking several times 
wondering whether she should schedule a second 
complete eye examination for the year. There was 
something--muted--about the room they were brought 
into. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

They were definitely in Hollywood now, she 
thought. From the huge mansion and massive 
property to the several members of Charlotte 
Colby's entourage they had already encountered. 
And still, even though it was past the time they 
had all agreed to meet, there was no sign of the 
star herself. Well, other than the massive 
portrait of a much younger Charlotte gracing the 
prime spot over the blazing fireplace. 

Excess. The fireplace lit and glowing while the 
central air conditioning was running on high. The 
rich brocade chairs that both she and Mulder had 
been escorted to. She felt oddly uncomfortable. 
While the room was lovely, it was a place for 
lounging clothes made of rich materials, necks 
draped with precious stones and mouths stuffed 
with bonbons. Not a well-tailored navy blue 
pantsuit, a small gold cross and a stomach that 
was nearly empty due to the fact that she really 
hadn't wanted to break the peace treaty she seemed 
to have struck with Mulder after their plane ride. 

She looked across at the man himself. He was 
already looking at her. Surprisingly, he gave her 
a small smile. A warmth instantly filled her. It 
didn't take much.

"Well," he said, "how do I look airbrushed?"

Shit, that was the answer. The lighting was that 
strange pink that, together with the deeper rose 
walls had an almost surreal effect. It looked like 
they were literally viewing things through rose-
colored glasses.

The double doors to the room suddenly burst open. 

"FBI!" A melodic but loud voice dramatically 
called out. They looked up and there she was. 
Framed by the large entranceway to this "drawing" 
room. The hallway behind her was no longer fully 
lit by the lights that had been on when they 
entered a half-hour before. They had been dimmed 
and two huge candelabras--containing about a dozen 
candles each--burned brightly behind her, making 
the silken material of her light mauve caftan 
shimmer in an other-wordly glow.

Scully and Mulder rose to their feet as Charlotte 
entered with both arms extended. She came close 
enough to grab on to each of the agent's hands--
not for a real handshake but for some sort of 
Hollywood "grasp of genuine warmth."

"FBI--I am so sorry. You know, I just have so much 
to do lately. I really do have to learn how to 
slow down. I'm getting a bit advanced in the age 
department, you know," she said, almost scoffing 
at her own words.

 Scully thought. Even with the odd 
lighting, the freshly dyed red hair and the fairly 
recent face-lift, Charlotte somehow looked every 
one of her 76 years and then some, she thought. 
Everything was perfect but there was just--
something--which revealed her advanced age.

"Sit, sit--we will get to know each other and help 
my poor friends somehow. FBI--this is my first 
contact with the Bureau. I must admit, I am 
excited. I did a spy movie once, you know."

"Um, Ms. Colby, I am Special Agent Dana Scully and 
this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder."

Charlotte let out what could only be described as 
a squeal of joy.

"Special Agents! I love it. Please. You must call 
me Charlotte. We shall be friends."

Scully chanced a look in Mulder's direction. He 
looked down at the pad he had in his hands but not 
before she caught a small blush rising to his 
cheeks. Was he that close to the warmth of the 
fire or did he actually fall for her bullshit?

"Ms. Colby. . ." a sharp clearing of the throat 
was enough chastisement. Scully decided to play by 
the diva's rules. "Charlotte. We would like to ask 
you about the men who have died in the last few 
months. You seem to be the only connection between 
all of them and we were hoping you might tell us 
something that would somehow shed some light on 
these odd deaths."

"Of course. Anything I can do for my poor, dear, 
lost friends," her emerald green eyes shone with 
tears. Right on cue.

"The first death was Hank Costas," Mulder 
prompted. 

Charlotte took hold of the edge of her gown and 
swirled just the right amount of material to the 
front as she sat on the couch.

"Hank. One of the true loves of my life. Are you 
familiar with my films?" she asked suddenly, 
focusing all her attention on Scully.

"Um. . .I believe I saw the. . .Christmas-themed 
movie."

"Ah, yes. 'Snowflakes in Savannah.' A personal 
favorite. I loved doing the accent. And you?" Now 
her attention was focused on Mulder. He looked 
down at his pad and the color in his face rose 
again.

"I've seen quite a few of your films, Miss Colby."

"Charlotte, Special Agent darling Fox."

Good God. He was smitten. The only word that truly 
fit the situation. Who else would he let get away 
with calling him something like that?

"Charlotte," he said softly.

She gave him a smile before turning, once again, 
to Scully.

"Well, my dear Agent Dana--I did a series of 
films. It was under the old studio system and I 
was working constantly. Constantly! Series were 
popular for as long as the movie industry was in 
existence. 'Perils of Pauline,' 'Ma and Pa 
Kettle,' the 'Zorro' films. Well, they wanted me 
to be associated with this type of thing so I 
starred in a series of romances. Different actors 
in each but all were very dramatic with the men 
practically falling over their feet for me. They 
became known as the 'I would die for you' series 
because, at one point in the movie, each man would 
say it to my character and would later follow 
through with that promise, leaving me a poor 
bereaved wife or lover. It was very meaty."

"But Hank wasn't an actor. . .Mi. . .Charlotte," 
Mulder interrupted. 

"No, Special Fox, he wasn't. I had done about 
eight of those films in a row and I was tired of 
it. Well, maybe not tired, exactly, but I didn't 
want to be typecast. At that point, Kate Hepburn 
was appearing on Broadway. Gave her career a kick 
in the behind, if you will excuse my expression. 
Everyone was talking about how genuinely talented 
an actress she was. No--actually, they called her 
an actor--a step above, apparently--all because 
she did stage work between films. I wanted to do 
that as well. Hank was a producer and he loved me. 
He wanted me to be happy. . .so, I came to New 
York and starred in a show he produced just for 
me. It was lovely, really."

"And did you love him?" Scully asked.

"Didn't I say so, dear Dana? He was one of the 
great loves of my life."

"Yet your relationship didn't last?" Mulder asked.

"It lasted for as long as it was meant to last. 
One year. I spent time on stage and went back to 
do another movie and--I guess we had what you'd 
now call a bi-coastal relationship. He wanted 
more. And when push came to shove--he wasn't 
giving up his career for mine. Men generally 
didn't in those days."

"Did you resent that?" Scully asked. 

"Young lady--of course I did. Not that I would 
have stayed with him, or he with me. It was a 
sensible choice but I expected him to make that 
sacrifice anyway. It was natural."

"Natural in what way?"

"It's love. Love is sacrifice. It's adoration."

"But you weren't willing to do that for him."

"Of course not. He would never bother asking."

"Well, forgive me for saying this but from what 
you've told us it sounds a bit one-sided. To 
expect from him what you weren't willing to give 
of yourself."

Mulder gave her a sharp look. She pressed on. Let 
him be the fan. She was being the investigator she 
needed to be. 

"One-sided? No. He gave me what I needed and I 
gave him affection. That's a fair and equal 
exchange. As I said before, it lasted for as long 
as it was meant to last. In the end, we both knew 
neither one of us was willing to make any 
permanent sacrifices. So, it wasn't really as one-
sided as you might think, Agent Dana."

Scully could see she would get nowhere with this 
line of questioning. 

"When did you last see Hank, Charlotte?"

"Hmmm. . .years and years ago."

"Did you speak with him on the telephone?"

"No. Never."

"No contact at all? Letters? Messages from other 
people?"

"Well. I heard about him from people we had both 
known in New York but no--no contact. He was one 
person I remembered completely so I didn't even 
have to consult him for my book."

"Your book?" Mulder was suddenly at the edge of 
his seat. Scully could imagine him being first in 
line at Barnes and Noble.

"My memoirs, FBI Fox. Almost complete. Just have 
one last chapter and some polishing to do here and 
there."

He smiled softly. "I would love to read it."

She stood up. "Well, then you shall! I will have 
my assistant get you a copy of the latest 
manuscript tomorrow. Now, I hate to cut this 
meeting short but I do have some more meetings 
this evening."

Scully stood up as well, "Charlotte--we still 
haven't discussed the other three men."

"We will, my dear. They aren't going anywhere, are 
they? Oh, I guess I shouldn't say that. That was 
very naughty of me but it is true. Sadly." She 
pouted a bit. "Tomorrow evening. I promise we will 
discuss them all. Ta, my friends. Until tomorrow," 
and with that, the whirlwind known as Charlotte 
Colby left the room. 

Scully looked up at Mulder, who was staring at 
Charlotte's retreating figure as she climbed up 
the stairs leading from the main entrance. One 
minute later, the hall lights came back on and a 
servant was quickly dousing the flames of each of 
the candles.

Mulder led Scully out of the drawing room in 
silence.

March 21, 2000
1:30 AM
On the road from Charlotte's estate

Scully barely waited until they were on the 
highway before turning to Mulder in the darkness 
of the car.

"You saw her films, Mulder? 'Quite a few?'"

"Yes."

"I didn't know she had a blue movie series as 
well."

"She doesn't. She was a big favorite of my mom's 
and they used to play on the late show and the 
late-late show. We'd stay up sometimes to watch. 
Nice little bonding moments, I guess."

"Really? I wouldn't think those movies would 
appeal to you."

"They were pretty melodramatic. She was--really 
mesmerizing, Scully. She had these huge eyes that 
focused on some poor schmuck and he would go off 
and die a usually violent or dramatic death while 
she pined away for him forever. It was a 
refreshing change from my life where, after their 
divorce, my parents didn't seem to give a crap 
whether the other lived or died."

Scully looked down at her hands. She should have 
known there would be deeper meaning to this small 
fascination.

"Hey," Mulder said, breaking her out of her 
reverie. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't feel sorry for me every time I tell you 
something about my childhood. I'm not bemoaning 
the fact. I'm just stating life as it was. No big 
deal."

"I give a crap about you, Mulder," she said 
quietly.

"Be still my foolish heart. My beloved doth speak 
words of deep passion."

"You know what I mean."

He took a deep breath and released it. Something 
eased inside him. Something had been gradually 
easing inside him since their conversation on the 
plane. She did give a crap about him. She did love 
him. Nothing else mattered. Life, and love, no 
longer seemed quite as dramatic as it had for the 
last few days.  A bit convoluted, yes.  But the 
level of drama was really up to him, in this case. 
He could milk his hurt feelings for all they were 
worth, or accept the underlying situation and work 
with Scully to get where they both wanted to go.

"Yes, I do know what you mean," he finally 
answered.

"I sometimes think you believe that I don't. Give 
a shit. Care."

"I know you care. I know you love me but--Scully--
I gotta tell you that leaving my bed after 
something so earth shattering. . .was not an ego 
booster." She could hear just the smallest bit of 
ironic amusement in his voice but decided to take 
it seriously.

"I'm sorry. I just don't know what else I can say. 
"

"Nothing. Say nothing. That was the last time I'm 
mentioning it. And only to spell out the fact that 
it is my ego speaking louder than anything else.  
Listen--I don't know. I've been thinking about it 
all day.  I guess maybe, odd as it sounds--we need 
more time. So--take it."

"Really?" She quietly asked.

"Really."

He received a smile in exchange.

"You promise you won't run off with Charlotte in 
the meantime, will you, Special darling Fox?"

Mulder let out a genuine huff of laughter.

"I'll try to resist, dear Dana."

She reached out and ran her hand gently up and 
down his arm. He looked down at her fingers and 
she cupped as much of his flesh as she could and 
squeezed gently. Soon. Everything would be fine. 
Soon.

End of Part 2

Part 3

March 21, 2000
8 AM

Mulder woke up alone in his hotel room. Feeling 
good.  Surprisingly.

She hadn't been in his bed the night before so 
there was no aching disappointment at the empty 
space beside him. They had made a bit of progress 
by talking about it yesterday. Airing out some 
emotions; some difficulties with the recent change 
in their relationship. He had been somewhat naïve 
to believe that making love automatically came 
with a fully realized "relationship." And it had 
been a knee-jerk reaction to think he could just 
crawl into a small fetal ball and lick his own 
wounds. 

He couldn't go back to the relationship they had 
two weeks ago any more than Scully could. So what 
if things weren't as full of hearts and flowers as 
he originally expected?  He loved Scully. He knew 
she loved him. They may not have a conventional 
relationship but then again, they never had. It 
was foolish to believe that convention would have 
taken over in their romantic life. She needed her 
space. He did, as well. If those individual needs 
were on a different schedule at the moment, so be 
it. They had put way too much in their 
relationship before being lovers to suddenly stop 
being open to understanding each other after. He 
smirked to himself. All those years at Oxford 
finally paid off. He could talk some sense into 
himself once every decade or so and knock the old 
bad angel straight back to hell.

He stretched as he pulled himself out of bed, when 
he heard the knock on his door. He walked over and 
opened the door for Scully.

"You're up early," he said, as he watched her walk 
in, fully dressed with a small stack of files in 
her arms.

"The coroner dropped these off on his way to work 
this morning. Saved us a trip."

"And interrupted your beauty sleep," he said, 
taking note of the dark splotches beneath her 
eyes.

"I'll use more concealer later. I wasn't sleeping 
anyway."

"How come?" he asked, pretty much knowing the 
answer. She just looked directly into his eyes. He 
shrugged.

"I have to take a shower, Scully. Order up some 
room service and start reading."

She walked over to the room service menu and 
gasped aloud as Mulder dropped a quick, open-
mouthed kiss on the side of her neck. She shivered 
in response.

"Good morning, by the way," he said before turning 
around and walking into the bathroom.

He could feel her eyes on him until he quietly 
closed the door between them.


One hour later, Scully finally put down the files 
and lifted the remnants of a cold English muffin 
to her mouth.

"Anything?" Mulder asked.

"No. Jim Downey was in the early stages of 
Alzheimer's disease but from the evidence 
presented by the brain tissue, it should not have 
played a significant role in his suicide. Lawrence 
and Burns had nothing but the usual afflictions of 
the elderly. Some arthritis, diabetes. . . all 
conditions seemed to be under control and nothing 
presents as contributing to sudden violent 
behavior."

"Drugs?"

"Medications, Mulder. And all prescription for the 
conditions I've already mentioned."

"Funky tea? Small pin pricks?"

She smiled.

"No. And from the look of this entire report--they 
did a very thorough examination."

"So," he said, resting against the back of his 
chair, "We could very well have an X-file after 
all."

"Not necessarily," she said automatically. 

"Well," he quickly stood up, "it's now almost 
9:30. I think it's safe to go visit Jim Downey's 
daughter. Unless everyone in this state is on 
diva-time."

2 hours later
Veronica Meadows' home

Veronica Meadows, Jim Downey's daughter, was in 
her early 50's. She sat on a veranda overlooking a 
huge yard. Mulder looked around, enjoying the 
view. Perfectly landscaped, perfectly manicured 
lawn on a perfect California day. A far cry from 
the still cold and gray east coast.

"My father knew about the Alzheimer's. He had been 
diagnosed a few months before."

"Do you think he was upset enough to kill himself 
over it?"

"That is probably the assumption most people make. 
But, no. I don't think so. He was a man of great 
faith. And at the time of his death, really it was 
just the more subtle symptoms of Alzheimer's that 
were manifesting themselves. Occasional 
forgetfulness. Nothing major."

"Why do you think he killed himself?"

"I have no idea." The woman shook her head sadly 
and lifted a plate of cookies to offer to Mulder 
and Scully once again. They both shook their heads 
in refusal.

"Do you think he killed himself?" Mulder asked as 
gently as he could.

"Why? Why do you ask? Is there evidence that 
someone. . ."

"No," Scully jumped in. "Absolutely not. All 
evidence points to suicide. We just wanted to 
investigate all possibilities--no matter how 
remote. Did he have any enemies?"

"Agent Scully--if you asked me that thirty years 
ago, I would probably have said yes. He was career 
military. He was in charge of quite a few people 
in his day so I'm sure he made enemies. But now--
he was an old retired gentleman surrounded by 
other old retired gentlemen. They played golf. 
Went to each other's funerals. No. No enemies. I'm 
sure of it."

"Not even from the distant past?" Mulder continued 
to press.

"I suppose anything is possible but I really doubt 
it."

Scully decided to examine another angle.

"He chose rat poison in his milk as the method of 
suicide. When you heard this--was there any 
connection--to anything at all--no matter how 
trivial it may have seemed?"

"He didn't live in a tenement, if that's what 
you're going for. He lived in a retirement 
community. Nice, clean, well cared for apartments. 
There was no need for rat poison. Which meant he 
had to go out and buy it. Which meant he planned 
it and yet. . ."

"Yes?" Mulder prompted.

"Yet he didn't leave me a note saying goodbye. 
Only left one for that actress."

"What do you know about his relationship with 
her?"

"Relationship? I don't know. It seemed more like a 
fling from the stories I heard. During the Korean 
War, she went to visit the troops. They took these 
starlets and paraded them in skimpy dresses so the 
troops could feel--I don't know--alive for a 
moment. Forget their troubles in a rush of 
horniness. She took a liking to my dad and he did 
to her. Apparently, they had a pretty short 
affair. That was the end of  it. I mean, fathers 
don’t--in general--talk about their love lives to 
their daughters but my mom used to bring it up. 
She found it kind of funny that he went from 
Charlotte Colby to her. I think she found it 
somewhat flattering in a bizarre sort of way."

"And he never had contact with her again."

"No. Never. He knew about this book she was 
writing but no direct contact."

"And how did he know?"

"Agents. . .legal representatives from the 
publishing company, I think."

"Well, thank you very much for your help. May we 
call you if we need any further information?" 
Scully asked, standing up.

"Of course. I really would like the closure that a 
little more knowledge would supply. It's terrible 
living with a complete mystery."

Mulder smiled at her.

"We'll do everything we can." 

The woman felt somewhat reassured. He didn't sound 
like the type of person who made hollow promises.


2 PM
Hollywood soundstage

"So, what could be more perfect? We find out about 
the book. So, if it's a hit--we'll do a little 
retrospective of Charlotte's work. She's sort of 
semi-underappreciated but, man, does she have a 
lot of movies. And since she is 'underappreciated' 
at the moment--we can get 'um cheap. So we went 
ahead and bought them. The whole damned lot. We 
decided to air them next month for the first time. 
Build up a bit of Charlotte mystique. Then, 
hopefully, the book will come out in another three 
to six months and boom--we can show them again 
when we have the double whammy of the book and the 
films to build her into a true legend. And 
publicity, at this point, is cheap--if not 
downright free. So--I go with it. Get the past to 
help build up interest for the future. Two old 
codgers like Lawrence and Burns get all dressed up 
and recreate a scene from one of Charlotte's 
movies. Still pining away after all these years."

"And you came up with this idea out of the blue?" 
Mulder asked Blaine Walker: producer, director and 
general jack of all trades working exclusively 
with a cable movie channel. Fairly small time job 
in the entertainment industry; fairly big time 
ego. They were all in director's chairs on a 
nearly empty soundstage. Everyone was "taking 
ten."

"Well, yeah. Me and Jeff. That's Charlotte's 
agent. Jeff Stevens. He did the initial pushing to 
the network."

"And the men--Lawrence and Burns--were receptive?"

"Sure. They were flattered. Ate it all up with a 
spoon, I tell ya. Wives muttering about their bad 
bathroom habits and how they don't get it up 
anymore and someone offering them the chance to go 
out there and relive the glory days. . .what's not 
to love? Oh, excuse me, Miss." He said, looking at 
Scully's somewhat off-put expression.

Mulder unsuccessfully suppressed a smile.

"Okay. Then what happened--in your words?"

"Got the codgers here. Made things look like they 
did 45 years ago--but bigger--better. Even got 
their old makeup guy here. Well, he was the only 
one from that crew alive, actually. I checked 
around. It's somewhat of an old home-buddy-buddy 
atmosphere, right? Okay. So, they're ready. 
Action! They say their lines--a bit melodramatic--
but that's in keeping with the old style and the 
natural ham in all of us. 

Then, all of a sudden--someone changes the name of 
the female they are supposed to be dueling over 
and uses Charlotte's real name instead. I don't 
remember which one it was. That wasn't in the 
script. They are supposed to be dueling over the 
character Charlotte played in Sayonara Sunrise. 
Her name was Betty in that flick. So, one of the 
coots mentions Charlotte's name and they are off 
and arguing. So, I'm sitting back thinking--damn. 
These old farts are having a little fun at my 
expense and I kind of lean back to enjoy the show. 
Hell, it's early. We can waste a little time. And 
they are going at it--verbally--back and forth. 
They aim their 'pistols' at each other--bang, 
bang. Nothing, of course, happens because the guns 
are fake. 

So, they both run off set--one goes up to the 
catering table and pulls a bread knife--the other 
takes a scissor that someone left sitting around 
and before I know it--they go at each other and 
there is freaking blood all over the goddamned 
place. The one that got stabbed in the neck died 
almost instantly. And the other--died at the 
hospital."

"Charlotte--was on the scene?" Scully asked.

"No. We weren't going to do her at all. I don't 
know how much publicity she will eventually do for 
the book--but we thought it would be better to do 
the spots without her. Leave her young and fresh 
in the minds of the audience. If two old guys 
battle over an old woman--well, it just makes 
things pathetic, doesn't it?"

Scully swallowed the retort that came to her lips.

Mulder leaned forward on the director's chair.

"In the movie--the Sayonara Sunrise one--they 
killed each other with guns?"

"No. It was a sword fight. We thought we'd modern 
it up a bit by using guns."

"I see. And in the movie--how did both of them end 
up dying? I mean--if they were dueling--one would 
die and one would live."

"You should see the movie. That was the beauty of 
it, my man. They cheated. Both of the lovers 
cheated by coming at each other full blast. No 
rules of duelsmanship. They both ran each other 
through with swords."

"So, in effect--these older versions were also--
dying in the same way as their characters--just 
using different weapons because there weren't any 
swords around."

"Yeah. I guess. Finally let that old senile 
dementia get to them."

Scully considered giving the director a brief 
lecture on the ailments of the elderly--fact 
versus fiction--but thought better of it. She was 
sure he didn't care one way or the other.

They left the movie set shortly after the now 
ritual exchange of business cards and cell phone 
numbers. 

Golden Dove Diner
3:55 PM

"That's interesting," Mulder said, adjusting his 
napkin over his slacks. They had decided to go out 
and have a late-lunch/early dinner even though 
they knew it would be a long evening and they 
would probably have to fit yet another meal into 
their schedule at some point during the night.

"What?"

"The connection between method of death in the 
film and method of death of these two actors."

"It's coincidence, Mulder. Nothing more. Mr. 
Costas and Mr. Downey weren't actors."

"No. But it's a place to start."

"Not really. We asked Downey's daughter about the 
rat poison and she couldn't explain it."

"But maybe Charlotte can."

She leaned back and wiped her fingers on the 
napkin in front of her.

"Maybe," she said doubtfully. He stared straight 
in her eyes. He knew this Scully so well. The 
working Scully. The skeptical Scully.  He wanted 
more of the Scully he didn't know as well.

"What kind of movies did you like as a kid, 
Scully? Doctor movies? Adventures on the high 
seas?"

"I liked old romantic comedies."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. What's so odd about that?"

"I don’t know. I guess we haven't always had the 
opportunity to laugh that much."

"We've had our moments."

"I guess we have. So, you like all that happily 
ever after stuff, huh?"

"In an idealized--two hour format. Yes."

He smiled softly.

"Favorite actor?"

"I don't know, Mulder. I liked them all really."

"Liar."

It was her turn to smile.

"Well, I didn't have anyone I drooled over as you 
do with Charlotte Colby, if that's what you want 
to know."

"If Cary Grant came and sat down next to you right 
now--you wouldn't drool?"

"I would absolutely salivate. The articles I could 
write over the medical and mystical miracle of a 
long-dead actor coming back to life would be an 
incredible opportunity."

"Ah. Romance is alive and well in Scullyland."

She sighed and looked him in the eye. His eyes and 
voice softened in response.

"Bet you never thought you'd be in the middle of 
living one of those screwball comedies, did you, 
Scully?"

"Comedy, Mulder?"

"You said we had our moments."

"Moments. But more moments of high drama."

"So, that rules out a happy ending?"

"I hope not. Although, we  very different."

"That's always managed to work for us, though."

"You didn't seem to think so yesterday."

"That was my penis talking. Its sensibilities were 
offended. You came to my bed aiming for 'nice,' 
for heaven's sake."

"I'm not sure I even know what I was aiming for. I 
just wanted to be with you. Life without a script. 
You take the action but aren't sure of the next 
step."

"I could always act out the tried and true, 'I 
would die for you" scenario. That would prove my 
intentions and give us a direction."

"No.  That's been done already.  Many times." She 
looked off through the somewhat foggy diner window 
at the parking lot. "You've been willing to die 
for me many, many times. . ."

"As you have for me," he pointed out, softly.

"I guess I have."

He leaned over and quickly squeezed her hand, 
bringing her attention back to the present time.

"The movies aint got nothing on us, Scully. But it 
is time to go for the happily ever after soon. "

She reached over and took a sip of his coffee, 
smiling with her eyes over the rim of the cup.

5PM
Greg Amanti's home

Charlotte's eyes. It had been so long since he 
looked into them.  A gasp of surprise came from 
his lips as he realized he was actually looking 
into the deep, clear green depths once again. He 
had almost forgotten what it felt like. To be 
taken to another place where nothing else 
mattered; nothing else existed.

"You're tired, Greg. You've told me so much today 
and now you should rest.  Should I come back 
later?"

"No. Tomorrow. I need to know I can see you 
tomorrow."

"Fine. I will be back. Tomorrow. Today, you told 
me; tomorrow you can show me."


End of Part 3

Part 4

March 21, 2000
8:15 PM

The second trip to Charlotte's house was very 
different than the first. They came a few minutes 
before the scheduled appointment while things were 
still being set up for the meetings of the 
evening.  They were led into the drawing room but 
could hear quite a bit of motion in the hallway 
beyond. 

After a few moments, the door opened and an 
elderly man walked straight through the room and 
over to a small table and chair on the opposite 
side of the room from where Mulder and Scully were 
sitting. After pouring himself a very generous 
amount of whatever brownish liquor was in the 
bottle, he sat down in the chair with a groan.

Mulder was half-standing up, wondering if he 
should introduce himself when the man waved him 
back down.

"I know who you are. FBI agents. Donna and 
whatever the hell name Charlotte decided to 
mutilate in order to come up with 'Foxy.'"

"Actually, I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, 
Special Agent Dana Scully."

He gave another half-mast wave. He looked 
absolutely worn out as he lifted the liquid to his 
lips and took a hefty swallow.

"George. George Jenkins. Charlotte's makeup 
artist."

Scully glanced at Mulder, surprise quickly passing 
over her face. George noticed it.

"Yes, young lady. It  strange. It's even 
strange to me. But I was one of the first makeup 
artists hired by the studios. I was trained by Max 
Factor himself. Charlotte had enough pull to have 
me as her 'personal' makeup man and strangely 
enough, she's not let me go yet. I think she does 
it because she loves toying with old gay guys. 
Payback for us not kissing her ass like the rest 
of the American males."

"So you come in now and do her makeup for her in 
everyday life?"

"You don't expect her to do it herself, do you, 
young lady? The woman was pampered beyond belief 
and got used to it. But, you got to hand it to 
her, she was also one very, very smart cookie. She 
hooked herself up with some very smart men who 
invested her money well, so she can afford to keep 
up this hedonistic life until the day the earth 
swallows her whole."

"Um--you don't sound as if you like her that much. 
. ." Mulder gently suggested.

George smiled. A genuine smile.

"I love the old bat. She's my best friend. She 
really is. Every pampered cell in her body. I just 
wish--I wish we could both drop the act. The fact 
is--she's completely capable of putting on makeup 
herself. She just wants me around and doesn't 
really believe I'd come to see her every day if I 
weren't paid to do so. Well, hell--maybe she does 
need me. It takes quite a while to get a 76 year 
old woman looking 50 again--even with all her nips 
and tucks."

Mulder leaned forward as a sudden connection was 
made.

"George? Did you do the makeup for the commercial 
Gary Lawrence and Mark Burns were involved in?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Something the director said. Anyway--can you tell 
me if anything seemed odd? Did you know them from 
the old days?"

"I knew them but didn't work on them then. As I 
said, I was exclusively Charlotte's. I did the 
makeup for them now because it was part of the 
publicity. They wanted to gather enough of the old 
crew together to make it seem as if they were 
sparing no expense to recreate the magic of 
Charlotte's films. In actuality, they were just 
hoping we were all so old we wouldn't even know 
the going-rate for people currently in our 
professions. Anyway--these guys aged. I mean, 
badly. Neither of them had any cosmetic work done 
and that's not something I'm used to seeing in 
this town. Virgin faces."

"And you did your movie makeup magic?"

"Sonny--there is no amount of makeup or Plaster of 
Paris, for that matter, that could fill those 
wrinkles. It was. . . undignified. Just like this 
whole shit-ass campaign to sell her book."

"You don't approve?" Scully asked.

"I don't. I don't mind Charlotte writing her 
memoirs. I think there is a medium sized market 
for it, at best. We have to face it. She was never 
a great actress. She was a good actress in a 
popular series of movies. Those who remember her, 
remember her. We should publish the damned thing 
on a limited scale and go after these old fans. 
But, no. God forbid you should actually do 
something sensible in this town. So, they are 
taking these older people--and hey, I'm one of 
them. I'm not saying we should all be in homes 
somewhere, secluded from the rest of the world. 
But we shouldn't be out parading ourselves and 
recreating old moments as old people pretending to 
be young. And just you wait--that is what they 
will do with Charlotte. They will put her in some 
dress reminiscent of one she used to wear--pull 
down that thinning Lady Clairol  hair so it drapes 
over her shoulders and have her do some idiotic 
scene she did 45 years ago. And the semi-legend 
will become the joke of Hollywood. Some of her 
loyal fans will not care; some of her casual fans 
will just shake their heads at the old lady gone 
slightly batty and the rest of the public will 
remember her--and by extension--all of us, as 
laughingstocks."

George finished his drink and poured another. 
Mulder tried to steer the conversation back to the 
original subject that they touched upon before 
George's diatribe against Hollywood.
 
"Did you notice anything strange about Mr. Burns 
or Mr. Lawrence?"

"Not a thing. They asked me about Charlotte. If I 
still kept in touch. I told them I had. They just 
inquired, casually, if she was doing well. I did 
their makeup and they got on the set. And they 
started quoting lines from the movie but used her 
name instead of her character's name. Then, they 
went off to the food services table like maniacs 
and grabbed knives or something. We all just 
thought it was a joke. Until they were lying there 
bleeding to death. Unreal."

"In the original movie, which character used the 
words, 'I would die for you?'" Scully asked.

"Ah--this was double your pleasure, Agent Scully. 
Both men did."

Mulder frowned. He had quite a few questions 
Charlotte needed to address.


Charlotte kept them waiting another half hour, 
during which time George took his decidedly less 
grouchy leave with Charlotte's chauffeur helping 
him along the way.

Charlotte appeared in a red kimono. Black 
chopsticks adorned her upswept hair. After air 
kissing both Mulder and Scully near their cheeks, 
she sat down as if ready for an inquisition.

"Charlotte--I really would like to cover all three 
of the men who have died. Tonight," Scully 
started.

"Well, I will do my best. You know, I do have a 
life. I still have to work on my book after you 
leave and there are various appearances that have 
to be discussed. Jonathan is bringing down a copy 
of the book for you, by the way, Fox darling."

"Um. Thank you. Let's get started then. Jim 
Downey?" he prodded.

"Ah, Jim. Such a sweet man. And how I loved him. 
Let's see. We met at a USO show. Bob Hope had 
invited me. Nice man but between the three of us, 
I never did understand his humor. Anyway. . .we 
put on a show and we were doing this sketch--and 
Bob had arranged for Jim to be a small part of it. 
He was the captain of a troop and they all found 
it very amusing to see him up there--acting. I'm 
sure he got ribbed over it later. Anyway, he was 
terribly sweet and, well--we managed to meet later 
at the Officer's Club for a few drinks--and we did 
have a terribly brief love affair. That night and 
a few others before I headed back for the United 
States."

"And did you continue to see him after he left the 
Army?"

"No. I never saw him again."

"Can you think of a reason why he'd use rat poison 
as a way of killing himself?"

She shuddered. "Not at all. Horribly disgusting 
way to die, I would imagine."

Scully turned the conversation to the other 
victims.

"Gary Lawrence? Mark Burns? What was your 
relationship with each of these men, Miss. . 
.Charlotte."

Charlotte leaned back against the sofa. Scully 
noticed her eyes looked much more tired than they 
had the previous evening. At her age, she probably 
should be conducting her business at a more 
reasonable hour.

"We all have our wild moments, I guess. I normally 
dated one man at a time. No. That's not true, 
either. Dear Dana, we can discuss this because 
it's a different age. I used to fall in love very 
quickly. I didn't date as much as have 
relationships. I fell in love very quickly. I 
could date dozens of men but they would never get 
a second date if I didn't feel something for them. 
However, when I did feel something for someone--I 
took it to the next level, if you understand what 
I'm saying."

Scully nodded.

"Well, we started Sayonara Sunrise and I couldn't 
decide between Gary and Mark. They were both so 
different. Gary was tall, dark and handsome. Very 
intense. Much like our Fox here. Mark was fair and 
just. . .lovely. Poetry in motion, really. So, I 
saw them both."

"And they both knew about each other."

"Oh, yes. They did."

"They didn't get along."

"I wouldn't say that. They managed to keep a 
respectable distance from each other and were both 
trying to outdo each other in wooing me. But there 
was nothing violent or even unpleasant about their 
personal relationship."

"How did those relationships end, Charlotte?" 
Mulder asked.

"Mark and I parted company after the movie was 
completed. Actually, he met someone. The woman he 
would marry eventually. I believe he was still 
married to her at the time of his death. And Gary 
and I were friends for quite some time--at least 
six months--before we just--got tired of each 
other. I think he was married several times."

"No contact since?"

"No."

"You mentioned your book and not having to speak 
with the first victim for research. Did you have 
to contact any of these gentlemen?"

"No. Jonathan does it."

"Jonathan?"

"My co-writer. He feels we will have more 
objective information if a neutral party 
approaches them. No emotional blocking, as he puts 
it."

"And is he the one who suggested the publicity 
shoot?"

"He's one of the ones," a male voice said upon 
entering the room. Both Mulder and Scully looked 
up to see a man in his early thirties--dark red 
hair and green eyes, entering the room with 
several boxes.

He put the boxes on the coffee table and shook 
both agents' hands.

"Jonathan Morton."

"My co-writer and twin, born 40 years later, of 
course. It was an unusual birth." Charlotte 
smiled.

"Well, you certainly both have the same coloring," 
Scully remarked.

"Not really. Hair is real. Eyes are enhanced 
through the use of colored contacts. Mine are a 
muddy sort of brown," he smiled, shaking her hand 
firmly.

"Ah," Scully said, slightly disappointed that the 
bright, green depths were not "natural."

Charlotte started rummaging through one box.

"Ah. Here it is. Thank you, Jonathan. You are a 
peach. Fox, Dana--take a look. I have pictures."

Mulder and Scully took seats on either side of 
Charlotte as she showed them pictures of all four 
of the men. Each one extremely different in looks 
and seemingly in demeanor. 

Mulder pointed to one picture.

"Jim Downey?"

"Yes." 

"This was the sketch you were talking about?"

"Yes. A take-off on the balcony scene of Romeo and 
Juliet. Doesn't he look handsome?"

Mulder nodded in a distracted way.

"Did he--use the words--the ones from the movies? 
'I would die for you' during that sketch?"

"No. I don't think so. He did do it later though. 
Actually, he led the troops in a group 'I would 
die for you,' as a way of thanking me. It was 
extremely flattering to hear all those men say 
that--especially knowing they were going in to 
battle."

"What about Hank Costas? Did he ever use that 
expression?

A frown crossed her face.

"Several times actually."

"May I ask when?"

"Darling, Fox! Some things really shouldn't be 
spoken of in polite company. I will say that he 
only said it once when we were in a more public 
place. It was opening night of my play and he was 
taking me home. He said it," the frown deepened, 
"in an alley, of all places. Not romantic at all. 
And it didn't impress me. Frankly, by that time, I 
was thoroughly sick of the expression."

Mulder turned to Scully with a small smile of 
triumph on his face. 

Scully turned to Jonathan Morton.

"Mr. Morton. . .you mentioned setting up the 
publicity shot between the two older actors? Can 
you tell us anything? Were you at the shoot?"

"No.  I had talked to both men before in a 
conference call and had met with each for 
background for the book. But this was several 
weeks before the shoot.  Actually, I said I set it 
up but it was the brainchild of both myself and 
Charlotte's agent, Jeff.  He's out of the country 
for a few weeks but I'm sure he'll speak with you 
when he gets back. Anyway, both men were very 
willing to talk about Charlotte and we thought--it 
would be a hoot. To many, it would be nice seeing 
these men who virtually dropped out of the 
business coming out and doing something again. And 
to those who didn't know them, it would build 
Charlotte's mystique. How these older men were 
still carrying a torch for her and willing to die 
for her character. We, of course, had no idea they 
were so. . .mentally unstable."

"Is that how you look at it?" Scully asked.

He turned his green gaze upon her. 

"Well, it must be, Agent Scully. What else could 
have made two grown men kill each other over a 
woman they hadn't seen in years?"

"Did you bring the book, Jonathan?" Charlotte 
interrupted.

"Of course. It's in the other box. Sorry we don't 
really have it in any kind of professional 
binding. It's more or less just a manuscript but 
you'll get the idea. We both are very proud of 
what we've done so far."

"I'm sure it will be a fascinating story," Mulder 
said, accepting the box.

"You are a fan, Charlotte tells me."

"Yes."

"Well, that's who we're writing it for. All of 
Charlotte's many, many fans," he said. His speech 
was as flamboyant as hers, Scully thought. 

Charlotte nodded slowly in agreement. Her eyes 
were getting cloudy and Scully doubted that she 
would be doing any real work that night. 


11:02 PM
On the road back to the hotel

Back in the car, Mulder was as excited as he 
normally got when he felt he made some sort of 
breakthrough.

"You heard it."

"Heard what, exactly?"

"Connection #1-- we've always had--the two men 
killing each other as they had in the movie. 
Today, we got the other two.  Hank Colby said 'I 
would die for you'--in an alley. He died--in an 
alley.  And, finally-- connection #3--Mr. Rat 
Poison."

"And how did you make that connection, Mulder? I 
didn't hear Charlotte mention rat poison at all."

"Ah--but Jim Downey did Romeo and Juliet with 
her."

"Romeo did not die of rat poisoning."

"Well, I'm sure rat poison was easier to get than 
whatever crap Romeo used. Plus, Hank might have 
been slightly confused due to his illness."

Scully frowned. 

"You seem to be reaching here."

"Am I? This is the only lead we have."

"Okay. Given that they seem to be killing 
themselves due to some association they had with 
something in their lives with Charlotte--what do 
we do next? We still don't know what's compelling 
them to act."

"Mind control? Post-hypnotic suggestion?"

"It does seem that way. Don't look so shocked. 
Once in a while, I agree with you.  But the 
question is who is doing the controlling? 
Charlotte? I don't know about you, Mulder--but I 
see a very tired old lady who is trying to pretend 
she's about forty years younger and failing."

Mulder looked at her in surprise.

"Really? I don't see that at all. I think she's 
very vital for her age or any age, really."

"So you think she's killing these men?"

"No. I have no idea who is killing these men. And 
if she does have something to do with it, she 
might not be aware that she has this power. She 
did seem to be able to mesmerize them when she was 
younger; maybe some of this stood the test of 
time."

Scully made a sound that clearly signified 
disbelief.

"You don't think a woman has that type of hold 
over a man?"

"No. Actually, I don't. These men were not monks, 
Mulder. No one was pining over her or apparently 
even thinking much about her in all these years. I 
think they were infatuated with her, as most men 
would be. She was a very lovely woman. Had a 
reputation for being both mysterious--and loose. A 
very attractive combination. Once the mystery was 
gone, however, I think they moved on with their 
lives. I see her as rather a tragic figure, 
really."

"Well, I don't. I think she has power."

"You would."

Mulder smiled and moved the car into the drive-
through lane of a Burger King.

March 22, 2000
4:17 AM

Mulder didn't panic when he heard the slight 
sliding sound of a keycard being passed through 
the slot of his door. He knew who it would be.

Scully didn't look very surprised to find him 
sitting up against the headboard, bathed by the 
light of his television set.

She was in a nightshirt and robe and quickly made 
her way over to his bed and slid in beside him.

"I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold," she murmured as 
she rubbed her feet against his legs.

"It's 4 AM, Scully. Time for all good agents to be 
asleep, not running around cold corridors."

"You're not asleep."

"Who said anything about me being good?"

"I think you're very good. Why do you think I'm 
running down cold corridors? Come here for a 
minute," she grabbed his arms, drawing them around 
herself, as she rotated their bodies so she was on 
her back with him trying to rest as lightly as 
possible on top of her.

"Are you coming on to me?" Mulder asked her with 
great amusement.

"I need your warmth, that's all," she said, 
drawing his full weight on her.

"You're going to be crushed," he said, trying to 
offset some of his weight by rising on his elbows, 
while she fought his move by pulling him closer.

She opened her legs and his torso slipped down 
between them. 

"Put your weight on your pelvis, Mulder. I won't 
be crushed."

"Uh. . .huh," he said, finally maneuvering himself 
into a half-sit up position. 

She looked up at him and wiped his hair away from 
his forehead. 

"Warming up?" He asked, feeling quite warm 
himself.

She smiled and lightly drew her fingers over his 
face; concentrating on his nose and cheekbones. 
Her fingertips always surprised him. They should 
be rough from all the harsh antiseptic soaps she 
used, but they were soft and silky.  She seemed to 
be concentrating on each place her fingers briefly 
traveled over. When she outlined his lips with her 
index finger, a tiny light seemed to burn in her 
eyes, and move within her until her smile softened 
and deepened. She licked her lips, almost 
unconsciously, but he was determined not to kiss 
her unless she initiated it. It was her game 
tonight. His erection poking her in all the right 
places would be enough of a clue that the flesh 
was willing. The spirit, however, would damned 
well wait forever if it had to.

"Can I ask you something?" Her wandering gaze 
settled on his eyes so she was looking right into 
them.

"Anything," he responded.

"The other night--our second night together--were 
you. . .did it even cross you mind to mention. . 
."

"What?"

He felt her take as deep a breath as she could 
with him leaning heavily on her.

"Some sort of permanent relationship?" She 
finished.

Ah, okay.

"I wasn't going to mention it at all. But I have 
to admit, I did think about it. Putting a label on 
something I believe is already in progress. Is 
that what sent you packing?"

"I don't know. Not really. It was just one of the 
many things that seemed to cross my mind."  She 
moved her hand down across his neck and put her 
other hand on his shoulder and gave him a playful 
shove.

"Off. You're crushing me," she said, as he rolled 
off her and onto his back. He braced himself. 
Crushing her physically and emotionally. She would 
probably make the door in about 2.5 seconds, tops.

Instead, she laughed softly and leaned in his 
direction, lifting herself up on an elbow. She 
took her other hand and lightly ran it down the 
middle of his chest.

"I've always wanted to do this. . .just touch you. 
. ." she said softly, as she decreased even the 
faint pressure she was applying and made her touch 
feather light as it continued its downward 
direction. She reached the waistband of his 
boxers.

"May I?" she asked.

"You may," Mulder said. . .hoping to get a bit of 
relief in his nearly overly excited state.

She slipped her fingers inside and ran them in a 
horizontal direction across his waist before going 
back to his navel and, once again, turning into 
feathery mode as she gently lifted the waistband 
of his shorts with her left hand and touched his 
warm, silky flesh with her right.

"I have a sudden urge to make amends with the part 
of you I offended the most," she explained as she 
increased the pressure of her fingers.

"I believe he completely forgave you about five 
minutes ago."

She looked into his eyes. 

"I'm really not making light of anything, Mulder. 
Really."

"I know. I told you. It's all forgotten. We are 
moving on. We have no need to be serious or 
repentant."

She pulled at his waistband.

"Move up a little," she said as she tugged his 
boxers down and off.

She had wrapped her fingers around his penis and 
slowly moved her hand up and down his velvety 
flesh. She seemed to be concentrating on the task-
-at hand--and paying secondary attention to the 
words they were speaking. It struck Mulder that he 
didn't care. They could both recite the Gettysburg 
address or say nothing at all. She was trying to 
reconnect and he would let her give him whatever 
she was ready and comfortable giving. Suddenly, 
she stopped.

She sat up, pulled off her robe and threw it to 
the floor. Her panties were soon to follow. She 
quickly straddled his lap and resumed her manual 
efforts--this time with both hands lightly playing 
across his skin.

She leaned over him and whispered, "Nice?"

He managed a low groan of agreement as the 
pressure of her hands increased.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and bent down 
to kiss his cheek.

"Your cheeks are a little scruffy, Mulder," she 
said, rubbing against the stubbly surface like a 
cat marking her territory with her scent. 

"Should I shave?" 

"Uh-uh."

She lightly nipped his earlobe then sucked on it 
in relief. She whispered, "I love you more than 
anything, Mulder. Just so you know." Her 900-
number operator voice was as earnest as a four 
year old's in it's simple declaration. 

"I know that Scully," he gasped as she moved back, 
grasping him firmly and welcoming him inside 
herself. In their limited encounters, she had 
never been the one on top. It was an incredible 
feeling. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes 
fully to watch her as she led their movements.

She pinned his arms to his side as he reached out 
to hold onto some part of her. He wasn't even sure 
which part he was aiming for when he initially put 
his hands out but she held them down and began 
slowly circling her hips over his. She seemed to 
be concentrating on his facial expressions, 
determined to give him maximum pleasure. After a 
few moments, he realized it was more a scientific 
exploration than any kind of enjoyable experience 
for her.
 
"Scully," he tried to interrupt but she ignored 
him, moving her body in small jerky motions that 
felt wonderful to him but probably did very little 
for her. Knowing that she was doing this as an act 
of penance, in some ways, made it very difficult 
for him to just let go and enjoy the moment.  He 
watched her as she continued to move, a thin sheen 
of sweat breaking across her brow. She looked at 
him, frustration clearly written on her face. He 
quickly broke out of her grasp and grabbed hold of 
her hips. He lifted his knees and put the soles of 
his feet flat on the mattress.

"Together, Scully, " he said and jerked himself up 
into her. She quickly gasped at the intensity and 
he felt her relaxing for a moment and then meeting 
him, stroke down for each of his upward thrusts. 
Together.
He could tell by her moans that she was beginning 
to enjoy herself as much as he was and he 
increased the pressure of his fingertips on her 
hips, tilting her forward a bit. She opened her 
eyes as her hands came down on his chest for 
further leverage. She looked into his eyes and 
smiled. A warm, surprised smile. This was pretty 
simple. Pretty basic. And not terrifying at all. 
This is what they were good at. Give and take. 
Take and give. 

His hand slipped forward to stroke her and within 
seconds, the entire top half of her body was free-
falling the rest of the way down to his chest. Not 
a long ride, but an exhilarating one, accented by 
his warmth gushing through her as his jerking 
subsided and his entire body relaxed beneath her 
own. 

She listened to the sounds of both of their 
respiration rates returning to normal.

She felt his hands as they stroked the hair out of 
her eyes and away from her face. 

"Anytime you are uncomfortable, you can go," he 
whispered to her. "I don't have a problem with it 
anymore. Really."

"Not right now, Mulder. I'm a ragdoll."

He laughed in confusion.

"A what?"

She lifted herself off him, leaving a small mess 
on his upper legs but not seeming to care. She 
settled by his side, grabbing his right bicep and 
wrapping both arms around it as she rested her 
head against his shoulder.

"I feel like a ragdoll. All loose and mushy. Can't 
move. 'Night."

Mulder looked down at her red head resting against 
his flesh. . .felt her lips slowly open against 
his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at one last 
kiss and through the warm, steady breath hitting 
his skin, realized she hadn't quite made it before 
slumber overtook her. 

He should worry about whether she was acting 
totally in character or if lack of sleep over the 
past few days caused her to come to him tonight. 
But he decided against it.

He swiped at himself with the corner of the sheet, 
pulled up the comforter, and settled in to enjoy 
the warmth of her presence. For however long it 
lasted.

End of Part 4

Part 5

March 22, 2000
8:30 AM

Mulder hesitated, once again, before opening his 
eyes. 

He told her she didn't have to be there. He was 
prepared for her not to be there. He would not be 
angry. He wouldn't. 

The smell of coffee filtered through his troubled 
thoughts.

He opened his eyes and slowly looked around the 
room. Coffee and a covered platter was on the 
table across from his side of the bed. And to his 
right, were Scully's feet. His eyes drifted 
downward and took in her jean and sweater clad-
figure lying with her head resting on a pillow by 
his feet, and Charlotte's manuscript propped up on 
her elevated knees. Not naked, which would be his 
ideal; but physically present. That was enough for 
him.

He groaned as he stretched. 

"Surprise," she said, softly.

He reached out and grabbed her bare foot in his 
hand, shaking it slightly.

"Morning. You didn't have to get all dressed up, 
you know."

"I thought it would be enough of a shock for you 
to find me here. Finding me naked would have been 
overkill. Besides, we have to work," she 
responded. "I have coffee for you. And there are 
some bagels and rolls, too. I didn't want to wake 
you to ask if you'd like anything else. You looked 
pretty wiped out."

"I thought you were in ragdoll mode yourself."

She laughed softly.

"Sleeping cured that. Now, I'm just blissfully 
relaxed."

"I'm pretty full of bliss myself. How's the book?"  
he asked, sitting up on his elbows.

"Very, very interesting, Mulder. You didn't read 
any of this last night?"

"No. Actually, I was watching a few tapes of some 
of the movies Charlotte was in. Ran the list of 
actors through some internet searches to find out 
how many are still alive and who could be the next 
victim. And how they might do themselves in.  I 
had just turned the tape off about a half-hour 
before you came in. Tried to unwind with some 
normal nighttime viewing."

"How many possibilities do you have?"

"Eight. From the actors who starred with her in 
those films only. I don't know about producers, 
retired military, set decorators or any of the 
other countless people she might have done it with 
who promised they'd die for her, too. Does she 
name names in the book?"

"Does she ever." She leaned over the side of the 
bed and put the manuscript down on the floor. She 
took her right foot and rubbed it lightly against 
his sheet-covered crotch. Mulder looked at her, 
surprise and delight vying for space in the 
expression on his face.

"Are you still trying to apologize to my body 
parts?"

She smiled again and curled her toes into his 
flesh.

"No. It's just another thing I've always wanted to 
do."

"I am here to fulfill your every wish, ma'am."

"I believe that constitutes a verbal agreement. 
Binding in most states." She raised up on her 
knees and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Now, in spite of the fact that you are a complete 
mess right now, Mulder. . .I would like to kiss 
you good morning. . .just to prove that I do, 
indeed, give a crap about you."

"The sacrifices you make. . ."

"I know," she said before lowering her lips to his 
in a firm kiss. His hands reached out for her 
waist and she plunged her hands into his wayward 
hair and her tongue in his opening mouth. When she 
felt his hands grip her tighter, she let him go.

"Good morning, Mulder."

He was about to grab her again but shakily settled 
back against the headboard.

"Yes," he smiled, "it's a pretty damned fine 
morning. Now, get off me, woman, so I can clean 
up."

12 PM
Mulder's Hotel Room

Scully was on chapter 10, while Mulder was 
finishing chapter 8. 

He looked up as he took a sip of ice water. 

"I should probably be throwing this down my 
pants."

"You and me both, Mulder."

"Oh, good. Perversion loves company. This is. . ."

"Nearly pornographic in detail."

"Yeah, I'd say so. And I have run across a bit of 
pornography in my time."

"So you know whereof you speak. God, Mulder, This 
is-- not Charlotte's style at all. I mean, she 
talks about love and devotion. Even when she tried 
to tell me that she slept around a lot--she 
couched it in very vague terminology. This is 
blatant--carnal."

"And that, folks, is where the co-writer fits in?"

"Maybe. Or maybe she can write more than she can 
say in person. Lots of people allow themselves 
more freedom when using the written over the 
spoken word." 

"From what I'm reading here, she seems to have no 
problems with inhibition."

"Well, we should finish this and go see her again. 
It just doesn't seem to jive with the image of the 
woman we've seen so far and--even though it 
probably has nothing to do with the case, I still 
want to find out why there is such a big 
discrepancy between what she says and what she 
writes."

12 PM
Greg Amanti's home

He looked into Charlotte's eyes for perhaps the 
last time. One final request.

"Prove your love, Greg. The first opportunity you 
get. You will, won't you? When the time is right?"

His mind reeled back in time. To when he was young 
and foolish; when life itself seemed a fair 
exchange for the love boiling within his blood. 




6 PM
Charlotte Colby's estate

Mulder and Scully did not wait for the preferred 
time for Charlotte Colby audiences. They showed up 
unannounced at her estate. After a great deal of 
motion and commotion, the double doors to the 
drawing room once again opened and Charlotte 
walked in. 

"Darlings. You must really give a girl some 
warning. I'm a wreck."

The wreck was wearing another in a long line of 
silken caftans--this one in a dark purple. A 
matching turban covered uncoiffed hair. George was 
probably on call, as her makeup was impeccable but 
there was still something about her eyes that 
looked very, very odd. Odder than during the two 
previous visits. Scully was having a hard time 
figuring out exactly what the problem was but she 
was determined to get a closer look at the first 
available moment.

"We had a few questions about your manuscript," 
Scully began.

"Did you read it all?"

"Everything that is there so far."

"And did you adore it?" Charlotte asked with a 
smile.

"It was very. . ."

"Enlightening," Mulder supplied.

"Forgive me for asking this, Charlotte--but did 
you write all of this yourself? It doesn't really 
sound like your 'voice.'"

"Oh, well, of course not. I supplied the basic 
facts and Jonathan spiced them up. No one wants to 
hear boring tales of love."

"And you're fine with that?"

"It's not 1954 anymore, my dear Dana. The reason 
I've been able to keep myself young--at heart, 
anyway, is that I've accepted the changes in the 
world. I may not always like them--and may not 
want to spell things out in conversation-- but I 
accept them and live by the rules of the world as 
it is today. I have a story to tell--of the magic 
of old Hollywood; of the men I've loved and if sex 
will entice readers to give my story a chance to 
be heard--so be it."

"And the gentlemen in question--were they made 
aware of how they would be portrayed?"

"I have no idea. I've never had contact with any 
of them but I'm sure Jonathan told them."

"How do you and Jonathan write?"

"I tell him stories. He asks questions--sometimes 
rather rude ones, I will admit--sometimes not. And 
he writes and I rewrite and then he writes some 
more and voila--a new chapter is born. It's a 
lovely collaboration."

"Can we watch?" Scully whipped her head in 
Mulder's direction as he asked the question. An 
odd request sounding oddly funny, given the 
context.
 
"If you'd like. We have a session in a few hours. 
Why don't I have our chef make you some dinner and 
you can stay till then."

Scully was about to decline the dinner invitation 
but Mulder accepted without hesitation. 

Charlotte rose from her chair and headed toward 
the door. Scully recognized her chance and 
followed her, getting physically closer to the 
older woman. Up close, her eyes had a definite 
cloudy appearance.

"I just wanted to freshen up before dinner," 
Scully said, in explanation for her proximity.

"Oh, my dear, I will show you the way," she said, 
reaching for the doorknob.

"Wait. Charlotte? Have you had your eyes checked 
recently? I'm sorry--but, I'm a medical doctor and 
your eyes look like they might be developing 
cataracts."

Charlotte drew herself up to her full height.

"I see all my doctors as needed,  Dana. I can 
assure you, I am in perfect health," and she 
walked through the doorway, forgetting to show 
Scully the way to the ladies' room.

Mulder was behind her.

"What was that all about? Her eyes seemed normal 
to me."

"No, Mulder. They aren't. There was something 
slightly off the day we met her. Yesterday, they 
looked tired and today, there is a definite film 
there. Even with this bizarre lighting--you can 
see it rather clearly when you get close enough."

"So. She's a little in denial over age-related 
ailments. Who isn't?"

"I'm not saying she isn't. What I am saying is 
that it's rather odd for these symptoms to be 
accelerating so rapidly."

"Ooh. We can open an X-file within an X-file. I'm 
getting completely turned on."

"What else is new?" she said, and decided to find 
the rest room on her own.

7 PM
Main dining room

Dinner, oddly enough, was a rather grand affair 
for Mulder, Scully and George, who appeared after 
giving Charlotte yet another "touch-up." Charlotte 
was "supping" in her room.

"You threw the old biddie for a loop, that's for 
sure. You must announce yourselves. It takes her a 
while to muster up her people-seeing persona."

They were dining in an overly large room, set with 
fine china and crystal and the ever-present 
candelabras. Dinner was quickly catered and 
exquisite. Scully was spearing tender baby 
asparagus with her fork when she turned to the old 
makeup artist.

"George, have you noticed anything odd about 
Charlotte's eyes?"

"They get that way when she's tired. You'll see. 
She'll look fine tomorrow. We were worried about 
it the first time it happened but she's had them 
examined before. It's nothing."

"It's happened before?"

"Yeah. A while ago. But then again, my eyes aren't 
that great anymore either. She set up an 
appointment but by the time she went, they were 
looking good again. Doctor said she's fine. So--
who knows? Some weird thing she's got. Maybe a 
little infection and some pus creeping in there."

Mulder visibly cringed and put his fork down for a 
moment. Scully chose to say nothing.

"So, tell us, George. What is a typical day for 
Charlotte like? When does she get up, go to sleep? 
Things like that?" Mulder asked conversationally.

"You don't think she had anything to do with. . ." 
he trailed off, uncertainty in his voice.

"No. I just--background information."

"She goes to bed probably around 4 AM, wakes up 
around 2 PM. Has a body massage some time during 
the day. She likes soap operas. Believe it or not, 
she enjoys a long walk on her estate. She has a 
few dogs outside that go with her. Dobermans. 
You'd never take her for a Doberman girl, would 
you? She looks like the type to have those yappy  
little shits-soos, doesn't she?" 

They both smiled.

"She then relaxes; gets all gussied up for the 
evening and then--receives her guests or business 
associates. No one except us 'hired help' ever get 
to see her without her finery."

"Not even Jonathan?"

"Especially not Jonathan. She's convinced he's 
smitten with her so she has to play up to her 
image."

"And is he?"

"No, of course not. She has a certain regal air 
that most men admire--even now. But do they want 
to bed her? I sincerely doubt it." He pointedly 
looked at Mulder who managed a soft change of 
facial color at the prospect. Scully nearly choked 
on a buttery truffle.

The door opened and Jonathan Morton came in. He 
sat himself at the table as a maid suddenly 
appeared, quickly setting his place. She left the 
room.

"Great service around here, huh?" He smiled at 
Mulder and Scully. They gave a brief smile in 
return.

"Mr. Morton. . .we were curious about the book. . 
." Scully began.

"Really? In what way?" He asked as he began to eat 
with decided enthusiasm.

"The book is much more explicit than any of the 
recollections Miss Colby has shared."

"Ah, well. That's natural. 

When I approached Charlotte and her agent, neither 
one of them had a thing going for them. Oh, 
Charlotte was living the life of a retired diva in 
this mansion but she did, basically, squat. Jeff 
is an agent for many old stars and does what he 
does. Makes sure she gets her residuals on time 
and makes sure he gets his share of them. This 
book was a godsend. More money for both of them, 
which pleased Jeff, and more importantly for 
Charlotte, a chance to bask in the spotlight once 
again. "

"I didn't think she was that concerned with 
reliving old glories," Mulder stated.

"Puh-lease. Every single one of them would sell 
their rum-soaked livers for another chance at 
glory. And you know, she's perfect for the role. 
She led a life that people want to read about. 
They don't want to read about someone who got 
married before the age of twenty five, had kids 
and remained faithful to one spouse until death--
yada, yada. No, they want to hear about someone 
who lived. And she sure as hell did that."
 
"So," Mulder tried to be diplomatic, but couldn't 
really find a way. "These deaths--aren't 
necessarily bad for the book."

"So far, they aren't necessarily good for the 
book, either," Jonathan said between bites, "since 
someone seems to be doing their damnedest to hush 
everything up. Nothing. Not even the dual deaths 
were given much press. Surprising, really. 
Especially now that you guys are involved."

Surprising, indeed.

9 PM

They sat in the corner by the fire as Charlotte 
draped herself decoratively on her couch and 
Jonathan sat on a chair across from her. Mulder 
and Scully quietly watched them "write."

"Tell me about the one that got away, Charlotte. 
There must have been someone," Jonathan asked.

"What?"

"Some man. Untouchable in some way?"

" I have no idea what you are talking about. No 
man is untouchable if you make the attempt to 
understand him. Plus, we've had this discussion 
before."

Scully looked across at Charlotte. She looked 
very, very tired now. Her eyes were so cloudy 
there was really no way of determining what their 
color was. Jonathan stood up and went to the other 
side of the room to pour himself a drink. 

"You want one?" he gestured with the bottle to the 
agents.

His green contacts were a stark contrast to the 
dullness of Charlotte's gaze. The coloring in the 
room helped accent them. He really was very 
attractive. Perhaps George was mistaken. Perhaps 
Charlotte had a small crush on the much younger 
man, instead of the other way around.

"I'll have to look over my notes, Charlotte. I 
just think it brings a little human interest to 
have one man be 'the one.' The one you wanted more 
than any other and for one reason or another, 
couldn't have," He saw a determined closed off 
look set in her face. "You look tired. You want to 
stop early tonight?"

Charlotte looked around the room, acknowledging 
her guests and visibly sucking up enough drive to 
continue.

"It's the shank of the evening. Of course not. 
Just ask me something else. Something we can 
actually include in the book."

Jonathan gave her a name and she was off and 
running once more. In full-Charlotte mode. Scully 
looked across at Mulder and then turned to 
Charlotte when she suddenly stopped speaking in 
the middle of the conversation. Charlotte had 
stopped to take a sip of her drink and when she 
lifted her eyes. . .they were a clear, bright 
green. Scully instinctively got up and went to 
her.

"What's wrong, Dana?"

She even sounded more alive.

"Your eyes. . ."

"There's nothing wrong with them, Dana, I told 
you. . ."

"Not now. . ." She bent over the woman and found 
her eyes to be completely clear. 

She shook herself briefly. She couldn't explain 
what had happened to Charlotte's eyes but she also 
fully acknowledged that she had very little sleep 
over the past few days and couldn't necessarily 
fully trust her own judgement. She turned to 
Jonathan to see if he had noticed, but the man was 
now busy taking notes.

 Hollywood. The land of illusions. The room of 
pink shadows. Time to go back to the hotel. They 
were getting nowhere and this background check was 
pointless.

11PM

Mulder had barely stepped out of the shower when 
he heard his cell phone ringing. He took a few 
long strides into the bedroom and picked it up 
before the fourth ring.

"Agent Mulder? Chief Carter. That list you gave 
me? Well, I got all the names, addresses, etc from 
those who still live in California but one of the 
names--well, it struck a chord. I mean, he's 
turned up. Looks like an attempted suicide. He's 
at the hospital. I'm still at the scene, if you'd 
like to meet me and speak with the son."

"I'll be right there. Give me the address."

He disconnected and dialed Scully's number.

"We might have a lead," he said as he reached for 
his pants with his other hand.

11:45 PM
Amanti's Meat Market

Great, Mulder thought. Just got cleaned up for the 
evening and now will end up smelling like a bunch 
of cold, dead, frozen cow. Very attractive.

Scully was searching the meat locker, looking at 
the latch that held the door closed. Lawrence 
Amanti, the son of the man who attempted suicide, 
was slumped forward in a chair, holding a rather 
ratty looking towel to his eyes.

"I'm going off to the hospital to see if Greg 
Amanti regains consciousness. He may, or may not. 
From what I've been told, he was in rather feeble 
shape to begin with. Not much body fat to protect 
him and he was in there for several hours, they 
estimate. But if you get through before I do, 
could you please look up a couple of things?"

She ran down the list of things she wanted as 
Mulder took mental dictation. He then walked over 
to Lawrence Amanti. 

"Tell me what happened?" He had the urge to add, 
'son' to the end of his question even though the 
man was clearly at least two decades his senior. 
He had the air of someone used to being nurtured; 
someone who would miss it tremendously if Greg 
Amanti didn't pull through. 

"Dad came by the store this afternoon. My son's 
wife had gone into labor this morning. He told me 
he'd take care of the shop. It was his store, you 
know, for many years. He's actually helped out 
many times since his retirement. So--I went off to 
the hospital and he stayed behind. My 
granddaughter was born and I tried calling my dad 
to tell him the news and I didn't get an answer. 
Later, I came over to see if everything was okay 
and there was a sign on the door saying the place 
was closed. We almost never close. Plus, there 
were lights on. .  .I went in and no one was 
around. I had been expecting a shipment this 
afternoon--so, I opened the freezer--and. . ."

"Do you know of any reason why your dad might have 
done this?"

"No. None at all. He was so happy over the 
prospect of becoming a great-grandfather. I--
can't. . .it has to have been an accident of some 
sort."

"There are no inner locks in the freezer, are 
there?"

"No, but maybe the door got stuck."

"Did it open easily?"

He just nodded his head sadly.

Mulder phrased his next question as carefully as 
possible.

"Have you heard him refer to Charlotte Colby in 
the last few weeks?"

He looked up in surprise. "Yes, as a matter of 
fact. How did you know? He's been doing some 
interviews for her book this past week. That was 
another thing that made him happy. You could 
actually see some of what he must have felt back 
then when they were both young. His eyes had that 
spark, you know. Like when you're in love."

Mulder knew all too well.

Part 6

March 23
3:02 AM
Mulder's hotel room

"I still smell like meat, Mulder. Let me go wash 
up first," Scully said as he leaned forward to 
kiss her neck.

"I'm not being romantic. I'm just getting hungry 
and you smell like US Grade A."

"Just what a girl likes to hear at 3 AM."

" I aim to please. Go take a shower. I have a lot 
of information for you."

"What good does it do? What Greg Amanti told me 
shoots my theory straight out of the water."

"Not necessarily. Go. I'll order some room 
service."

She emerged freshly scrubbed and looked with 
disdain over the platter of appetizers of various 
and sundry  levels of unhealthiness. She put up a 
very small argument over the potato skins before 
digging in.

"Theory #1. As per your phone conversation with me 
earlier--Mr. Amanti woke up, not all that much 
worse for wear. He swears he spent the last two 
days looking into Charlotte's eyes and being 
instructed to finally make good on the promise he 
made her so many years before. He remembers waking 
up from an afternoon nap with the dire need to do 
so but completely snapped out of it when he awoke 
briefly after they found him. 

After you left, I got the son to let me into his 
father's apartment. There was no suicide note but 
a scrap book was open on the table. It had 
pictures of his final scene in the movie 'Sundown 
at the South Pole." In it, he throws his body over 
Charlotte's as they lay frozen in a vast 
wonderland of snow. She's rescued in time. He's 
not. Bring back some warm and toasty memories, 
Scully?"

She shuddered at the recollection.

"Now--on to the next possibly theory. The one I 
believe might be your personal favorite. I 
completed the little search you requested.  I 
uncovered some very interesting information.  
Jonathan Morton first hit it big co-writing a 
biography on Roberta Fries. You know, the song 
siren of the 20's? Well, it's allegedly filled 
with spicy stories. He did three other biographies 
or corroborated on autobiographies. All of them 
"tell-alls." His success allowed for his next 
book--a novel. Very serious--some pretty deep 
themes. Fell flat. A complete bomb. Nasty, nasty 
reviews on the net, Scully. Only another writer 
could slice and dice his work like that. 
'Metaphysical claptrap,' was the kindest comment I 
read.  So, this thing with Charlotte is his 
comeback in the world of celebrity smut."

"I thought there might be something there. Hearing 
an older lady talk about the loves of her life and 
having that translated to throbbing cocks and 
tunnels of love is quite a stretch."

"Yes, it is. So. . .bring it on home, Scully."

"Why? I mean, I'm wrong. All of this information 
may make him a bit ambitious or even smarmy, but 
doesn't make him a criminal."

"And yet we aren't at Charlotte's home this very 
minute arresting her mind-controlling star self."

"You know we need more evidence than we have."

"Perhaps. But I would like to hear you spell out 
all of your theory. Do it for me. Make me happy."

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "His future as a 
writer is dependent on this book. You're only as 
good as the last thing you do, and his last work 
was a failure. This one needs to succeed in a big 
way. But might not due to the fact that Charlotte 
is not exactly a household name. She needs more 
publicity--and the only real way to get it is 
through notoriety. That's a motive. It’s warped 
but the deaths of these old men, under mysterious 
circumstances that lead back to Charlotte, is good 
for interest in and sales of the book. He has had 
the opportunity to meet with most of these men. 
The only one we don't know about it Hank Colby but 
we can have the Gunmen check into his credit card 
records. See if he took any flights to New York 
around that time. That's simple enough."

"But these men appear to have killed themselves, 
Scully. . ." Mulder said, playing devil's advocate 
with a twinkle in his eye.

"You're really getting off on this, aren't you?"

"Getting off on it?"

"Deriving an inordinate degree of pleasure 
considering the subject matter at hand."

"Humor me."

"While these men have all killed themselves, or 
each other, something--or someone must have 
compelled them to do so. Some degree of mind 
control or. . ."

"Or?" He jumped in as she hesitated.

"Some. . .transference of power. I don't know 
Mulder--it's not very scientific but I think--I 
thought--Jonathan was stealing a certain degree of 
Charlotte's life force and using it to make these 
men do what he wanted them to do--in her name. I 
saw the difference in both their eyes.  Earlier 
this evening, hers were dull to the point of being 
gray and his were bright, bright green. Later, 
around the estimated time of Mr. Amanti's rescue, 
hers were back to green and his were a lot less 
brilliant. I saw it myself. I think their eyes are 
visible, physical proof of the phenomena."

"I don't know, Scully. Once again, to give him the 
benefit of the doubt, colored contact lenses can 
make the eyes look pretty funky."

"Maybe."

"Still. I'm not raining on your parade. I like 
this theory. Much better than 'Charlotte did it.'"

She smiled at him.

"Did we just experience a little moment of 
transference of our own?"

He mock shivered. "I think I need a cigarette."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then." She looked up 
at him, with an expression of uncertainty and just 
a tinge of fear. A test. A small one but a test to 
see if he was giving her the freedom he had 
promised. 

He leaned forward and put his hands on her 
shoulders.

"Don't pout, Mulder."

"I'm not."

"That's a definite pout."

"I have a well-defined lower lip. Some people find 
it sexy."

"Do they?" She asked, reaching up and running her 
finger across it. He gave up his pout and smiled.

"Good night, Scully. See you in the morning," he 
leaned down and kissed her lightly. She put her 
hands into his hair and pulled him closer. She 
moved her lips away from his and continued her 
soft puckering movements against the side of his 
face. He kept waiting for her to either let go or 
move it up another notch but she seemed content to 
hold him tightly and just caress his face with her 
mouth. Finally, she moved her head back an inch or 
two so she could look in his eyes. 

"Night, Mulder," she said, gave him another hearty 
squeeze and left the room.

She was back again in a few hours. Fully dressed 
and yanking the covers off his legs.

"Mulder. Come on. We have to go to Charlotte's."

"God, Scully. It's. . .what time is it?"

"It's 7 already."

"7 AM? She will be dead to the world."

"It doesn't matter. I have a few questions for her 
that can't wait."

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't fallen 
asleep until a couple of hours before and really 
hoped to take advantage of their later start times 
for once. 

"Why can't they wait?"

"Because we have a few more things on Jonathan 
now. I got an e-mail from the Gunmen. Jonathan 
definitely did fly to New York a few days before 
Hank's death. He booked a room in a hotel right 
across the street from that senior club that Hank 
was known to frequent. There is also a receipt for 
drinks in the hotel bar that seems a bit much for 
one person."

"That doesn't prove much."

"It proves he could have met with him. And, I also 
had them run his DMV records. Jonathan has green 
eyes. Natural green eyes."

"So?"

"So? He wanted to account for that unnatural 
brightness by suggesting colored contacts. 
Everyone knows they don't always look natural. But 
those are his eyes and I think they get brighter 
when he is. . .exchanging energy with Charlotte. 
So. . ."

"So. . .we should go to her, as opposed to him? 
Why?"

"He's not liable to tell us anything, Mulder. And 
we can't convict him of anything, either. But she 
can lead us to his next victim. Perhaps we can 
either stop the crime or catch him doing. . 
.something substantial that we can use against 
him."

8 AM
Charlotte Colby's estate

"You can't see Miss Colby, sir, ma'am. She's 
feeling poorly," Charlotte's maid informed them. 
Mulder felt as if he stepped into an old drawing 
room drama.

"I'm sorry but we have to. Only for a few moments. 
Dr. Scully can help her if she needs medical 
assistance."

Cecilia frowned but went upstairs to deliver the 
message.

"Think we'll need to get tough?" Mulder asked, a 
twinkle in his eyes.

"I don't think you have it in you, FBI Fox."

Cecilia came back down the stairs.

"She will see Dr. Dana. Mr. Fox--I'm sorry but you 
have to stay here."

Scully exchanged a quick, resigned look and went 
up the stairs.

Charlotte was propped up against her pillows; red 
hair in two tight, thin braids; eyes dull and 
pale.

"So, my dear Dana, no mystery between us. . ." she 
said, defeated.

Scully sat on her bed and took the older woman's 
hand.

"There doesn't have to be, Charlotte. It's just 
not necessary. With or without the trappings, I 
think you are very special."

The cloudy green eyes welled up with tears.

"Tell me what's bothering you, Charlotte," Scully 
said, holding on to her wrist and already 
beginning to take her pulse.

"Just--I feel so tired."

She checked the woman's eyes and palpated her 
throat. She seemed fine, no swollen glands or any 
apparent signs of illness other than the near lack 
of distinct eye color.

"Is this how you usually feel when your eyes. . 
.change?"

"No. Not really. Maybe a little tired but not this 
tired."

"I need to ask you a few quick questions, 
Charlotte. I need to know who was the last 
gentleman you and Jonathan talked about."

She frowned.

"I talked about him before--a little--but I don't 
want him in my book. I kept telling Jonathan 
that."

"The 'one that got away?'"

"Not exactly. He was the one I loved the most. 
Tommy--Tommy Jahnson. I loved him--not like I 
loved the others. I would die for him. I told him 
as much and I meant it. Every single word. He 
didn't love me at all. He loved my body. We had an 
affair. He was married. I had this fantasy that he 
left his wife and children for me. It was very 
dramatic. . .as was everything in my life, Dana. I 
would be stepmother to these troubled children and 
eventually, when we were all old and gray, they 
would learn to love me after they realized what a 
cold fish their mother really was."

"And he left you. . ."

"No. We were still having an affair when his wife 
found out. She had a fight with him at the house, 
packed up the two children and was on her way to 
her mother's house. She had been drinking all 
afternoon and never saw the truck as she went into 
the wrong lane. They were all killed instantly. 
Tommy never forgave me. Never. That's why I don't 
want him in the book at all. He's suffered 
enough."

Charlotte lay back on the pillows and closed her 
eyes. Scully went into the adjoining bathroom to 
get her a drink of water when she heard Charlotte 
moan in pain.

She came out and watched as Charlotte lay deathly 
still against her pillows. She approached quickly 
and jumped back a step as Charlotte's eyes 
suddenly flew open.

They were a brighter green than any of the 
previous times Scully had seen them.

Tommy Jahnson's home
9:07 AM

Mulder and Scully had sped to the address the LAPD 
had provided. They knew they would find another 
victim. They would have to find a way to stop 
Jonathan somehow. 

They didn't have to.

Tommy Jahnsson had beaten them to it.

After bursting through the door they found 
Jonathan lying on the floor, a single bullet wound 
directly to the forehead. An old man, Mr. 
Jahnsson, was sitting on an ottoman, moaning to 
himself.

"It's a man, it's a man. . .it's a man."

Scully bent over him as Mulder carefully 
confiscated the old man's gun.

Tommy looked at her.

"I saw her eyes. I swear I did. Those eyes. That 
devil of a woman. She killed my family. She ruined 
my life. She was right in this room. I swear. 
Those eyes. And then. . .I killed her. I took her 
life as she took theirs. My family's. Only. . 
.it's a man lying there. I didn't mean to kill 
him. I wanted to kill Charlotte. She said she 
would die for me. . .I just wanted her to finally 
do it."

March 24 
9:45 PM
Charlotte Colby's estate

Mulder and Scully were sitting in the drawing room 
of Charlotte's house, with George and Charlotte 
and Charlotte's agent, Jeff. He had flown in the 
night before, having heard of the untimely demise 
of Charlotte's writing partner. 

"We will. . .continue with the book but I think we 
may have a great deal of rewriting to do. Perhaps 
aim a little lower and try to write the book as 
Charlotte originally intended. A sort of tete a 
tete with her fans--letting them in on some of the 
dish, but slightly less of the dirt. Seems like 
the right thing to do given the. . 
.circumstances."

Scully thought they could actually take full 
advantage of those circumstances. Ironically, they 
were now getting a lot of pre-publication press. 
It wasn't Jonathan's escalating murder schedule 
but his own death that caught the media's 
attention. Jonathan's third book--the dud--was 
already scheduled for a massive reprinting. The 
"metaphysical claptrap"--a murder mystery 
involving transference of a person's soul through 
its windows--the eyes--wasn't seen as quite so 
preposterous, once it was publicly conjectured 
that this was the way Jonathan himself pulled off 
no less than four murders and two attempts. He had 
been a student of mind control for many years but 
appeared to have only put his knowledge to use in 
order to garner enough publicity to save his own 
dying career. Even if caught, he knew a conviction 
would be nearly impossible. 

Well, perhaps a chapter or two on working with the 
mind-controlling murderer would allow Charlotte to 
have her biography--the way she originally 
intended it--without sacrificing a guaranteed 
audience. 
From George's smug look, it seemed that he had 
every intention of using his influence to keep 
Charlotte's memoirs on the "high road." 

Charlotte was in all her mesmerizing glory and for 
once, Scully could see some of the old movie magic 
in the aging diva. She looked across the room at 
Mulder--eyes smiling, cheeks flushed. Facing a 
childhood idol. He caught her eye and his eyes and 
smile changed. Softened. Became so tender and open 
that she found herself flushing in response. That 
look was for Scully alone. No silken caftans, no 
precious jewels--jus the woman he loved. 

"I will dedicate my book to you," Charlotte 
announced to the two agents.

"No, please don't." Scully said. "Dedicate it to 
your fans or your friends. . .or anyone but us. We 
don't need any more attention."

"My dear--one can always use a little more 
attention. But very well, I will dedicate it to 
George for always being so faithful."

"You'll dedicate it to me because you're afraid 
I'll tell them what you really look like before I 
start my reconstruction every morning."

"Pooh, George. You are the worst person in the 
world when it comes to taking compliments. . ."

And Mulder and Scully left them a half-hour later, 
still bickering in a friendly manner.

11 PM
Mulder's hotel room

They were sitting face to face. Mulder had his 
back against the headboard and Scully was 
straddling his lap, her hands grasping the 
headboard on either side of him.  Their joined 
bodies rocked gently back and forth

"Um, this feels good, Mulder."

"I read about it somewhere."

"I'm sure. . .personal experience never entered 
the picture," she said, shifting her hips and 
driving him deeper within her.

"Actually, no. This is a first. . . well, with you 
anyway. In real life, I mean. I did have this 
dream once. . ."

"Won't be a last, Mulder. I like this a lot. God, 
you feel good."

"You said that already," he said, panting in short 
puffs as he picked up the pace of his, until now, 
steady rocking motion.

"I'll be saying it again in a moment. . .oh, 
Mulder."

He burrowed his face into her shoulder and held 
tightly to her hips.  She sunk her hands into his 
slightly damp hair. She could feel his teeth 
lightly nipping against her flesh.

"You can say anything you want, Mulder. Don't hold 
back. I won't run away."

 he thought briefly. Their first two 
nights together, he had run a nearly non-stop, 
highly detailed soliloquy on the joys of loving 
her. The third night and tonight, he had said 
nothing of a personal nature. He thought she 
needed to remember that they were the same two 
people they always had been. That loving each 
other physically didn't change their essential 
personalities. Still. . .

"Anything?" he grunted out.

"Anything…"

He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked 
deeply in her eyes.

"Some case, huh?"

She giggled for a moment, then lost her train of 
thought as he steadily lifted her and dropped her 
back down against himself. The feelings were so 
intense she simply wrapped her arms tightly around 
his shoulders as he quickly pumped into her. They 
found release within moments of each other.  She 
drew herself up enough to be able to kiss the top 
of his sweaty hair and he used the unusual height 
difference to latch on to a nipple and draw it 
slowly against his teeth. 

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know we didn't start off in a picture perfect 
manner but really--we're not doing too badly, are 
we?"

He let go of her breast and looked up at her.

"We're doing just fine."

She settled back down on his lap. He resumed his 
usual position with his chin lightly pressing 
against the top of her head.

"A lot of it is your doing."

"Not really, Scully. I just realized I was being 
every bit as dramatic as some of those smarmy 
movies I watched as a kid. Leaving in a huff, with 
my masculine pride dripping all over the place--
knowing--really knowing that you would never 
intentionally hurt me unless there was something 
you were feeling that was pretty powerful to force 
you to do so."

"No role playing has ever been necessary in our 
relationship, Mulder. I was just afraid that now--
it might become a requirement of some sort." 

"No requirements. We'll get together when we both 
want to and stay the night, or not. I, for one, 
make absolutely no promises about not going off 
after making love and catching the end of the 
Knicks game in the living room. No promises 
whatsoever."
 
She smiled. "I can live with that."

"And, of course, I don't know how long this wave 
of maturity will keep biting me on the ass. It 
might abandon me tomorrow and I could turn 
Neanderthal again."

"I can live with that, too."

The moonlight coming through the slightly opened 
curtains gave her face a slightly muted 
appearance.

"Are you in ragdoll mode or in fleeing mode, 
Scully?"

"Neither. I'm in a let's take a shower before 
sleeping mode. I'll soap your back if you soap 
mine."
 
He shivered at the thought.

"A bit of an encore, Scully?"

She smiled and disentangled herself from his 
embrace. She stood up, stretched and reached out 
her hand to him. 

"A standing ovation, Mulder."

He laughed and took her hand. She wrapped her arms 
around his waist as they slowly made their way to 
the shower.

Their soft laughter could still be heard as they 
entered the bath and dropped the shower curtain 
back in place.

The End.

Author's Notes:
This one has been a long time in coming for some 
reason. It's a story I had utter faith in but 
still kept reading and re-reading--just to make 
sure.
It's dedicated to my Grandma M.--a true redheaded 
diva on earth who, I am sure, is now holding court 
on a higher realm. For believing in me always, for 
loving me unconditionally and for just being one 
of the most interesting women I have ever known
 

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic