ENSKY
by viXen 

Archive: Yes to Gossamer. Everyone else please ask me first.
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a string of mutilation
cases in Northern Arizona while Scully deals with a mystery
closer to home.
Classification: X, MSR, a bit of A
Rating: R for violence and language (two NC-17 chapters will be
clearly marked)
Spoilers: FTF, Triangle, Milagro, some Season 6 mythology eps
Timeline: Season 6. Takes place after Milagro.
Disclaimer: Chris Carter has the distinct pleasure of owning Fox
Mulder, Dana Scully and the rest of the XF gang. All other
characters herein are mine.
Thanks: To the ladies whose beta-ing and butt-kicking I can't
live without -- CO, JS, KL, MCA, CS and JM. Because of them, this
bird will fly.
Author's Notes: At the end.

**********************

ENSKY (1/11)
by viXen 


Northern Arizona University campus
Flagstaff, Arizona
January 30, 1999
11:35pm MST


Gina Wallace couldn't believe her luck.

She shook her head, her long blonde hair brushing against her
shoulders. As she walked along the busy street, hoping the snow
would hold off until she got home, she wondered what heinous act
she had committed to deserve such punishment.

Her morning had gone fine. Once the clock struck three p.m.,
however, her day spiraled into Hell. Five minutes after arriving
at her job, her boss called her into his office and blindsided
her with the dreaded "we've been forced to cut back, we hate to
lose you" speech. He let her work her shift so she could finish
out the pay period and get her bonus, but it did little to ease
the blow.

As if that wasn't enough, she arrived at her favorite hangout to
drown her sorrows in a pitcher of beer, and was treated to the
sight of her ex-boyfriend, Carlos, hanging all over a buxom
brunette whose IQ was smaller than her bra size.

She sighed, the chilly night air bringing her breath alive in a
thin fog. Her gaze fell upon a soda can and she kicked it with
all her might. She sent the aluminum can sailing across the
street, only to have the wind whip it up into its brisk arms and
toss it back at her. The can smacked into her shin.

"The perfect end to a perfect day," she sneered. If her car had
bothered to start, she wouldn't even be on this stupid road
kicking cans. For the first time in three years, Gina was
grateful for living less than a mile from campus. For all the
loud stereos, rowdy neighbors and general drunken debauchery
ensuing at her apartment complex, it was convenient.

The pine trees had begun their nightly dance, swaying and bending
as the cool breeze whistled through their branches. A shiver ran
up her spine as the breeze reached down to her and whirled her
hair around her face like tangled ropes of gold. She pulled her
jacket closed in the front and hunched over. Sometimes the wind
in Flagstaff was so cold, it cut like a knife.

Gina wandered away from the road and headed toward the Life
Sciences building on campus. She yanked on the front door,
relieved to find it unlocked so late at night. Most of the lights
were out but she knew the layout of the building like the back of
her hand, having used the shortcut too many times to count. The
building smelled of formaldehyde but she was relieved to get out
of the bitter wind.

As she walked past the empty classrooms, Gina hoped her roommate
would be home. It was Jennie who had found out about Carlos
cheating on her with that bitch Allison. It wasn't long before
Allison got screwed by Carlos. No pun intended, she thought with
a wicked grin. He'd dumped Allison for some other bimbo in less
than a month. What goes around, comes around, her mom always used
to say.

Eyeing the glass cases adorning the walls of the Life Sciences
building, Gina found her favorite: a display of various species
of butterflies. She hated science, taking only the absolute
minimum required for her degree, but the butterfly display
fascinated her. She marveled at the beauty of the tiny creatures.
Some of them rather plain from the outside, but when turned over,
they revealed the most vivid colors she had ever seen. She
assumed the dull outside of the wings were a camouflage, a means
of survival. To protect its secret from those who would seek to
destroy it.

A chill traveled the length of Gina's spine, though no wind
entered the building. She could feel eyes upon her but she knew
the building had to be unoccupied. She whirled around, looked to
the shadows on her left.

"Who's there? Jen, is that you?" she asked shakily, praying it
was her best friend trying to playfully scare the bejeezus out of
her.

The shadow moved. Gina gasped as the figure, draped in a dark
hooded cape, emerged into the dim light. It took two steps
forward, stopped, the faint glow from a distant hallway light
streaking the figure's face with light and shadows.

Gina sighed, relieved to see a familiar face. She opened her
mouth but never had a chance to utter a greeting. Like a jaguar
pouncing on its prey, the figure hit Gina, knocking her to the
ground. The figure's face changed before her eyes, once a face
Gina knew, but as she stared at it, the human features melted
away to reveal a mass of rotted flesh and fragmented skull.

The Grim Reaper. The hideous creature was coming to take her to
Hell. Just like her brother used to tell her.

She tried to scream but the sound was choked off by a forceful
hand pushing on her throat. She heard something snap, tried to
take a breath. Nothing. Mouth agape and eyes wide, Gina Wallace
realized her life was as shattered as her airway.

She seizured in the figure's arms like a fish valiantly trying to
flip-flop its way back to water. The heels of her shoes slammed
into the tile, echoing ominously off the walls of the deserted
building. Finally, mercifully, Gina's eyes glazed over in eternal
sleep. The figure closed its victim's eyelids, then extracted an
arrowhead from beneath its cape. All was quiet, except for the
soft 'snick' as the arrowhead sliced through young, taut skin.

Before long, a melodic whisper cut through the darkness:

     I saw, as in a dream sublime,
     The balance in the hand of Time.
     O'er East and West its beam impended;
     And day, with all its hours of light,
     Was slowly sinking out of sight,
     While, opposite, the scale of night
     Silently with the stars ascended.


<<<<<>>>>>


J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
March 12, 1999
4:25pm EDT


Dana Scully couldn't believe her luck.

She shook her head, her bobbed red hair nipping at her neck. As
she saved the file on her laptop, she wondered what saintly act
she had committed to deserve such bliss.

For the first time in months, she had a full two-day weekend. Two
whole days without aliens, without frozen tundras, without
conspiracies, without paperwork, without Mulder.

Her nose twitched as she thought about the last one. Without
Mulder. When was the last time she could say she was Without
Mulder? Her life had been split into two distinct time periods:
Before Mulder and With Mulder.

She started to pack her briefcase, putting in file folders she
had no intention of reviewing over the weekend. Her gaze left the
briefcase and drifted to her partner's desk. They had been
working for weeks trying to rebuild the X-Files. After Spender
and Diana had worked for months trying to destroy them. Despite
Mulder's adamance, Scully didn't buy Diana's loyalty to the X-
Files. She doubted the woman knew what 'loyalty' meant. She knew
Diana didn't have a clue what 'honesty' meant. Or 'class,' for
that matter...

Scully shook her head. I'm so exhausted, she thought, that I'm
letting Diana Fowley take up more than two seconds of my time.
She didn't chastise herself too much, though; it had been nearly
two hours since she had last thought about Philip Padgett. Or the
hand pushing into her chest, slippery fingers gripping her
beating heart...

"Damnit," she mumbled as she slammed the briefcase shut. Sleep
deprivation was catching up with her, letting her mind wander
like a child on a playground. Between the dreams of holding her
own beating heart in her hand, and the hundred-hour work weeks,
she was physically and mentally drained.

That was why she had been looking forward to her complete
weekend. It was time to deal and heal, as her father used to say.
Deal with the emotional scars while giving the physical ones time
to heal. She had no plans other than to not think about
disembodied hearts. Or the X-Files. Or Mulder.

There it was again; her mind insisted on throwing in the Mulder
Factor. It hadn't escaped her that neither her nor Mulder had
broached the subject of Antarctica, or what had happened
immediately before. No comments or observations about their
'adventure,' not even a snappy innuendo from Mulder about seeing
her naked in that... that gooey sarcophagus. Not one word, not
even a hint that the events had ever occurred.

She'd thought about bringing it up, but never found the right
words. How could she ask Mulder if he had really intended on
kissing her or if it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing? Did he
want to cross that line or was it the only thing he could think
of to make her stay? It seemed the only time he could express
affection was when 1) she was leaving him, or 2) he was drugged
to the gills. A morphine-induced declaration of love wasn't what
she had in mind, and considering he never reiterated it...

Scully shook her head again, trying to clear the entire mental
conversation from her mind. She gathered the few remaining files
on her desk and put them in a neat pile on the desk blotter. She
wanted to wait until Mulder returned from his meeting with
Skinner to wish him a good weekend. She wanted to wait, but the
urge to flee the office was too strong. She couldn't wait to get
home and dig into her weekend supplies: potato chips, diet soda
and a few quarts of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream.

Scully grabbed her briefcase and coat, opened the office door,
and barely missed colliding with her partner, whose face was
buried in a file folder.

"Oh, sorry," she said as she put a hand on his arm. He raised his
head and met her gaze, the look on his face immediately sending
up a red flag in her mind. Something was wrong.

"Mulder, what is it?"

He waved her off with her a smile that looked more like a
grimace. "Nothing. Just going over what Skinner said."

"That bad?"

"Isn't it always?"

She waited for him to elaborate but he offered nothing, instead
nodding to her briefcase.

"You heading home?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd start the weekend early," she said, finally
shifting her gaze from his face to his hands. She could see
photos peeking out from inside the file folder, presumably from
the case he was consulting on for VCS.

Maybe that's what has him in a funk, she thought. She never
understood where Mulder went in his mind when he worked on
profiles, and it was something she hoped she never had to
understand. He became a different person, a different being, when
he was in profiler mode. It scared her, worried her, but she knew
it was nothing she could help. Mulder went to that dark place,
that hellish state of mind that only he could endure, and she had
to step back and let him do his job. From the look in his eyes,
he was heading to that place now.

She pointed to the folder. "Is this your consult?"

"Yeah, part of it. Just autopsy photos."

She nodded as an uncomfortable silence ensued. It was as if he
was waiting for her to either say something or leave. She chose
both.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work. See you Monday." She took
three steps before being lured back.

"Actually, you won't," he replied. "These mutilation cases have
taken a strange turn. I fly out tonight for Arizona. Have a good
weekend, Scully." He disappeared into the office, leaving the
door open.

Curiosity and willful ignorance waged a war in her head. As
usual, curiosity won. She followed him into the office to find
him at his desk, spreading photos across its cluttered surface.

"Sounds like it could be ritualistic killings if it involves
mutilation," Scully offered.

He shrugged but kept his eyes on the photos.

She didn't know what possessed her, but she pressed further. "Who
has the case now?"

"Rookie named Taylor," Mulder said, finally meeting her gaze.
"Fresh out of the Academy and just assigned to the Phoenix field
office two months ago. Phoenix is backlogged with militia group
trouble in southern Arizona and Taylor's all they could spare."
His eyes went back to the photos. "They requested both you and I
but I told them you weren't available."

Anger rose in her chest like a cobra readying itself to strike.
One reddish-brown eyebrow arched painfully high and her lips
pursed, waiting for him to continue.

Mulder chose that moment to look at her. He realized immediately
what his words had done. "I know how much you were looking
forward to a full weekend. You've been putting in ridiculous
hours since..." He paused, added a sigh. "I can handle this
alone, Scully. You need a break. You deserve one."

And it should be my choice when to take it, Scully mentally
screamed at him. How dare he decide whether or not she was needed
on a case? And why tell her about the case in the first place if
he had no intention of having her participate? She wanted to turn
and leave but this was one mystery she refused to have clouding
her weekend.

"Scully, if you wouldn't mind, could you take a look at these
before you go?" He approached her with a stack of photos in his
hand. She swallowed a sarcastic remark upon seeing his face. Very
faintly, in the depths of his sad eyes, she could see a flicker
of excitement. It was barely perceptible to her, and completely
imperceptible to the casual observer, but it was there. She knew
that look all too well.

He was no longer looking at the consult as a regular VCS case,
but as an X-File.

Scully put down her briefcase and turned her attention to the
photos. The first was a head-and-shoulders shot of a female body.
Scully noted the complexion of the woman had once been flawless
and probably a creamy peach color, but was now blued and dulled
with death. Severe bruising painted the throat with sickly purple
blotches. On the chest, just above the breastbone, the number
1151 was carved with delicate precision. From the lack of blood
surrounding the incisions, Scully ascertained the cuts were most
likely made posthumously.

"This is the first victim," he said. "Gina Wallace, age twenty-
five, graduate student in communications. Smart, popular, a
bright future. She was found in a campus science building the
morning of January 30."

Scully nodded as Mulder handed her one photo after another. "Next
was April Mazur two weeks later, followed the next week by
Allison Bittner. And just six days ago was Carol Huber. All
victims died in the same manner: their windpipes were crushed
like aluminum cans. The Phoenix office got the call the day after
Mazur's body was found."

"So Taylor's been there for two weeks?"

Mulder nodded. "I just got a call on my cell phone an hour ago
from him. They found a fifth victim this afternoon. They haven't
done the autopsy yet but it looks like the body is in the same
shape as the others."

Scully studied the photos, noting that although the numbers on
each woman were different, their style and perfection didn't
vary. She mentally catalogued the numbers on the other three
victims: 1156, 1140 and 1145.

She pointed to the carvings. "They have any idea what these
numbers are for?"

He shook his head. "Nothing definite. It points to a possible
cataloguing of sorts, rather than a spur-of-the-moment killing."

"Which ties in with ritualistic murder."

"Possibly."

"But you think there's more."

He shrugged as he took the photos from her hand and returned to
his desk.

That was her cue to leave, but Scully couldn't help herself. "Any
connections between the four women?"

"Two, but they don't tell us much," he replied as he gathered
another pile of photos from his desk. "All four women attended
Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, and all four were said
to have dated one Carlos Maderas, an associate professor of
architecture at NAU."

"I'd say that last one tells us quite a bit. Is he in custody?"

"They brought him in today. He had been questioned several times
but because witnesses placed him at a local hangout at the times
of each of the other murders, they didn't arrest him. This last
one happened early this morning, and Maderas claimed to be alone
at his apartment, fast asleep."

Scully absorbed the information while continuing to survey the
photos. "So all five of these women were girlfriends?"

"Former girlfriends," Mulder corrected. "All five were lovers he
had dumped, rather unceremoniously I might add. Two of the women
caught him the throes of passion with another woman. Another two
found out through friends that he had been fooling around on
them. He's been known to have a fiery temper and according to the
roommate of one of the victims, he likes it rough, sexually
speaking."

Scully caught a hint of a leer in Mulder's eyes as he approached
her with another stack of photos.

"Many of the victims had begun to bad-mouth Maderas around the
campus, trying to sully his Casanova image. Shouting matches
between him and two of his ex-girlfriends were witnessed on
several occasions. I admit, Maderas would make the perfect
suspect. However, I don't think he's our man."

"Why?" Scully knew her partner was onto something, but as usual,
he was drawing it out for dramatic effect.

"He has an air-tight alibi."

"Even air-tight alibis can be faked. Maderas has the motive and
the means. Why are you still going to Arizona?"

Mulder handed Scully the new photos. "Before I went home last
night, I asked the lab blow up the numbers carved on Huber's
chest. Tell me what you see."

Scully eyed her partner for a moment, then took the photos and
studied them carefully, her gaze sweeping each photo slowly and
deliberately.

"I can't be certain since these are enlargements, but it looks
like the cuts were made by a razor or thin knife."

Mulder nodded. "What else?"

She pursed her lips and looked at the photos again, honing in on
the precision of the cuts themselves. Something about the
angle...

A tiny gasp escaped her lips. "These were made by a left-handed
person." She pointed to the photo. "Look at the angle. It would
be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to angle the knife
like that and get as precise and straight a cut as this if the
person were right-handed."

"You get the gold star for today, Agent Scully." He took the
photos from her hand.

"So the killer is left-handed. What's so special about that?" She
paused, trying to read Mulder's thoughts. "Let me guess. Maderas
is right-handed."

"You could say that."

"Mulder, did you ever stop to think that Maderas could be
ambidextrous?"

A smile crept into the corners of her partner's mouth. "Maybe he
was at one time, Scully, but not now. Five years ago, Carlos
Maderas lost three fingers from his left hand to frostbite. He
was left with only his ring finger, his pinkie and severe nerve
damage. His left hand is basically useless."

Other than an involuntary twitch of one eyebrow, Scully's
expression remained neutral. She grabbed her briefcase on her way
to the door. She stopped just inside the doorway but kept her
back to Mulder.

"What time does our flight leave?"

"What?"

"You heard me. What time does our flight leave?"

"Scully, you don't have to go. You should take the time for
yourself."

She turned on her heel and bored through him with her eyes.
"You're right. I should take the time off. I have a long weekend
and permission from Skinner to take it. However, I figured you
could use my help on this case, unless..."

"Seven-thirty flight," he blurted. "Meet me back here at six."

She proceeded out of the office and down the hallway.
Interesting, she thought. He had requisitioned two plane tickets.
He wanted her to go on the case but was afraid to ask her to give
up her weekend. She wasn't sure if she should thank him or punch
him. She knew which one she wanted to do the most.

Scully sighed as she boarded the elevator to the parking garage.
So much for her weekend with Ben & Jerry.


END PART 1


**********************

ENSKY (2/11)
by viXen 


Pinetop Inn
Flagstaff, Arizona
March 12, 1999
10:45pm MST


"Don't blame me for the accommodations," Mulder said as he pulled
the rental car into a parking space. The motel of choice was the
Pinetop Inn, a U-shaped building with the facade of a log cabin,
complete with a fake chimney over each room. The room numbers
were carved in the heavy wood doors, and the lights next to each
door looked like old-fashioned oil lamps.

"Actually," Scully said as she eyed the building, "I think it's
charming, in a Daniel Boone sort of way. How did you find this
place?"

"Taylor was already here. I thought it would be better if we all
stayed at the same hotel."

"I'm going to get our room keys," he said abruptly, unfolding his
tall form from the driver's seat. "I'll meet you in Taylor's
room."

"I'll go with you..."

He cut her off. "No, I can handle it. Taylor can brief you on the
case until I get there. He's in room five."

Scully watched her partner walk toward the hotel's office, his
gait quick and determined. Her lips pulled into a thin, sad smile
as she saw the bitter symbolism of the scene: he physically fled
her presence almost as quickly as he fled it emotionally.

He'd feigned exhaustion on the plane ride, sleeping the entire
five hours to Phoenix. The puddle-jumper flight from Phoenix
barely got up in the air before landing in Flagstaff, but Mulder
managed a few more minutes of shut-eye. The short car ride to the
hotel was driven in silence. Since they left D.C., he refused to
look her in the eye, as if doing so would result in his body
turning into a pillar of salt.

Something was wrong, and her instincts told her it had nothing to
do with the case. Unfortunately, instincts did little to provide
her with answers.

Snow flurries kissed her face and hair as she briskly walked to
Room Five. She raised a hand to knock when the door abruptly
opened, revealing a man clad in a charcoal gray suit pants and a
badly wrinkled white dress shirt. His conservatively striped tie
was undone and hung limply around his neck.

"You must be Agent Scully." The man extended a hand and Scully
took it, shaking firmly.  "Dean Taylor, Phoenix field office.
It's good to meet you." He looked over her shoulder. "Is Agent
Mulder with you?"

"He's handling our check-in," she said as she stepped into the
room. "I was hoping you could catch me up to speed on the case in
the meantime."

He gestured to one of the hardwood chairs in the room and Scully
took him up on the offer after shedding her trenchcoat. She
opened the file on her lap, then looked at Taylor, taking in his
appearance. Pale, smooth skin complemented an attractive boyish
face, a smattering of freckles surrounding a small button nose
adding to the impression that he looked no older than sixteen.
His dishwater blonde hair was cut well above his collar in the
back, and shaved close on the sides. Dark brown, deep-set eyes
swept over her form as she returned the gesture.

"Not much for me to say," he said with a shrug. "This case looked
open and shut. It _felt_ open and shut. I'm sure that's why my
SAC sent me out here, because everyone knew Carlos Maderas was
the right guy. You'll know what I mean when you meet Maderas. He
oozes guilt."

"He hasn't been released?"

"No, not yet. I... uh..." He paused, digging his heel in the
carpet, looking like a teenage boy who'd been caught sneaking
back in the house after curfew. "I told Ryan... Ian Ryan, he's
the lead detective on this case and has been since the first
murder. Anyway, I told him about what Agent Mulder found and I
talked him into waiting until we had definitive proof from the
M.E before releasing Maderas. I just don't want to give up on the
idea that Maderas is guilty."

"According to your report, Mr. Maderas seems to be quite an
interesting character."

Taylor snuffed. "The guy's a grade-A creep. I wouldn't advise you
questioning him alone." His eyes widened at her raised eyebrow.
"No offense, really. I know you're an excellent interrogator from
studying some of the cases you and Agent Mulder have solved. I
just meant that Maderas is crude. He thinks he's Don Juan but
he's just primordial slime with a Castellian accent."

Scully's jaw dropped slightly, not from the frank comments about
Maderas but from something else Taylor said. "You've studied X-
File cases?"

"Yeah, while I was at the Academy. You and Agent Mulder have
quite a reputation, as I'm sure you know. But no one can dispute
your solve rate. Reputation or not, you two must be doing
something right. I figured I could learn a thing or two." He
lowered his gaze to the floor. "Guess I was wrong. Agent Mulder
took one look at the evidence and found the blaring inconsistency
I missed."

"I think you're being a bit hard on yourself, Agent Taylor."

"Dean."

"Dean," she continued, "observations like this come only with
experience. Even I missed the angle of the cuts until Mulder
encouraged me take a closer look at the pictures. I know first-
hand that a textbook and a few case studies cannot prepare you
for many of the things you'll see in the field."

"Especially the fields you and Agent Mulder explore?"

A tight smile stretched her lips. "Especially those fields."

Taylor returned the smile, then leaned forward in his chair.
"That's why I'm glad you two agreed to take this case. There's
something about it...I don't know. It really bugs me."

"What do you mean?"

"The crushed necks on the victims. According to the M.E., there
are no secondary contusions to the throat. One fatal blow crushed
everything in the throat area."

"I read that in the autopsy reports, but there must be some
mistake. Perhaps a contusion so embedded that it looks like part
of the same injury."

Taylor shrugged. "Maybe, but I saw this latest victim and it sure
looks like one forceful blow. The bruises are about the size and
shape of a person's open palm."

Scully remained unconvinced. "That's not possible. It had to take
more than the pressure of a person's hand to thoroughly crush not
only the cartilage of the trachea, but the vertebral column and
spinal cord as well. It takes over thirty pounds of pressure to
crush just the trachea alone, and it would take four or five
times that to do the damage I'm seeing in these pictures."

She shook her head. "There must be hidden injuries, probably made
with a blunt object or repeated hits by someone's fist or the
heel of their shoe, that occurred prior to the fatal blow."

"Well, you can take that up with Dr. Francis tomorrow. The
autopsy is scheduled for eight a.m. I called her when Agent
Mulder said you would be accompanying him. She wants you to do
the autopsy, as long as she can observe."

Scully nodded. "I don't see a problem with that."

"She was dying to do the autopsy herself, but she can't," Taylor
said with a boyish grin. "She's eight months pregnant. She said
she can barely reach the autopsy table anymore because of her
stomach. I've seen her and it's true. Her stomach is out to..."

A knock interrupted Taylor and he sprang to his feet to answer
it, swinging the door open quickly.

"Agent Mulder, so glad to finally meet you." He shook Mulder's
hand vigorously, like a fan meeting his favorite celebrity.
"Agent Scully and I were just going over the autopsy arrangements
for tomorrow." He motioned the senior agent into the room and
gave him his chair, choosing to stand.

"Good," Mulder said, giving a slight nod to his partner. "Scully
can handle that while you and I head to the latest scene. I'd
also like to see the other three scenes, if possible."

"I was hoping you would say that," Taylor replied, not bothering
to hide his excitement. "I've been wanting to see you in action
ever since I read your monograph, you know, the one that was used
in the Propps case. I've studied so many of your cases at the
Academy I feel like I know you already."

Scully hid a smile at Mulder's reaction to the younger agent's
fawning. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Mulder
was a master at hiding his emotions but his bewilderment was
obvious in his wide eyes and stunned expression. She was happy to
see someone showing Mulder some respect. Others tended to
overlook his incredible profiling ability in lieu of his "Spooky"
reputation. He deserved a little professional ego stroking as
much as the next person. At this point, she wouldn't mind
watching his head swell a bit. An egotistical Mulder was easier
to handle than a depressed one.

She took pity on Mulder, breaking the awkward silence. "Agent
Taylor... Dean, why don't you take it from the top, when you
joined the investigation."

Taylor grabbed a notebook from his back pocket. "I've got pages
and pages of notes here. Are you sure you want everything? It
could take a while."

"Give us everything," Mulder said. "Don't leave anything out.
It's already past my bedtime so what's a few more hours?"

Taylor smiled and opened his notebook.


<<<<<>>>>>


Pinetop Inn
March 13
12:45am


"That was nice of you to compliment his work," Scully said after
they left Taylor's room.

Mulder shrugged. "He did his job, Scully. His initial
investigation was thorough and he picked up on details that the
local forensic people missed. He couldn't be expected to pick up
on the angle of the cuts when the M.E. even missed it."

"Still, I think your praise helped boost his spirits. It's
obvious he idolizes you."

"Poor kid is delusional."

"Why? Because he sees you as a brilliant profiler? Because he
sees you have a gift?"

"Oh, is _that_ what it's called?"

Humor. This is good, Scully thought as they walked to their
rooms. It was self-deprecating humor but that was normal for
Mulder. Talking about the case, added with Taylor hanging on his
every word, helped bring the old Mulder out of hiding. His armor
was cracking, and a hairline fracture was all she needed to get
to the bottom of what was bothering him.

"You have an amazing gift, Mulder. One that every agent in
Violent Crimes secretly wants to have."

"Awhh, Scully," he said with a half-hearted leer, "flattery will
get you everywhere."

I sure hope so, she thought. As they arrived at their rooms, she
decided it was time to put pressure on that hairline fracture.

"Mulder, I've been wanting to talk to you..."

"Scully," he interrupted, slipping his key in the door, "it's
late. You need some rest. You have an autopsy to do in a few
hours."

She could hear the crack in his armor shore itself up, the steel
barrier once again intact and impenetrable. "The autopsy is in
_seven_ hours. That's plenty of time..."

"No, you need your rest. You look tired. I know those dark
circles under your eyes aren't meant to be a fashion statement."

"I'm fine..."

"Somehow I don't believe that." He pushed open the door and
stepped inside. "Get some sleep."

Scully refused to let him win. "Why do you always walk away,
Mulder?"

He looked at her, his eyes dim. "I don't know. Maybe you should
try it some time."

She stared at the '12' carved in the solid wood, barely aware
that he had shut the door in her face. She moved to the window
and through a broken slat in the blinds, she saw him disappear
into the bathroom. She pressed her ear against the glass and
heard the faint hissing of the shower.

"Bastard," she grumbled to herself. This had to stop. Whatever
depressing, brooding bug had crawled up Mulder's ass was
destroying their relationship. They had to talk.

She thought about going to the hotel office, getting the key to
his room, and confronting him in the bathroom. He'd certainly be
a captive audience then, wouldn't he? Maybe she'd steal the
towels so he'd have to talk to her.

She let out a harsh bark of laughter. Very mature approach, she
thought as she opened the door to her room. Not that any approach
would work. Prying open a clam with a plastic fork would be
easier than prying Mulder's feelings out of him tonight.

Tomorrow, however, was another day.

She headed for the bathroom, intent on a hot, relaxing shower.
Mulder was right on one count: she was tired and needed a good
night's sleep.

"Whatever that is," she sighed as she let the hot streams of
water caress her body.


<<<<<>>>>>


Pinetop Inn
7:15am


Restless didn't begin to describe Scully's slumber. Between
Mulder's behavior, the case and the incessant howling of what she
assumed were coyotes, she only managed a few hours' sleep, though
she was glad her dreams did not include any disembodied organs.

She woke once and went to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse
of a coyote. The only creatures she found were a trio of raccoons
expertly raiding the trash bin in the parking lot. She watched
the raccoons, silently cheering them on when they found a
McDonald's bag filled with French fries and a half-eaten Big Mac.
The nature show continued for nearly an hour, until a car pulling
into the parking lot scared away the entertaining scavengers.

The rest of the night was spent staring at the ceiling, praying
for a restful sleep that never came.

She rose about six, took a long shower, and poured over the
autopsy reports while sipping on the tasteless coffee courtesy of
the mini-coffeemaker in her room. Satisfied she knew the reports
inside and out, she left her room and knocked on her partner's
door. After her third set of harsh raps on the door, she conceded
he wasn't in his room. She looked to the parking lot but found
their rented Crown Victoria in the same parking spot.

Now where did he go, she wondered as she went back to her room.
She retrieved the reports and her black bag, then went to
Taylor's room, hoping Mulder was already there. She knocked on
the door and it opened slowly.

"Oh, good morning, Agent Scully," Taylor said as he finished
buttoning his shirt. "Sorry, I overslept. I was up until four
going over the notes I took last night."

"You haven't seen Mulder this morning, have you?"

"Yeah," he said as he produced a key ring from his pocket. "He
dropped off these off and asked me to give them to you. I guess
they're for the rental car."

Scully's eyebrow arched. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No. He just said he'd meet me at Detective Ryan's office at
eight."

Scully gave Taylor a nod and a curt "See you later," then walked
to the car, giving one last look at Mulder's door. Once she was
out of Taylor's earshot, she let out a long sigh through pursed
lips.

It was going to be a long day.



END PART 2


**********************

ENSKY (3/11)
by viXen 


Coconino County Medical Examiner's Office
Flagstaff, Arizona
March 13, 1999
7:45am


Scully found the Coconino County building without a problem. The
Medical Examiner's office took up the basement floor of the
Public Health wing of the building, which she also found easily.
Finding the medical examiner, however, proved to be a challenge.

Her first stop was to check in at the main part of the office,
letting them know who she was and that the body needed to be
prepared immediately. The cheerful woman at the front desk
informed her that Dr. Linda Francis had yet to check in, and she
would have to wait. Before Scully's anger reached full boiling
point, a thin, in walked a sandy-haired man with the brightest
green eyes and longest legs she'd ever seen. She hated to
stereotype, but this guy's height screamed 'college basketball
star.'

"Dr. Scully, I'm Joe Kortkamp, Dr. Francis' assistant." He
extended an enormous hand, which Scully shook as firmly as she
could, considering her entire hand wasn't much larger than his
palm. "I'd be happy to show you around."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." She followed him through the
office and down a corridor, and he pointed out the suite where
she would be performing the autopsy.

"Kortkamp. That was the signature on the first two autopsies."

"Guilty as charged. It's just Dr. Francis and me here doing the
autopsies. I'm her P.A. She wasn't available for the first two."

"What are your thoughts about this newest one, compared to the
others?"

"Carbon copy of the other victims. Pretty, young female, age
twenty to twenty-six. Bruising is in the same place on the
throat, mutilations are in the same place on the chest." He
stopped in front of a door marked 'Changing Area.' "I've finished
with the external photographs of the body, as well as an initial
sweep for trace evidence. Just like the others, I couldn't get a
fingerprint, not even a partial." He pointed to the door. "While
you're scrubbing up, I'll take the film for processing. Any test
you order will have a Priority One slapped on it in the lab."

"Thank you," she replied, her neck feeling the pain of having to
look up to meet the man's grass-green gaze. "Will you be
observing as well?"

"Unfortunately not. We had two bodies come in last night, the
result of a fight downtown. There are two teenage males waiting
for me to discover who shot whom first."

"Good luck."

"You, too. Dr. Francis should be here any minute, if she's not
here already. She may have slipped in the back. I'll let you get
changed."

She gave him a quick nod good-bye and slipped into the changing
room.

"I'm in here, Joe," a disembodied voice called from behind an
area cordoned off by a shower curtain.

"It's not Joe," Scully called out.

A head peeked out from behind the curtain, long raven-black hair
fanning around a plump, pleasant face.

"Oh, you must be Agent... uh, Dr. Scully."

"Dana is fine. And you must be Dr. Francis."

"Linda," she said as her head slipped behind the curtain again.
"I'm glad to finally meet you. Dean Taylor told me all about you.
He thinks you and your partner walk on water."

"He's too kind." She paused to step behind another curtain and
began stripping out of her clothes. "I'm anxious to see one of
these bodies in person. I have a feeling the photos aren't doing
them justice."

A hiccup of high-pitched laughter filled the room. "No, they
certainly aren't. I've never seen anything like it. This is a
small town, yes, but we've seen our share of bizarre murder
cases. This one, though, takes the prize."

"I met your P.A. on the way in and he told me the external exam
is done."

"Good. I told him to take as many photos as he could of the neck
area, from every angle he could get the camera to take. To be
honest, though, the injuries look exactly like the others."

Scully stepped out from behind the curtain and got her full first
view of Linda Francis. Taylor was right. Francis' scrub top was
stretched painfully tight over her protruding stomach. Her long
hair now pulled back into a bun, loosely held in place by
barrettes, her face free of makeup. She had the healthy glow
usually associated with being pregnant. The woman was the picture
of impending motherhood.

Francis waved her to follow. "We scrub up over here." She walked
through the other door in the room, which lead to an area
occupied by two steel sinks, a rack of towels and several shelves
filled with latex glove boxes, surgical masks and booties.

"You performed the last two autopsies, but not the first two?"

The M.E. patted her stomach. "Yes. The first one, I was stuck at
a symposium down in Tucson, at the University of Arizona Medical
School. The second victim came in just hours after I'd been
through a bout of false labor. I was flat on my back for two
days, doctor's orders."

Francis flipped on the faucet and continued. "Technically, I
shouldn't have done either of the last two autopsies. My doctor
ordered me to desk work, no autopsies or long periods where I'm
on my feet. I didn't tell him this, but there was no way in Hell
I was going to miss doing those two autopsies. Even if they had
to prop me up, I was doing them myself."

"You're due soon, I hear."

"Thank God," Francis laughed. "My official due date isn't for
three weeks, but since it's my first, my doctor said to expect an
early surprise, which will be good for my husband." She chuckled
at Scully's raised eyebrow. "See, we didn't know the sex of the
baby, and didn't want to, but my husband peeked at my last
ultrasound. I told him if he slipped and blurted it out, I would
do a Y-cut on him, only I'd start a lot lower than his chest."

Smiling politely, Scully tried to think of something to steer the
conversation back to the autopsy, but Francis continued.

"He's been so good, hasn't said a word. I think he'll be more
relieved to have this baby born than I will. I really didn't
think we'd have kids. It wasn't something we wanted ten, even
five years ago. But something happened. I guess it was the
proverbial biological clock. I'm thirty-nine, Steve's forty-two.
We're not getting any younger, so last year we decided to give
parenthood a try." She stopped, looking in Scully's eyes. "I'm
sorry, I've been hogging the conversation. What about you, Dana?
Married? Children?"

"No to both. My job isn't exactly conducive to either." Looking
at the door, she prayed for Mulder, or anyone for that matter, to
materialize and save her from the conversation.

"That's what I used to think. Then I thought, 'Hey, if other
women can do this, why can't I?' For all of the pain and
discomfort and changes to my life, I have to say that being
pregnant has been an amazing experience."

"I'll take your word for it." How could she make this woman shut
up?

"You're still young, Dana. You still have years left. Contrary to
what most of the talk shows would have you believe, there _are_
some good men still left in this world. Even with a busy
schedule, all of this is possible. Even if it takes you a few
more years, I think it's worth it. Motherhood is something every
woman should experience, no matter what age..."

"I'm not able to have children."

Scully's breath caught after she spoke, surprised not only by
what she said but by the voice in which it was delivered. Cold,
harsh, unattached. A voice she barely recognized as her own. She
would never experience what the woman standing before her was
enthusiastically touting and anxiously awaiting: the arrival of
her first child.

An opaque silence filled the room, its presence threatening to
suffocate both women. Scully's gaze remained on her hands as she
moved the towel over them, the movement automatic and robotically
executed.

Francis cleared her throat. "I... uh... I haven't seen my feet in
three months, but apparently I'm still able to get one in my
mouth."

The corners of Scully's mouth curled into a sad smile.

"Dana, I'm so sorry. That was very insensitive of me..."

Scully straightened her spine and waved off the apology with a
hand. "You don't have to apologize, Linda. I shouldn't have
blurted that out. Let's just forget about it."

"Deal," Francis breathed, relief returning the color to her face.
"The suite is this way, through here." She pointed to a windowed
door.

They entered the autopsy suite, finding the body prepped, ready
for their surgical intrusion. All thoughts of babies fled as
Scully's eyes settled on the body.

In all her years as a forensic pathologist, Dana Scully had never
seen a throat crushed as badly as the one before her. The entire
neck region was flattened to the thickness of her wrist. As she
moved closer, the deep purplish-red markings came into view. They
looked almost cartoonish, like a child had used the victim's neck
as a canvas for a finger-painting project. She set her bag on a
nearby metal tray, and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She
reached for the neck, pressing down lightly on the side. A bowl
of oatmeal, liquid with patches of thick, doughy lumps.

"See what I mean?" Francis said. "Looks exactly like the others,
at least the two I saw. Joe did the first two and he said the
same thing, they match the others. You know, I trust Joe
implicitly. He's the best assistant I've ever had. He does many
of the autopsies that come through this office, and he always,
_always_, does a first-rate job. But this... I hate to say it,
but when I started the autopsy on the third victim, I was
convinced he had missed something and that I was going to find
it. But I didn't."

"What about the injuries to the vertebral column?"

"You mean, do I think it's multiple injuries? I'd love to think
that, but the evidence just isn't there. This is one forceful
injury. One blow. As far as I can tell, there was no use of an
external object to help add force."

"But Linda, you and I both know that's not possible. A person
can't press down on someone's throat and completely destroy
everything inside. There had to be something, a baseball bat, a
pipe, something forced down on this woman's neck to cause this
destruction."

"I know, Dana, but I'll be damned if I can find it. The angle and
shape of the injury matches the size of a human palm. A smaller-
than-average hand, but a hand nonetheless. If a pipe or baseball
bat had been used, there would be severe bruising in a
cylindrical shape. Plus, a swing from a bat or some other object
would have created one point of impact, then offshoots that took
a lesser impact of the blow. The force of this blow started on
the throat, or within a few inches of it."

Though every instinct in her body told her otherwise, Scully
found herself wanting to believe Linda Francis. The shape was the
palm of a human hand, a right hand. She could see the angle the
hand was at, where the thumb and fingers were situated on the
neck before pressing down, bones crushing, cartilage
disintegrating under the pressure. The wheezing of the woman's
last breaths as she realized her only means of getting air to her
lungs had been destroyed. The widening of her eyes as she pleaded
with her killer to spare her life. Or to spare her dignity and
kill her now, save her the minutes of panic and seizing as her
brain and body fought a valiant yet undignified fight to stay
alive.

Francis' voice shattered the image. "Shall we get started?"

Before making the Y incision, Scully had one more thing she
wanted to do. She eyed the '1142' sliced into the corpse's skin.
The cuts were in a nearly perfect line across, starting just
below the hollow of the clavicle.

Francis must have sensed her hesitation. "The other victims
appeared to have the same types of cuts. The '1' is almost
identical to the others. Considering the depth and thinness of
the cut, my bet's on an Exacto knife, though it was probably dull
near the end."

"I noticed that," Scully replied as she used the scalpel to pull
back a section of the cut. "The first number is a cleaner cut
than the last. It looks like the killer had to force the blade to
make the last part of the two."

Using the scalpel and her fingers, Scully separated the skin on
each of the cuts, examining the depth and angle of each number.
When she pried apart the last straight part of the '2,' she found
more than a deep wound.

"Linda, hand me some tweezers, would you?" Without taking her
eyes from the cut, she held her hand out and waited until she
felt the cool metal of the tweezers.

"What? What did you find?"

"Part of the murder weapon, I believe." Scully pulled the
tweezers from the cut, and caught between the pincers was a
triangular sliver of metal, silver in color and just centimeters
in diameter.

Francis held out a plastic evidence bag and once Scully dropped
the metal sliver in, she sealed it. The coroner walked to a wall
phone and punched a series of numbers, spoke quickly into the
phone and left the bag near the door before returning to Scully's
side.

"It's still not much to go on," Scully said as she began the Y
incision on the corpse, "but at least we'll be able to determine
what type of blade was used."

"At this point, any clue in this case is damn near a miracle."
Francis nodded to the body. "OK, Dana, let's see what other magic
you can perform."


<<<<<>>>>>


Coconino County Medical Examiner's Office
10:25am


Despite the discovery of the blade fragment she had found, Scully
was disappointed. She was hoping for a more solid lead but the
remainder of the autopsy proved uneventful. Once she was
satisfied they had done all they could, she left Linda Francis in
the autopsy suite with Kortkamp and too many unanswered
questions.

Releasing her hair from its barrette prison, she headed to the
changing room and shed the bloody scrubs. She was about to pull
on her shirt when her cell phone beckoned from inside her jacket
pocket. She sneered at the jacket, but fished out the phone
anyway.

"Scully."

"How's the autopsy going?"

"It's done," she replied, happy to hear Mulder's voice. "Found
two interesting items. Inside one of the cuts was a small
fragment of a blade. The M.E. is having it messengered to the
medical center down in Tucson for analysis. And there was a hand
print on the neck, a right hand. Neither gives us much to go on."

"At least you found something. That's better than Taylor and I
did."

"So what's next?"

"Looks like we have to release the charming Mr. Maderas from
custody. Would you care to join me in witnessing it?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." A thin film of sarcasm coated
her words.

"We're across the street in the precinct office. Are you almost
done there?"

"I'm changing as we speak. I can be there in fifteen."

Scully pulled the phone from her ear, ready to hit the 'off'
button, when she heard Mulder's voice.

"Scully, you still there?"

"Yeah."

"Did you talk to Skinner today?"

Scully's brow crinkled. "No. Did you?"

"No," he said quickly. "Not since yesterday. He mentioned he
might be calling."

"For what? To check up on us?" She waited for a response but was
met with silence. "If he does call, do you want me to give him a
message?"

A pregnant pause, then, "Tell him he's right."

"Right about what, Mul..." Her voice trailed off when she heard
the disconnecting click.



END PART 3

**********************

ENSKY (4/11)
by viXen 


Flagstaff Police Department
March 13, 1999
10:45am


"...but we don't have a choice. We have nothing to hold him on."

Scully listened to the unfamiliar baritone voice as she
approached the office. Upon seeing her badge, a uniformed officer
at the front desk had directed to a corner office toward the back
of the building. The door was open and she could see Mulder and
Taylor, their backs to her, talking to someone seated at a desk.

She cleared her throat. Mulder turned to face her, his small
smile greeting her. He seemed almost relieved to see her.

"Detective Ted Ryan, this is my partner, Special Agent Dana
Scully."

The man behind the desk rose from his chair and extended a hand.
As she shook his hand, she took in his appearance. He had the
same ex-Marine hard-body look Skinner had, only he wore no
glasses and had a thinning yet still intact head of brown hair.
His eyes, deep-set and the color of milk chocolate, screamed his
weariness and desperation to find the killer.

"Good to meet you, Agent Scully. I was hoping for better news
from you."

"I was hoping to bring you better news. The fragment is a start,
albeit an obscure one. However, it's not enough to hold the
suspect in custody."

"Damn," Ryan mumbled. "I thought we had this one all wrapped up."

"So did I," Taylor said, not bothering to hide his frustration.
"I say we release Maderas, but put a tail on him..." He paused as
the phone on the desk buzzed to life.

Ryan grabbed it on the second ring. "Ryan... no, Katie... no, I
haven't changed my mind... you are not going to an out-of-town
concert with people I've never met before... I can't discuss this
right now, honey, I've got people in my office... Katherine Ann,
we will discuss this later. Good-bye." He slammed the phone down
and ran a hand over his face. "Teenagers."

Scully's lips stretched into a small smile as she remembered the
first rock concert she wanted to attend. Ahab had been receptive
to the idea, even giving her a more lenient curfew. Until he
found out the concert was three towns and forty miles away.

Scully eyed a framed photo on Ryan's desk. Three young women, two
blondes and one brunette, stared back at her, their resemblance
to each other not evident save their sharp Roman noses, like
their father.

Ryan followed her line of sight. "That's them. The source of my
pride and many of my headaches. Katie's still in high school,
Ashley just started at the U of A down in Tucson. My oldest,
Libby, is a student up here at NAU. Astronomy major. I always
said she had her head in the clouds. Now she really does." He
chuckled to himself. "I tried to talk her into skipping classes
until we caught this killer but she refused. Stubborn as her old
man."

"All the more reason for us to trip up Maderas," Taylor said.
"Maybe Agents Mulder and Scully will have more luck with the
questioning."

"I thought you were releasing him," Scully directed to Ryan.

"We are, but Taylor thought it would be a good idea to have you
two keep him company while we process the paperwork." He shot a
conspiratorial smile at the younger agent.

"A witness came forward this morning and gave us a little more to
work with," Taylor explained. "This witness said he saw Maderas
in a shouting match with the latest victim less than six hours
before her murder."

Scully looked at Taylor, then Ryan. "That should be enough to get
a judge to hold Maderas."

"Already tried it," Ryan said. "The witness admitted to having
five beers that night, and no food. He left the establishment and
saw Maderas and a woman shouting at each other in the parking
lot. When we showed him a picture of Stacy Nerini, he couldn't be
sure that she was the woman he saw with Maderas."

Scully nodded. "So you want us to see if we can trip up Maderas
with this new information."

"You got it."

"What about his lawyer?" Mulder asked. "I would think Maderas
would want one present when we question him."

"Guess we forgot to mention that," Ryan said with a laugh. "See,
Maderas has made it quite clear that he hates lawyers. Can't
stand them, has an obvious hatred for the one his girlfriend
hired for him. Every time the guy tells Maderas to shut up, he
sings like a bird. The only problem is, he hasn't sung a single
note that will help us."

Ryan grabbed a file folder on his way to the door. "Interrogation
room's down the hall, first door on the left. Agent Taylor and I
will be in the bullpen praying."


<<<<<>>>>>


Flagstaff County Jail
11:10am


Scully sat in one of the chairs surrounding a faux-wood table in
the closet of an interrogation room. She could hear Maderas's
approach, a smooth tenor voice shouting a thick string of words
that Scully deduced were in Spanish. She flipped to the last page
of Maderas' booking report, skimmed it quickly before closing the
file folder and moving to stand next to Mulder.

"Ten bucks says he's not reciting Bible verses," Mulder said as
he slipped off his suit jacket and put it across a chairback.

Maderas was still yelling, but had changed to English to continue
his rant. His pronunciation was flawless, though Scully detected
a heavy Spanish accent. According to his file, Maderas was born
and raised in Spain, but moved to the U.S. in 1989.

The thin smile melted from her lips as the door opened. Upon
getting her first glimpse of Carlos Maderas, she clenched her jaw
to keep it from dropping.

The man was an Adonis. There was no other word to describe him.
Dark olive skin, thick jet-black hair and a perfectly chiseled
face. With her view of his profile, she couldn't see eye color
but she was positive they would be dark and dangerous. She could,
however, see the long eyelashes fanning his cheekbones as he
blinked, which seemed to happen more frequently as his voice
rose. His left hand was in his pocket, so she couldn't see the
disfigurement, probably a normal gesture on his part since the
frostbite accident. The fingers on his right hand were long and
elegant, his fingernails smooth and meticulously shaped. A light
blue dress shirt hugged the well-defined muscles on his arms and
chest, and beige linen dress pants accented his small waist and
long legs.

Antonio Banderas, she thought. No, Antonio Banderas with the body
of a god.

"Maybe I'm wrong, Scully, but it might be difficult to question
the suspect with your tongue hanging out like that."

She turned to her partner and gave him a look that could sear
paint off a building before turning her attention back to
Maderas, who was still complaining, oblivious to the agents in
the room.

"Why are you taking me here?" Maderas spat at the guard. "I was
told I was being released. I will not stand for this!"

"Then sit down," the guard snapped, his horn-rimmed glasses
slipping down his nose. "Until your paperwork is complete, you're
still a resident of our fine establishment. In the meantime,
there are some nice people who want to talk to you. I'll be right
outside." The guard saluted the agents before making a quick
exit.

"I cannot believe this," Maderas huffed, still unaware of the
agents standing behind him. He let loose with another string of
profanities in his native tongue until Mulder interrupted him.

"We're over here, Mr. Maderas, and we don't comprende Espanol."

Maderas turned on his heel, shock widening his eyes. His features
softened when his gaze settled on Scully. "And who might 'we'
be?"

"I'm Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Fox Mulder." She
flashed her badge. "We have just a few clarifications we would
like to make regarding your statement. If you would take a seat,
we'll proceed."

Maderas continued to eye Scully, his gaze sweeping her entire
body like a slow caress. She fought a shiver, acutely aware that
Maderas was, in all likelihood, mentally undressing her. She was
used to men leering; her partner was a frequent offender. But a
Mulder leer was non-threatening, even amusing at times. The look
in Maderas's eyes was more intense. Predatory.

"What clarifications could you possibly need?" the suspect said,
his gaze firmly planted on Scully's lips. "I made my statement
and cooperated fully."

"And we appreciate that," Mulder replied, "but there seems to be
a few discrepancies and we'd like to clear them up before you
leave."

Maderas finally shifted his gaze to Mulder. He gave the agent a
quick once-over and Scully saw the beginning of a sneer on
Maderas's lips.

"Sir, I have answered all questions. I see no need to repeat
myself." His eyes found Scully's again. "You are an FBI agent?"

His question surprised her but she kept her cool. "Is that a
problem?"

"No, no. I just did not know the FBI was so, how you say,
progressive. I assumed the agents were all men. To allow such a
beautiful, petite woman to carry a gun and a badge..."

"Mr. Maderas," Scully interrupted curtly, "we have just a few
questions, but we would be happy to wait for your attorney to
arrive..."

Maderas gave a short laugh. "Why, so I can pay him an outrageous
fee to have him tell me what common sense provides? Lawyers are a
waste of time and money. I have no need for them. I have nothing
to hide." His expression softened. "If the lady wants to ask me
questions, how can I say no?" He made a gentlemanly bow at the
waist, then approached the nearest chair.

Mulder leaned into her, his breath feathering her ear. "Detective
Ryan failed to mention we would be needing barf bags for this
interview."

Scully bit the inside of her bottom lip as she took a seat at the
table. Taylor wasn't kidding when he said Maderas was charming to
the point of being obnoxious.

"You do realize that if you are charged," Scully said, "you will
need a lawyer to defend you in court."

"I will not be charged because I did not murder anyone." His gaze
pierced Scully, a mocha laser beam violating her body everywhere
it touched. "There is a line from an American movie I saw many
years ago: 'I am a lover, not a fighter.' That is me. That is
Carlos Maderas."

"God bless America," Mulder deadpanned before Scully could
answer. He remained standing, leaning against the wall behind
Scully's chair. She could tell from his stance he had no patience
for their suspect. "Mr. Maderas, what was your relationship to
the latest victim, Stacy Nerini?"

Maderas replied without taking his eyes off of Scully. "I
answered that question already, if you have read my statement. I
dated Stacy for a few weeks last year, when I first arrived at
NAU. It did not work out and we went our separate ways. I have
not spoken to her in quite a while."

"Really?" Scully commented. "We have a statement from a witness
who said they saw you the night of the murder speaking with Ms.
Nerini in the parking lot of a local restaurant. The conversation
got quite heated."

"That was Natasha, not Stacy."

"Natasha?" Scully prompted.

"Natasha Daley. I dated her a few months ago."

"The witness claims it was Stacy Nerini," said Mulder.

"The witness is mistaken. I have not seen Stacy for at least a
month."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you haven't dated
Ms. Nerini since last year."

"Yes, but she came to me about a month ago." He paused and let
out a sigh. "It is an old conversation, one that many of the
women I have been with insist on pursuing. You see, I am
attracted to a certain type of woman. Beautiful, passionate,
aggressive." Maderas leaned forward, his eyes slowly skating over
the contours and curves of Scully's face. "Women filled with fire
so hot, I burn myself when I touch their skin. And as the fire of
one dies down, I seek the fire of another. It is who I am, and
some women do not understand that. They do not know when to, how
you say, let go."

Mulder cleared his throat. "So your last conversation with Ms.
Nerini did not end on good terms?"

"No, it did not, but that does not mean I killed her." Like a
magnet, his gaze found Scully. "I reserve my passion for the
bedroom, not for murder."

Scully heard a faint snort from behind her chair. She had to
agree with her partner's assessment. She was waiting for Maderas
to whip out a sword so he could slice a 'Z' in the table top. He
was the epitome of the Latin lover stereotype. The guy should be
a professor of acting, not architecture.

She gave the suspect her best apathetic look. "Can Ms. Daley
corroborate your version of events in the parking lot?"

"I'm sure she can since she was there."

Mulder stepped forward and leaned on the table, his hand just
inches from Scully's elbow. "We will need the names of all the
women you have dated in the past year."

"I have already done that, sir."

Scully flipped to a page in the police report. "I see a very
short list of women here."

He shrugged. "I gave the detective all of the names I could
remember." He turned to Scully and smiled. "I am terrible with
names, you understand. I have, how you say, racked my brain
trying to remember."

She kept her expression neutral. "I suggest you try harder, Mr.
Maderas. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the only
connection between the five victims is you. The remaining women
could be in danger."

"It is an unfortunate situation, but what would you expect me to
do? I can only remember so many things, so many names." He
gestured with a flourish of his hand. "I cannot help that some
women are more memorable than others."

Scully bit the inside of her lip so hard, she drew blood. Carlos
Maderas might not be guilty of murder, but he _was_ guilty of
being one of the most chauvinistic pigs she'd ever had the
displeasure of meeting. And she'd met many, from med school to
the Bureau. She was itching to put a bullet between his beautiful
eyes but she knew he wasn't worth wasting ammunition.

"I think we have all the information we need." Grabbing the file
folder, Scully walked to the door, her gait quick but smooth.
Before opening the door, she turned back and pinned Maderas with
an icy gaze.

"Mr. Maderas, do you know what it's like to choke on your own
blood?" She paused, hiding a smile when she saw his eyes widen.
"Those five women did. Their throats were crushed to the
consistency of raw hamburger. Their airways were pierced by the
bones and cartilage in their necks. They died a slow, violent
death, their breath literally taken away, replaced with blood and
tissue." She paused again, taking a breath to steady her anger.
"Tell me, _Carlos_, how many of the dead women's names did you
remember?"

Maderas swallowed, visibly shaken for the first time in the
interview. "I...I remembered two of them. Carol and Stacy. The
others, I had forgotten until the detective told me."

"Think you'll ever forget their names again?"

Scully didn't wait for a reply. She calmly opened the door and
left the room without another word. She kept walking, and Mulder
caught up with her several feet down the hallway. Looking at him,
she shook her head, disbelief rendering her speechless.

"What, you did not, how you say, swoon over his suave Latin
charm?" Mulder teased in a pathetic excuse for a Spanish accent.

She forced a snort of bitter laughter. They continued down the
hall and into the bullpen area of the department. Taylor was
seated at a nearby desk, scribbling in his notebook. He looked up
as they approached.

"So, what did you think of Senor Maderas?"

Mulder forced a smile. "I don't know about Agent Scully, but I
seem to have a thin layer of smarm stuck to my skin."

Taylor laughed. "Yeah, he had the same effect on everyone here.
From the dour looks on your faces, my guess is he didn't say
anything we could use." He looked at Scully, concern softening
his expression. "He laid it on thick, didn't he?"

"It was quite a performance," she nodded, finally finding her
voice. "I doubt DeNiro could have done better. And no, he didn't
reveal anything new. According to him, the woman in the parking
lot was not Stacy Nerini. Should be easy enough to verify." She
paused, shook her head. "I just can't believe any woman in her
right mind would fall for that... that act."

"Apparently several have." Taylor flipped through his notebook.
"According to one witness, Maderas has been with a dozen or more
women since he joined the NAU staff little over a year ago."

"My faith in my gender has taken a sudden decline," Scully said
with a sigh. "What bothers me more than his complete lack of
regard for women is that he has no outward appearance of
mourning. Five of his former girlfriends are dead, and he's
thinks this is a game."

"Maybe he gets, you know, excited when he's in dangerous
situations," Taylor offered. "Can't get more dangerous than
having people around you getting murdered."

Mulder shook his head. "I think it's a defense mechanism. Make a
game of it, and that's all it is: a game. It's not reality. That
way, he doesn't have to deal with the fact that five people in
his life are now dead."

Scully nodded, realizing the truth in his words. She started to
respond but stopped when she got a good look at Mulder's face.
His eyes had narrowed and he was chewing on his bottom lip. She
knew what that meant.

"Even after that interview, you still think he's innocent." A
statement, not a question.

He met her gaze. "No, I doubt Mr. Maderas is innocent, and hasn't
been for a very long time. However, I don't think he's the
murderer."

Scully's full attention focused on her partner. "Mulder, you
heard how he treats women. They are objects to him, things to be
conquered."

"But he doesn't see it that way. In his mind, he is worshipping
these women. You forget, he was raised in a different culture.
Europeans have a more romantic outlook on how a man treats a
woman."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Romantic? He can't even remember their
names and you say he's a romantic?"

"Look at the story of Don Juan, Scully. Love 'em and leave 'em.
Give them one night of ecstasy, one night of unbridled passion to
last them a lifetime. To him, that is the ultimate gift a man
could give a woman. Names are not important, only the memories of
the experience."

"Don Juan is a folk tale."

"Most folk tales are based in fact."

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw Taylor watching them
with awe. She broke eye contact with Mulder and turned her
attention to the younger agent, giving him a look that demanded
an explanation.

Taylor obliged. "Is this how you two always work?"

"Why?" she replied cautiously.

"No reason. Just curious." Taylor shrugged and lowered his head,
but not before Scully was able to catch his smile.

She gave Mulder a cursory glance and a raised eyebrow, and he
returned the gesture with a smirk and smiling eyes. He was amused
that Taylor was amused.

"Where's Detective Ryan?" she asked, wanting to change the
subject as quickly as possible.

Taylor closed his notebook and headed for the door. "He had to
take off for a few minutes. There's only one homicide detective
for Flagstaff, and he's it. He said he'll meet us at The Saw Mill
for lunch. It's a college dive, right across the street from the
campus. His daughter, Libby, works there."

Scully lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't that where the witness saw
Maderas with his mystery woman?"

"Yeah, it's Maderas's favorite nighttime haunt. Ryan's daughter
works days. He said he talked to her about it, but all she could
give was second-hand accounts of what the other employees saw.
She'd seen Maderas in there a few times during the day, but she
didn't wait on him."

Mulder and Scully followed Taylor out of the office, keeping a
few paces behind him. Scully caught up to her partner, well aware
that the proverbial wheels in Mulder's head were turning at full
speed.

"What are you thinking?" She kept her voice down.

Mulder shrugged. "The daughter. Might be a good idea to talk to
her without Dad around."

"You think she knows something she hasn't told her dad? I would
think she would be more open with him than with complete
strangers."

"Maybe, maybe not. If anything, we can get a look at Senor
Charming's favorite party place."

"Can't wait," she said flatly.

She hated The Saw Mill already.



END PART 4

**********************

ENSKY (5/11)
by viXen 


The Saw Mill
Flagstaff
March 13
12:00pm


"Anyone else have the urge to sing Monty Python's 'Lumberjack
Song'?"

Scully ignored her partner's comment, as well as Taylor's
encouragements of laughter, as they approached the entrance to
the Saw Mill.

As she had expected, it had the facade of a log cabin, much like
their hotel. Only their hotel didn't have an exactly-to-scale old-
fashioned log flume erected next to it. The flume was nearly a
football field in length and looked like a giant metal water
slide starting deep in the woods behind the restaurant and
extending down to the parking lot.

Like the surroundings, the building housing the Saw Mill had its
oddities. Enormous tree trunks jutted out from the sides of the
restaurant, looking as if the logs had strayed from the flume and
pierced the walls on their way down.

Sawdust crunched under their feet as they entered the restaurant.
The decor inside was predictable, considering what they
encountered outside. Though the whole sawmill design was
overdone, Scully figured it was a hit with the college crowd
because of the hand-painted banner hanging over the bar area:

'Over 100 types of beer from twelve different countries! No one
does beer like the Saw Mill!'

Scully gave the restaurant a visual once-over, then focused on
the waitress approaching them: a tall, painfully thin creature,
the adjective 'willowy' created just for her. Pale skin stretched
tight over an expressionless face, mousy-brown straight hair tied
back, a few strands escaping to sit limply across her narrow
shoulders. She wore appropriate clothing for the restaurant: a
blue and white flannel shirt over a white t-shirt, faded blue
jeans and brown hiking boots.

The woman's taupe eyes blinked methodically. "Hi, welcome to the
Saw Mill. Smoking or non-smoking?"

"Non-smoking, please," Scully answered, suddenly realizing who
the waitress was. The woman turned quickly and headed toward the
back of the restaurant, expecting them to follow her. They did,
and were seated at a table near the bar.

"Today's special is Smokin' Joe's Millburger," their waitress
said with well-rehearsed precision and a bored tone. "It's a
quarter-pound lean beef burger smothered in our cook's homemade
barbecue sauce, topped with onion rings, lettuce, tomato and
cheddar cheese. Today's beer special is a nut-brown ale from
Scotland called Belhaven Scottish Ale. I'll give you a few
minutes to look at your menus."

"You're Ted Ryan's daughter. Libby, right?" Scully asked.

The woman turned and look at Scully through suspicion-narrowed
eyes. "Who are you?"

"We're with the FBI," Mulder replied. "We're working with your
dad on a case."

Libby grunted a reply, then mumbled, "I'll leave you look at the
menus." She walked away before anyone could respond.

The three agents exchanged questioning glances before Mulder and
Taylor focused on their menus. Scully followed Libby Ryan's
movement through the restaurant as the young woman delivered food
to a nearby table, then disappeared down the hallway marked
'Restrooms.'

Scully saw her chance.

"I'll be right back," Scully said quickly. "Order me the special
and an Evian."

She found the bathrooms easily enough, the men's marked as
'Lumberjacks' and the women's marked as 'Lumberjills.' Humor only
Mulder could appreciate, she thought as she pushed open the heavy
door.

Inside, she found Libby Ryan splashing water on her face. The
woman shut off the water, lifted her head and saw Scully in the
mirror. Her eyes widened, a Chihuahua cornered by a pit bull.

Scully handed her a paper towel. "Do you think we could talk for
a few minutes?"

Libby took the towel and blotted her face. "Sorry, I'm working."

"I won't take up much of your time." Scully tried not to let the
absurdity of the situation reflect on her face. Meeting
informants in the bathroom was Mulder's job, not hers.

"My dad will be here any minute. I can't tell him because I know
how flipped he is about this case."

"You can't tell him what?"

Libby closed her eyes. "Shit."

"What can't you tell him, Libby?"

The young woman opened her eyes and sighed. "I didn't tell my dad
this but there's something about Carlos' girlfriend, Adrienne,
that's just not right."

Way to get to the point, Scully thought before asking, "What do
you mean?"

"I don't know... I work with her... You should talk to her."

"Can you tell me what you think is 'just not right' about her?"
Scully asked in a noncommittal tone.

Libby's eyes shifted to the door. "I have to get back to work."

"How well do you know Carlos Maderas?"

"I know him well enough," Libby snapped. "Why?"

"Your father was under the impression that you didn't know
Maderas."

Another glance at the door. "Dad believes what he wants to
believe."

"Libby, we really need to hear what you have to say. Is there
somewhere that we can talk later?"

The young woman pursed her lips, then nodded. "Meet me at Lowell
at five tonight. Just don't tell my dad where you're going."

"Lowell?"

"Lowell Observatory. It's a few miles from here. I'm a research
assistant. I maintain Perkins." She paused as she saw Scully's
eyes narrow. "It's a telescope, you'll see it later."

Scully considered making Libby come down to the station to make a
formal statement, but upon seeing the fear in the young woman's
eyes, she knew the wrath of the law was nothing compared to the
wrath of a protective father.

"We'll be there."

"Um, can you come alone?" Begging in her tone.

"I'm sorry, Libby, but my partner has to be there."

Libby bit her lower lip. "Okay, you and your partner. That's it.
Not the other guy."  Her eyes pleading. "I can't let this get
back to my dad. He'll make me quit school until the case is
solved. He'll send me down to Tucson to stay with my sister. I
can't do that. Everything I've worked for is here. I can't
leave!"

Scully flinched slightly at the emotion in Libby Ryan's voice.
She saw a flicker of an angry flame in the young woman's eyes.
Blood-red fury flooded her face, and a tiny vein in her forehead
looked as if it would burst through her skin.

Obviously, Libby leaving school was a sore spot for both father
and daughter.

"Fine, just the two of us. We'll find you at the observatory."

As fast as Libby's anger rose, it subsided. Color drained from
her face until her skin took on its pale pallor from before. She
nodded and graced Scully with the first smile she'd seen on the
young woman.

"Thank you, Agent Scully. I'll give Martin Haskins, our boss, a
call. You should talk to him about Adrienne. He's noticed her
behavior, too." With that, Libby pulled the bathroom door open
and left.

"What the hell was that?" asked Scully under her breath. If
anything, Libby Ryan knew how to make an exit. Not to mention a
hell of an impression.

When Scully got back to her table, her food was waiting for her,
and Detective Ryan had joined them. She slid into the booth next
to Mulder. She ate her meal in silence, partly because the burger
tasted like heaven smothered in barbecue sauce, partly because of
the impromptu meeting. Libby had said she knew Carlos Maderas
'well enough.' As Scully bit into an onion ring, she wondered
just how well 'well enough' was.

At the end of the meal, Ryan stayed inside to find his daughter
the three agents made their way to the exit.

Scully was thankful that Taylor had found the log flume too
fascinating to resist closer inspection. When he walked away, she
started to speak but Mulder beat her to it.

"What's going on? You look like a kid dying to share a secret."

Her mouth quirked into a small smile. She knew she could read
just about every expression in Mulder's repertoire; she should
have known he could do the same with her.

"I had an interesting visit to the restroom. Libby Ryan is
willing to talk to us."

It was Mulder's turn to arch his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"She knows Maderas fairly well, but didn't tell her father
because she's convinced he would have pulled her out of school.
She claims we need to talk to Maderas' girlfriend, and the
girlfriend's boss."

"Why the secrecy? So dear ol' Dad won't find out?"

Scully nodded. "Libby doesn't even want Taylor to know about it.
She wants us to meet her at her other job. She's confident she
can talk there without it getting back to her father."

Mulder glanced toward Taylor, then back to Scully. "She thinks
the girlfriend has something to do with it?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. It wouldn't hurt to listen to what
she has to say. We just have to find a way to do it without Dean
finding out."

"So we ditch Junior," he said with a smirk. "It was his idea to
put a tail on Maderas. Let him do the honors. We can relieve him
later and take over surveillance ourselves when we're done."

Scully liked the idea. In fact, she loved it. Being with Mulder
on stakeout meant he would be a captive audience. No ducking into
his hotel room, no scurrying off to do some imaginary important
thing he forgot to do. She would get some answers out of him. Or
else.


<<<<<>>>>>


Lowell Observatory
Flagstaff
4:45pm


"Mars Hill. This has to be the place." Mulder took the turn-off
as he pointed to the sign at the entrance.

Scully looked up the hill and saw a telescope dome peeking out, a
stark white bubble amidst the skeletons of trees.

After a meeting back at the police station, Mulder and Scully had
left to find the observatory. Scully felt a pang of guilt as she
saw the dejected look on Taylor's face when he found himself
relegated to stakeout duty. However, after Mulder explained to
Taylor that they trusted only him to do the job right, Taylor's
eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and he practically sprinted to
his car.

Ah, to be that young and naive again, Scully thought sadly as
Mulder found a parking place in front of the observatory.

A uniformed guard at the entrance instructed the agents where the
administrative offices were, but before they could find Martin
Haskins, a man approached them. A Silly Putty face atop a Weebles
body, with a chubby hand extended in Mulder's direction.

"Martin Haskins," he said with an uneven yet warm smile. "You
must be Agents Mulder and Scully. Libby Ryan called me earlier to
say you were coming here."

"We have just a few questions," Scully said as she shook
Haskins's hand.

"Libby mentioned that, too. Something about Ms. Burrard. I'm
sorry to say she called in sick today. It's her fifth absence in
as many weeks." Haskins opened a door and motioned them outside.
"Come, I'll give you a tour while we talk."

The air was crisp with a stinging coolness and was so clean it
almost hurt to breathe it. Scully took a deep breath anyway,
willing her lungs to expunge the D.C. grime and pollution and
replace it with the fresh mountain air.

"This is the Clark Telescope," Haskins said as they passed a
wooden dome structure. "Percival Lowell himself used it to study
Mars."

Mulder walked alongside the dome, his hand lightly brushing the
aging wood. He flashed a look toward Scully and she could see the
fascination in his eyes. She had a feeling he would be back at
the Observatory after the case was over. Too many toys, not
enough time...

"Mr. Haskins," Mulder said, "if Ms. Burrard has called in sick so
often, why not fire her?"

"I just can't see it in my heart to fire someone who is so much
in love. I may be a little 'scatter-brained,' as my employees
like to call it, but I'm more observant than they think." Haskins
smiled.  "The kids don't think I know about their favorite make-
out place, but I do."

He motioned the agents through the side door of another dome-
shaped building. "This is the Pluto Telescope. It's the actual
telescope that was used to take the discovery photos of Pluto in
1930."

"This is make-out central?" Mulder asked.

"This is it," Haskins said with a jolly laugh. "The latch on the
door was broken a few months ago and we haven't fixed it. Since
the telescope weighs in excess of a ton, it's not like it will be
stolen, and this place is locked up tight after the nightly tours
are done. Only employees can access the grounds after midnight."
Haskins laughed again. "While the kids are on Spring Break, I'm
having the lock repaired."

Scully smiled politely. "Mr. Haskins, have you seen any changes
in Ms. Burrard's behavior?"

Haskins tapped a finger on his puffy lips. "Adrienne took a real
shining to the observatory right away, and she took her job very
seriously. But in the last month or so, I've seen her enthusiasm
waning. I never thought I would see that happen." He sighed. "I
know much of her odd behavior must have to do with Mr. Maderas's
troubles. She seems determined to stand by him, though. Have to
give her credit for that. She'd go to the ends of the earth for
him."

Scully shot Mulder a quick look. The scenario sounded familiar.
Too familiar for comfort.

Mulder cleared his throat, breaking the odd silence. "Mr.
Haskins, are you aware of a relationship between Mr. Maderas and
Libby Ryan?"

Haskins's eyes widened. "Do you mean an intimate relationship?"
His chuckle bounced off the walls of the dome. "As shallow as it
sounds, I don't think Libby is... vibrant enough for Mr.
Maderas's liking. She is a solemn young thing, but quite
brilliant and very meticulous. She's one of the few I trust with
helping me in the archives."

"Have you seen Maderas and Libby together?"

Haskins paused and tapped his lip with his forefinger. "Come to
think of it, yes I have. Libby works mostly up at Anderson Mesa,
but the archives are here on the main campus. Mr. Maderas has
been here a few times to pick up Adrienne from work. I saw them,
Libby and Mr. Maderas, talking a few months ago. It was a brief
exchange, from what I could tell. Adrienne showed up, and she and
Mr. Maderas left."

Mulder nodded. "How far is Anderson Mesa from here?"

"Just a little ways." Haskins reached inside his jacket and
withdrew a brochure. "There's a map on the back here."

Scully moved away from the telescope as Haskins explained the
route to Mulder. Through an opening in the dome, she could see
the sky, light blue silk with patches of fluffy cotton. This sky
looked so different from the one she saw at home.

A sky so bright, so clear, so peaceful. So unlike her sky -- and
her life -- in D.C.


<<<<<>>>>>


Perkins Dome
5:05pm


"Hello?"

Scully surveyed the inside of the monolith dome-topped building.
The walls were painted white and had the brassy shine of metal.
It was hard to miss the building's namesake, considering the
Perkins telescope took up half of the structure, reaching from
just a few feet off the floor to the top of the multi-story dome.

"Now, _this_ is a telescope," Mulder said as he moved next to the
machine. "Think it would fit in the trunk?"

"Not unless you have a car the size of New York," answered a dry
voice Scully recognized.

Both agents turned to see Libby standing in a doorway. Behind her
Scully saw a row of computer terminals, lights streaking and
dancing on the screen. Scully's gaze went to the young woman's
hand, which held a paperback book, the spine declaring it 'The
Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.'

Libby caught Scully eyeing the book. "English class, a necessary
evil." She looked at Mulder, then Scully. "So, did you talk to
Adrienne yet?"

Scully ignored her question. "Libby, you mentioned that you knew
Carlos Maderas better than you let on to your father."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" A wide-eyed plea.
"Please don't tell him."

"We'll have to tell him at some point," Scully warned. "We are
interviewing those close to Mr. Maderas. We're taking formal
statements..."

"I don't know anything," Libby insisted, "except that Carlos is
innocent. He couldn't have killed those women. He's just as
shocked about those girls' deaths as everyone else. He's
suffering, but he's keeping it inside."

Scully sincerely doubted that but didn't call her on it. "He told
you this?"

The young woman didn't reply, but Scully knew the answer.

"Libby, just how well do you know Carlos Maderas?" Mulder asked.

Libby lowered her gaze to the metal floor. "I talk to him when he
comes in before his classes, usually three times a week. Large
coffee and bran muffin, that's what he always orders. He's nice,
very smart. Fascinated by the stars, even though he teaches
architecture." She raised her head and looked through the slanted
opening in the dome. "Carlos says the sky is one big
architectural marvel. The Milky Way, the Big Dipper, all of the
stars and constellations are placed in exactly the right spots.
Anywhere else, and the sky wouldn't be the perfect sight we see."

Scully shot Mulder a curious glance and a raised eyebrow. He
answered with a smirk.

Mulder cleared his throat, bringing Libby back to Earth. "One of
the witnesses said Mr. Maderas has dated over a dozen women while
he's been..."

"Who said that?" Libby snapped. "They're exaggerating. It's more
like seven or eight."

"Were you one of those seven or eight?" Mulder asked.

Libby laughed, a snort of air that sounded like a hiccup. "No, I
wasn't. I'm not... Carlos and I... we're not like that. We're
friends. He talks to me. I listen."

Scully offered up more bait. "At the Saw Mill or here at the
Observatory?"

"Wherever he needs to talk," Libby replied, refusing to bite.
"Don't make it into what it's not."

"What isn't it?" Mulder asked, intrigued.

"It's not some sordid, closed-door affair. It's not an affair at
all. It's more... intellectual. He's a very smart man, but he has
a penchant for women lower on the IQ scale. The women go, but I
stay. I'm his constant."

Constant _what_, Scully wondered. Libby was right; Detective Ryan
was going to have a coronary when he heard what his little girl
was to Carlos Maderas.

"Has Mr. Maderas mentioned anything to you about quarrels with
former girlfriends?" Mulder asked.

"I've heard a few of them mouthing off about him. They're just
jealous, can't let go."

"What about his current girlfriend?"

Libby shrugged. "Like I said, Adrienne's been acting weird, and
Carlos is getting sick of it. She'd take his car and flake out
picking him up, or like last week, she went grocery shopping for
him and left the bags in the car overnight."

"How long has her behavior been erratic?" Scully asked.

"I don't know, maybe a month or so."

That coincided with what Martin Haskins said about Burrard's
change in behavior. Scully's gaze met Mulder's. She could tell he
was coming to the same conclusion.

They needed to talk to Adrienne Burrard.



END PART 5

**********************

ENSKY (6/11)
by viXen 


Forest Lawn Apartments
Flagstaff
March 13
5:55pm


Mulder eased the rental car into the last open parking space in
the apartment complex which was, according to the police report,
the residence of Adrienne Burrard.

Scully tilted her head; she could hear loud music from one of the
apartments, even through the closed window of the car.

Campus parties, she mused as the music beat into her head,
loosening memories of her own college escapades. She wondered if
it would shock Mulder to know that she'd experienced lost time
back then, only that lost time was due to consuming mass
quantities of alcohol. She'd never woken up naked in bed with a
stranger or anything that drastic, but she knew that for much of
her first year at Berkeley, she was out of control. One
particular party involving multiple Tequila shots, mixed with a
disastrous biochem midterm the next morning, had caused her to
mend her ways.

She turned her attention back to her partner, who was clicking
off his cell phone. She realized she hadn't heard anything he'd
said. She caught him mid-sentence.

"...managed to con a few off-duty uniforms into pulling relief
for Taylor on the stakeout. He said Maderas hasn't moved from his
apartment."

She nodded as she pushed Dana Scully Party Girl back into her
memory banks, and forced Dana Scully FBI Agent to re-emerge.

She and Mulder headed toward the loud music. The offending
apartment had an open front door and several party-goers spilling
out onto the walkway. As they approached, the students parted
like the Red Sea, realizing in their drunken haze that the agents
weren't there to partake in the festivities.

One partier, minus his shirt and inhibitions, didn't realize
anything.

"Dude! Brew?" He offered a beer can to Mulder.

Mulder bit back a laugh and raised a hand. "Maybe later, bud."

"Cool," the guy slurred, going back to dancing by himself.

Mulder and Scully continued down the walkway and around a corner
until they reached number 8-B. They were far enough away from the
raucous party that they could hear muffled movement inside.
Scully knocked soundly. The movement turned to scurrying just
before the padlock being disengaged.

The door swung open as the occupant said, "Carlos, honey, you
know I have..."

Adrienne Burrard's voice faded and she stared at the agents, the
proverbial deer-caught-in-headlights look on her tanned face. She
wore what Scully assumed were her work clothes: white polo shirt
with 'Lowell Observatory' embroidered in blue letters, khaki
chinos and clean white tennis shoes. Barbie-blonde hair was
whisked up and away from her shoulders.

Her doe-like expression hardened. "Who are you?"

Scully flashed her badge. "Adrienne Burrard?"

"Yeah," she replied, a slight whine in her voice. "I already
talked to you people."

"We just have a few questions," Mulder said. "It won't take
long."

"But..."

Adrienne sighed, looked heavenward, as if realizing she couldn't
get out of talking to them, then motioned the agents inside.
Mulder took a seat on a tan recliner, while Scully settled on the
matching couch.

Adrienne, still standing, arms crossed defiantly over her ample
chest, eyed the agents with contempt. "I have somewhere to be
soon. Can we get on with this?"

Scully cleared her throat. "Ms. Burrard, how long have you been
working at the Lowell Observatory?"

Adrienne flinched, as if slapped. "About a year. Why?"

"How many sick days have you taken in the last, say, two months?"
Scully watched as Adrienne's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I get it. You let Carlos go, and now you think _I_ did it?"
Her arms dropped to her side as she sighed dramatically. "This is
just great."

Mulder tilted his head to the side. "Why do you think you're a
suspect, Ms. Burrard?"

"Isn't that why you're here? You don't have any leads, so you're
trying to dig up something on one of Carlos's girlfriends, the
ones that are still..." Her voice cracked, pain flickering in her
soft green eyes. "Look, I'm just as freaked out by this as Carlos
is. Even more so. _I'm_ the one who has to watch my back. _I'm_
the one who is in danger of being the next one to..." She turned
away from the agents.

Mulder leaned forward in the chair. "Is that why you've been
absent so much at work? The fear of being predictable in your
routine? The fear of being the next victim?"

Adrienne turned back to face them, wet trails cutting through
perfectly-applied cosmetics. "I love Carlos, but..." She sniffled
and swiped at an errant tear, then continued in a voice rough and
thick with emotion. "But when I found out that those women were
all former girlfriends... I don't know how much longer I can do
this. Half the time I don't know whether I'm coming or going. My
grades are slipping, I'm in jeopardy of losing my job... I can't
keep living like this, but I can't lose Carlos, either."

"He doesn't know you feel this way?" Mulder asked.

A timid shake of her head was her only answer.

"When did you find out about Carlos's connection to the victims?"
Mulder's voice was low and smooth, a warm glass of milk.

"About a month ago, after the second death. They brought Carlos
in for questioning then. It didn't hit me until they found the
third one." Adrienne hugged herself. "I know Carlos is hurting,
not that he'd show it. He internalizes everything, thinks it's
not manly to show his real feelings, but I can tell he's scared.
And the fact that he's scared _terrifies_ me."

Scully met Adrienne's gaze. "Do you think Carlos killed those
women?"

"No," Adrienne gasped. "Absolutely not. I would leave him in a
heartbeat if I had one shred of doubt about his innocence. He did
not kill those women. I know it here..." She put an index finger
to her temple. "...and here." Her hand went over her heart.

Mulder rose from the chair. "Ms. Burrard, if you feel you are in
immediate danger, please don't hesitate to call." He produced a
business card as he walked to the door, closely followed by
Scully.

They walked in silence down the walkway, sidestepping the still-
partying students. Once they reached the car, Mulder turned to
her.

"Either that was an Oscar-winning performance, or she's one
terrified young lady."

Scully nodded. "Her erratic behavior is understandable,
considering the circumstances."

Mulder opened the driver's door. "Let's head back to the hotel.
I'd like to go over her original interview again."

"So would I," she replied.

"I'll let you have the file when I'm done with it. In the
meantime, you can start on your autopsy notes."

Scully wasn't surprised by his statement, but she still had to
stifle the urge to wring his neck. She had one nerve left, and
whatever was bothering her partner had attached itself to said
nerve and was gnawing away like a termite on old wood.

They rode in silence to the hotel, the tension in the car as
thick and cold as the wind outside.


<<<<<>>>>>


Pinetop Inn
9:30pm


Scully pinched the bridge of her nose.  Her report was giving her
a headache. Six pages of questions, and not a single answer.
Skinner was going to love it.

She closed the laptop and got up from her chair, stretching her
tired body. What she wouldn't give for a bathtub that didn't look
like it had last been cleaned during the Reagan administration.

Deciding to brave a shower, she started to remove her shirt but
didn't get far before her cell phone rang. She shot a look at the
wall, the one her room shared with Mulder's. He wouldn't be
calling her, would he? She found her cell phone and answered,
still looking at the wall.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully."

What does he want, Scully thought at the gruff, tight-jawed sound
of Skinner's voice.

"Sir." She paused, unsure what to say. Why was he calling her?
She couldn't remember the last time he'd called while they were
on a case.

"I was hoping this would keep until you and Agent Mulder got
back, but things have developed and I need an answer."

Scully's eyebrow arched. "An answer to what?"

Skinner cleared his throat, an uncomfortable edge piercing his
voice. "It has come to my attention that a position will become
available in the very near future. One I think you would benefit
from taking."

Why did she have the feeling her reaction would be the exact
opposite?

"It's at the Bureau's Forensic Science Lab," he continued. "The
director is stepping down. There will be some movement in the
ranks, and a Deputy Assistant Director position will need to be
filled. Your name was mentioned."

"By whom?" she asked, unable to hide the suspicion in her voice.

"By a number of people, including myself."

"You recommended me for the job?"

"I supported your recommendation." He paused, as if waiting for
her response, then continued, "Your reputation as a forensic
pathologist has not gone unnoticed. Your name was circulated, and
word got back here. I told them they couldn't have selected a
better candidate."

Flattery is unbecoming of you, Walter, Scully thought bitterly.
Who was he kidding? This 'promotion' had cigarette smoke written
all over it.

"Sir..."

"Before you give me an answer, Agent Scully, I suggest you think
this over very carefully. The person who takes this position will
act as the Bureau liaison to the American Society of Crime Lab
Directors, and will serve on their Board of Directors." The harsh
professionalism in his voice subsided slightly. "This is a
legitimate offer, and it could be your chance."

My chance to get a 'real' job, her mind supplied. She could leave
Mulder, get on with her career. And her life.

A third time period to add to her repertoire: After Mulder.

"Is this an offer I can't refuse, sir?"

He let out a long, even breath. "Agent Scully... Dana... I don't
have to tell you that working in the X-Files division is anything
but helpful to your career. You are one of the best field
investigators I've ever had under my supervision, and your work
in the autopsy bay is without parallel. If I didn't think you
were the best person for this position, I wouldn't be pursuing
it."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, sir, but..."

"Think it over," he said, his voice cutting like a razor. "I'll
need an answer in twenty-four hours."

Twenty-four hours? How the hell was she supposed to make a
decision that would change her life in twenty-four hours?
Scully's stomach tightened as she thought about the other life
she would be changing.

"Sir, Agent Mulder... I think he should know."

"He has..." A heavy silence, then, "This is your decision, Agent
Scully. I think Agent Mulder would see as I do that this is the
right opportunity for you."

Scully flinched; the disconnecting click perfectly complemented
the finality in Skinner's voice.

"Could this day get any worse?" she asked the cell phone before
tossing it to the bed.

How could she break the news to Mulder? Considering her partner's
recent behavior, this would send him over the edge, even if the
offer was a sham. A job of high prestige being dropped in her
lap, only a few months after being reassigned to the X-Files.
Even if Skinner had investigated every avenue of this offer,
Scully knew how good these people were at deception. Amtrak
couldn't do a better job of covering tracks.

Scully pinched the bridge of her nose again, realizing she forgot
to give Mulder's message to Skinner. It wasn't often Mulder
admitted that Skinner was right about anything...

Her eyes snapped open. "No," she breathed, looking at the
connecting wall. "No."

She paced the distance between the bed and the door, considering
Mulder's earlier words:

<>

<>

<>

"Son of a bitch."

It all fit. His behavior. Not wanting to talk to her about
anything other than the case. Not being able to look her in the
eye.

Mulder knew about the job offer. He'd known since the beginning
of the case.

Before she was conscious of making a decision, she found herself
outside her hotel room and standing in front of room 12. She
pounded on his door, daring him not to answer. She'd blow the
lock off it he didn't...

"Scully?"

Her eyes focused on Mulder's questioning look. She hadn't seen
him open the door. He was still in his suit pants, but had shed
his dress shirt, leaving a form-hugging t-shirt.

"Scully? What's wrong?"

She pushed past him into the room, turned on her heel and stared
at him until he closed the door and faced her.

Her voice was nearly as piercing has her gaze. "You knew. You
knew and you didn't say a word."

The erosion of his concerned look to one of pain was the only
answer she needed.

"How could you, Mulder? How could you betray me like this?"

He flinched; her words slapped him harder than her hand ever
could. "Skinner told me about the offer. Technically, I'm the
head of the department, so he came to me to warn me about what
was going on."

"But no one saw fit to warn me until now?"

"He didn't want to tell you until he'd checked it out. Before we
left for this case, he told me the offer was the real thing and
that you were the top candidate."

"How long?"

Confusion spread across his face. "How long what?"

"How long has this been going on, you and Skinner planning my
career?"

"Scully..."

"Isn't that what you were doing? You two deciding what was best
for me? Poor Dana can't take care of herself, so you two took the
task on yourselves?"

"That's not what it..."

"How long, Mulder?"

He moved slowly to the bed and sat, his weight as heavy as his
guilt.

"Skinner has known for a month. He told me about the possibility
of an offer about two weeks ago."

Scully held back a gasp. "Two weeks?!"

"It was just a possibility then."

"One that I should have been made aware of."

"It wasn't my place to tell you."

"But it was your place to hide it from me for two weeks?"

He looked at her, his eyes apologetic. "I didn't ask Skinner to
tell me. He just did."

"You should have told me."

"He told me not to say anything."

"Since when do you obey Skinner's orders?"

Mulder stood up, his hands open, palms up. "What do you want me
to say, Scully? That I'm sorry? I am. I'm sorry I didn't say
anything. I'm sorry Skinner told me. I'm sorry he..." He stopped,
sat down.

"You're sorry he offered me the job."

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"I'm sorry he did, too," she said softly. Her body suddenly felt
too heavy for her bones to support, and she sat on the bed next
to Mulder.

"It's a great offer, Scully." The lack of enthusiasm in his voice
betrayed any sincerity in his words.

"It's a sham."

"You don't know that."

She looked away, focused her gaze on the opposite wall, the one
their rooms shared. "It sounds too good to be true."

"What if it is true?"

"Then," she said with a sigh, "I will be giving up the chance of
a lifetime."

He shifted on the bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his
knees, hands clasped in mock prayer. "You should think about it."

"I have thought about it. Ever since I started on the X-Files,
I've thought about climbing the Bureau ladder, but things have
changed. _I_ have changed."

"This could be your best chance to get out of the basement."

A smile curled her lips. "Maybe I like the basement."

Mulder wouldn't bite. "You deserve better than the basement,
Scully. You deserve to be promoted. You deserve to be respected
by your peers. You deserve... you deserve a job where you don't
have psychotic writers' characters pulling your heart out of your
chest..."

Scully shot up from the bed, silencing Mulder. She paced to the
opposite wall, then back, standing just a few feet from her
seated partner.

"Mulder, why do you insist on putting me on this pedestal?"

Confusion muddied his eyes again. "What pedestal?"

"The one you always try to put me on when I almost... when my
life is threatened."

"Threatened? Scully, your life has been threatened nonstop since
you started working with me. You don't deserve that." His voice
just above a whisper. "No one deserves that, but especially not
you."

She forced out a breath. "You want me to take the job because
it's safe, because you think it will put me out of reach of
harm's way, not because it's a once-in-a-lifetime offer."

"Who cares? It's a chance for you to get out of this nightmare
and maybe have a normal life. Why wouldn't I want that?"

"What if it's not what _I_ want?" She regretted the anger in her
voice, but not the words themselves. This was her life, her
choice. When was he going to realize that?

Mulder swiped his hand across his face. "What _do_ you want,
Scully?"

That's a good question, she thought, remembering when the most
important goal in her life was falling in love, getting married.
Being a mother.

"I don't know what I want." She sat on the bed again, her hip
lightly touching his. "But I do know I don't want to leave this.
To leave you."

She saw a flicker of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.
He nudged her with his shoulder. "Just because you leave the X-
Files, doesn't mean you'll be able to get rid of me."

"I know, but leaving isn't an option. This is my life now,
Mulder. This is where I belong." She saw his answering shrug.
"Why are you so adamant about me taking this job?"

"It's the smart thing to do..."

"No, I don't want an answer from here," she said as she tapped
his forehead with her index finger. "I want an answer from here."
Her hand went over his heart, lightly pressed into his shirt, his
heartbeat tapping into her palm.

"Now," she said softly, "do you want me to take this job?"

His hand eclipsed hers, pushing it closer to his chest as he
closed his eyes and whispered his answer: "No."

Scully let out a soft sigh, relieved his answer was the one she
wanted to hear. She leaned her head against his shoulder,
enjoying his closeness, letting her lungs fill with the scent of
his skin.

"What I want doesn't matter," he said, voice thready with
emotion.

"It does matter," she said against his shoulder. "To me it does.
And it just so happens that what you want and what I want are the
same thing."

He looked at her, smirk in place. "You want a subscription to
Celebrity Skin, too?"

She nudged him hard with her shoulder. "No, I'll just borrow
yours."

Reluctantly, she let her hand slip out from under his and she
pulled away, keeping the moment from going any further. Just like
they always did, she thought as emotion and common sense battled
for dominance in her mind. She didn't want to admit that lately,
common sense was having a harder time winning.

Mulder pointed to a scattering of papers on a small table. "I
went over Adrienne Burrard's statement. She was Maderas's alibi
for the first four murders."

Scully zeroed in on Mulder's face, the lip-gnawing, the narrowed
eyes. She could read his mind. "You think she's an accomplice?"

"When I gave her my business card, she took it with her left
hand."

"Most likely her dominant hand," Scully finished. "So he killed
them, crushed their necks, and she did the carving."

Mulder's shrug told her she was on the right track.

"But why? I can see Maderas's motive, but what's Burrard's?"

"Maybe she's the really, really jealous type," Mulder said with a
smirk. "I'm still not convinced Maderas is involved in the
murders. He doesn't fit the profile."

"Who does fit the profile? Adrienne Burrard?"

He shrugged again.

"Mulder, it is nearly impossible for a man the size of Carlos
Maderas to do the internal damage to the victims' necks that was
done. It _is_ impossible for a woman who barely weighs a hundred
pounds to do that damage."

"Nothing's impossible, Scully."

Scully ignored his infuriating grin. "Okay, Mr. Optimist, then
what do the numbers mean?"

"That I don't know. Maybe that database program of the Gunmen's
can help. Frohike updated it last week. Said it can solve any
numbers puzzle in the universe."

"I doubt that, but I'll go get the laptop anyway." She stood and
walked to the door. "I finished the autopsy notes and started the
field report for you."

"Ah, Scully, you're too good to me."

She smiled as she reached for the door. "Yes, I am."

"Hey, Scully?"

He moved to her, doing his ever-masterful job of invading her
personal space. Funny, Scully thought, this time I don't mind the
invasion.

His gaze went to the carpet. "I'm sorry about Skinner, about not
telling you."

Her voice was firm. "I understand why you didn't tell me, but
you're not off the hook. You can't keep things like this from me,
Mulder. This is my decision, and I should have been told from the
start."

He nodded and added a quiet "I know."

"How about we make a pact? No more secrets."

"None?" His grin gave away his mischief.

She shot him the appropriate serious look. "No more secrets when
it concerns us, our partnership." She raised her hand between
them, handshake stance ready. "Deal?"

Mulder took her hand, then pulled her into an embrace. "Deal."

Scully's arms went around him; she rested her hands on his
shoulder blades and her head on his chest. Her unspoken rule of
never letting down her guard around him eroded with each second
she spent in his arms. She felt emotional, a touch vulnerable
even, and it felt good. So good...

Mulder whispered in her ear, "No more secrets about us, right?"

"That's what I said," she replied softly. "No more secrets."

"Good."

She raised her head, met his gaze. For the first time in two
days, she saw raw honesty in his eyes. Words suddenly seemed
excessive. Hands smoothed over her arms, then shoulders. She
tried to conjure up feelings of fear or uncertainty, but they
refused to materialize. Her analytical mind melted like candle
wax under a flame. As his fingers kissed the base of her neck,
her eyes fluttered shut. Her own fingers kneaded his back,
begging to burrow under the shirt.

Her eyes snapped open, eyebrows on alert, when she felt Mulder
lifting the collar of her shirt. She focused on his face as he
ran a finger over the material, then under, then moved the collar
away from her skin and looked over her shoulder. He fashioned the
collar back in place, smoothed the material, met her quizzical
look with a sly smile.

"Just checking."

It took a second for her mind to engage. When it did, she didn't
try to fight the smile. Laughter bubbled up from nowhere,
overtaking the seriousness of her arousal for a few seconds,
until his hands left her neck and framed her face. Levity retired
as arousal made a comeback.

She watched his face descend as long as she could, until his lips
disappeared from her line of sight. Her eyelids gave up, closing,
anticipation coating her nerves with extra sensation. His breath
was on her mouth. He was so close. So close...

A whisper of a kiss, down-soft lips on hers, barely enough
pressure to register in her mind. But it did register, all the
way down her body. Her lips acknowledged his presence and
welcomed him with enthusiasm.

The tentative kiss quickly hardened, years of repressed hunger
finally being fed. His arms snaked around her, hands settling on
their familiar place at the small of her back, though adding the
unfamiliar by pushing her hips into his body. A moan flowed past
her lips, passing his tongue on the way out.

Her moan propelled movement. With a thud, Scully found herself
sandwiched between Mulder and the door, and found herself more
excited than she thought possible. The hard surface behind her,
added with the hard surface in front of her, sent another moan
singing through her.

His tongue became braver, painting the inside of her mouth with
broad, strong strokes. She returned the favor, exploring his
tongue, palate and anything else she could taste. Breathing was a
reluctant and brief necessity, a gulp of air before engaging in
another oral assault.

She felt him pull away, bending at his knees as his hands cupped
her ass. He lifted her and straightened, pressing his full weight
against her. Her legs embraced his waist, ankles locked behind
his back. His erection right where she wanted it, angled
perfectly, hard as stone. So hard...

She rubbed herself against him, searching for a way to relieve
the burning between her legs. Mulder was happy to oblige with a
thrust of his hips. The resulting friction sent a ripple of
ecstasy from her core to every cell in her body. As did the next
thrust, and the next, and the next.

Somehow she knew it would be this way. Some women dream of a man
romantically sweeping her off her feet, carrying her to the
bedroom, worshipping her body as he gently made love to her.
Scully had dreamed that before, but not about Mulder. Mulder was
pure passion. When she dreamed of Mulder, she dreamed of animal
lust, a frenzy of arms and legs, torn clothes, devouring kisses,
forceful thrusts.

Her dream was coming true.

She grabbed hunks of his hair, pulling him closer. Not close
enough. She needed more. More of his mouth, more of his body.
Much more of his body. She tried to tell him she needed more, but
his mouth smothered the word. He didn't need the verbal
encouragement; he thrust against her harder, punctuating each
with a stab with his tongue against hers.

Oh God, she thought. It was finally happening. Everything she
dreamed and everything she feared was unfolding right before her.
It was happening. Every inch of her body was aware it was
happening, and for her it was going to happen in a matter of
seconds if he didn't stop thrusting against her.

Panic surged through her on the end of an orgasmic wave. What
were they doing? No, it was too much. Too much, too fast. Her
body betrayed her mind, the familiar fluttering between her legs
increasing, blood screaming through her veins, a ringing in her
ears...

Ringing. A phone.

She pulled her mouth from his, but he followed, sealing his lips
over hers. Reluctantly, she pushed him away and tried to catch
her breath.

"Phone. Mulder. Phone ringing."

"Huh? Uh. Yeah." He lowered her until she could stand, then
backed away.

Scully's hand went to her lips immediately, partly to see if they
were as kiss-swollen as she thought, which they were, but mostly
to disguise her shock. His wide-eyed expression told the same
story: I just dry-humped my partner against a door.

Scully broke the trance first. "Mulder, it's your cell phone."

"Yeah." He ran toward the bed, tripped over the area rug, righted
himself before falling, grabbed the phone and shoved it to his
ear.

"What?" he barked. "Yeah, what is it?" As he listened, his
expression softened. "Where?" His eyebrows climbed, then, "Yeah,
have them wait until we get there."

He clicked off his phone. "That was Taylor. We have another
victim."

Professional Scully snapped into place. "Where?"

"At the Saw Mill, behind the log flume." He slipped on his dress
shirt. "And this time there's a witness."

"I'll get my jacket." She turned her back to him, moved to the
door.

"Scully?"

She left without answering, didn't look back, relieved to have
her professional shield around her while she tried to douse the
wildfire of emotions inside.



END PART 6


**********************


ENSKY (7/11)
by viXen 


The Saw Mill
Flagstaff
March 13
10:05pm

The log flume looked like a new ride at Disneyland, lit up by red
and blue lights from police cruisers, and flanked by a crowd of
onlookers. A coroner's van was backed up to the flume's base, and
Scully saw the bulging profile of Linda Francis stepping out of
the passenger side of the van.

Detective Ryan appeared from behind of the van, and waved the
agents over to follow him.

"Where's the witness?" Mulder asked when they reached Ryan,
underneath the flume.

"At the hospital. His neck was badly bruised, and he was
unconscious. He was found about fifty feet from her." Ryan
motioned toward a young woman on the ground.

If not for the slight concavity of her neck, the woman looked
perfectly normal, perfectly healthy, as if she was taking a nap
beneath the flume. Shoulder-length black hair framed a peaceful,
model-beautiful face, a face unaware of the life stolen from
beneath its surface.

Scully slipped on a latex glove and kneeled next to the victim.
"Do we know who she is?"

Ryan nodded. "Lucy Hernandez, according to her student I.D."

"Ten bucks says she's dated our Latin lover," Mulder said,
squatting next to Scully. "There's just the one witness?"

"So far," Ryan said. "No one in the crowd out here claims to have
seen anything. It's pretty dark under here, lots of shadows..."
His voice faded as he looked over Scully's shoulder. "Son of a...
I told her not to come near the university at night."

Scully followed Ryan's gaze and saw the source of his
distraction: Libby Ryan, less than ten steps away, behind the
yellow police tape. Eyes wide and a Longfellow book clutched to
her chest.

Ryan stormed away from the agents toward his daughter. Scully
shot Mulder a quick look. Though she couldn't hear what Ryan was
saying, she could tell where Libby got her temper from. She felt
sympathy as she watched the girl suffer under her father's gaze.
Libby's head was down, never looking her father in the eye, her
fingers playing with the zipper on her rain poncho.

Ryan put a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder, and Scully
saw her visibly stiffen. Libby finally lifted her head, looked
past her father, shot Mulder and Scully a contemptuous glare,
then waded back through the crowd, heading toward the parking
lot.

Ryan walked back to the agents, an apologetic smile on his lips.
"Headstrong little thing, but brilliant. Only kid I know who had
a life plan at age eight and is following it to the letter." His
smile faded. "Okay, let's get back to business."

Scully nodded, then went back to her inspection of the body. She
took in the condition of the neck, which was almost identical to
the victim she had autopsied earlier in the day.

"Looks like our killer wasn't able to finish the job," Mulder
said.

Scully nodded, eyeing the carvings on the victim's chest. The
numbers 1, 1, and 4 were complete; the last number was a straight
line with another shorter line perpendicular to its center.

She turned to Mulder. "The last number could be the start of
another 'four.'"

"Could be," Mulder said absently.

He spent several more seconds staring at the numbers, then stood
and walked away, heading toward the opposite end of the flume.
Scully could see him going into profiler mode as he moved. The
numbers were important, and the fact that their importance eluded
him was taking its toll.

"Ted, tell me you and Dana have figured this one out."

Scully turned to see Linda Francis. Her red maternity outfit made
her look like a giant apple holding a black attache case.

Ryan smiled and gave Francis's shoulder a squeeze. "Sorry to call
you out at this hour, Linda."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for the world." She turned
to Scully. "We're looking at the same thing, aren't we?"

Nodding, Scully answered, "The only difference is the carvings
were interrupted."

"Hope this means the killer is getting sloppy," Francis said,
stroking her distended belly.

"One can only hope," Ryan mumbled.

"Who's the guy digging to China?" Francis asked, pointing behind
Ryan.

Scully followed Francis's gaze and saw Mulder grinding the toe of
his shoe into the ground. He kicked the dirt a few times, then
returned to grinding. All the while, his eyes faced forward,
gazing into the forest.

"That's my partner, Fox Mulder."

"Fox." Francis grinned. "His parents named him well."

"Jesus, Linda," Ryan sighed, exasperated.

"What? I'm married, not dead." Her expression softened. "Is he
okay, Dana?"

"He's fine," Scully assured them. "It's the way he works."

"Hey," Ryan interjected, "if what Taylor says is true about
Mulder's profiling ability, I don't care if the guy stands on his
head."

"Now _that_ I'd love to see," Francis said with a laugh.

Scully smiled politely and turned her attention back to Mulder.
His demeanor was changing; shoulders straight, brow crinkled,
eyes narrowed and looking at the Saw Mill. She gasped when Mulder
started jogging toward the restaurant's parking lot.

"Excuse me," she tossed out as she took off after Mulder.

She caught up with him just as grass turned to asphalt.

"Mulder, where are you going?"

He pointed toward a man standing next to a silver Mercedes.
Scully squinted, couldn't see the man's face. Then arched an
eyebrow when the man turned his head in her direction.

The man was Carlos Maderas.

"It's a regular Who's Who tonight," Mulder said as they neared
the Mercedes.

Maderas, who was facing the car, must have heard their footsteps.
He turned, his tired eyes showing surrender.

"Before you ask, no I did not kill Lucia," Maderas said,
pronouncing the victim's name 'loo-chee-ah.'

"Do you have any witnesses who can attest to that?" Scully asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Eight of them."

Scully couldn't resist. "Do you remember their names?"

Maderas smiled and shot a look at Mulder. "A feisty one, isn't
she?" His gaze returned to Scully. "Touche, Senorita. Yes, I do
remember their names. They are over there, in the crowd. Five
women, three men. They are my students."

"I'd like to talk to them," Mulder said. "Agent Scully would be
happy to escort you into the restaurant and wait with you while I
check out your story."

The hell I would, Scully thought as she went against her own
wishes and motioned for Maderas to head to the restaurant. Mulder
gave her an 'I'm sorry' shrug before jogging off toward the
crowd.

She followed Maderas into the Saw Mill, which was deserted except
for a waitress and a male bartender. Both were behind the bar,
and both stared as Scully and Maderas walked in and took a booth
near the back.

"You do not need to sit here." Maderas put his hands on the
table. "I will not go anywhere. Honestly."

Scully didn't answer but kept her stony gaze on the handsome man.
Very handsome man, she thought. Beautiful cheekbones. Beautiful
eyes, several shades darker than Mulder's but just as expressive.
Gorgeous head of hair. As thick as Mulder's...

She blinked, took in an even breath, exhaling the thoughts. Her
gaze traveled to the table top, where Maderas's hands were. For
the first time, she saw his mangled left hand. Ring finger and
pinkie in tact, long fingers that begged to play the piano. His
thumb, index and middle fingers were cut at the first joint,
three stubs of flesh and gnarled knuckles.

Scully sucked in a quick breath when Maderas whipped his hand
from the table and into his lap. Busted, she thought. Slowly, she
looked up and found anger in his eyes.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" His top lip curled into a sneer. "No need
to lie. I know the truth."

"Mr. Maderas..."

"Do you know what I did for a living before coming here?" He
didn't wait for an answer. "I was a model. I worked in New York
for six years. I had a top agent who was going to make me the
Cindy Crawford of the male modeling world. That's what she said."

He shook his head. "She would have, too, if not for this." He
flourished his left hand, a mockery of elegance.

Scully realized she was witnessing a different side of Maderas.
His voice was softer, more sincere. His shoulders slumped
forward, not in defeat but in relaxation. As if he was letting
down his guard, not concerned with keeping up appearances.

"The Casanova bit," she said, "it's an act, isn't it?"

A sad smile spread across Maderas's lips. "It is, how they say, a
hook. A facade."

A shield, she thought. A shield to keep in the insecurities. A
shield to keep out the pain.

"Americans love stereotypes," he continued, nonchalant.
"Stereotypes evoke emotions. Passion. That is what I am drawn to.
Those who are disgusted by my behavior are not worth the chase.
Those who are _fascinated_ by my behavior are the ones I seek.
They want to see the passion beneath the facade. They want to see
the real Carlos."

Mulder was right, Scully realized. Maderas was a game-player. He
made a game of the murders so that he wouldn't have to deal with
the reality of death. He made relationships a game as well, so he
wouldn't have to deal with the reality of rejection. Pique a
woman's interest, lay on the Latin lover persona to mess with her
head. If the woman scoffed at him, she wasn't 'worth the chase.'
If the woman still showed interest, she was treated to 'the real
Carlos.'

The revelation didn't make Maderas any less of a sleaze in
Scully's book, but at least she understood _why_ he was a sleaze.
It also didn't lessen the urge to slap the cocky smile from
Maderas's lips.

"Libby Ryan mentioned that, about getting past the facade. You
two are close?" She didn't want to encourage him but curiosity
was getting the better of her.

"Libby is a sweet girl. Smart, passionate. But so dark." His
smile faded. "My mother told me about an uncle of mine I never
met. He was smart, genius level. But my mother called him Un Nino
de las Sombras, a Child of the Shadows. Something dark lurked in
him, it eclipsed his very soul." He laughed. "My mother was
always one for dramatics. What I mean is Libby is a brilliant,
passionate woman, but she is a troubled soul. She, how you say,
has issues. I prefer women without issues."

Apparently, he prefers women without common sense as well, Scully
thought as she bit back a sneer. "What about Adrienne Burrard?
Has she made it past the surface?"

"Ah, Adrienne." He sighed. "She tries. She believes she loves me,
but she does not. She is in love with the facade, not the
foundation."

"You're going to break up with her."

Maderas nodded, his face solemn. "It is inevitable. I have been
embroiled with this tragedy, so I have been unable to tell her."

Motive, Scully thought. If Burrard knew Maderas was about to dump
her, she had a motive. But did she really? Why wouldn't she just
kill Maderas? Maybe she saw the other women as possible threats
and thought with them out of the way, she'd have Maderas all to
herself?

"They will put me back in jail tonight, yes?"

Scully lifted an eyebrow, a mock shrug. "You are a prime suspect
found at the scene of a crime."

"I did not do it. I did not even leave the table." Complete
confidence seasoned with fear.

"If your students can corroborate that, then you have nothing to
worry about."

The restaurant door opened, startling both occupants of the
booth. Mulder stepped inside, followed by a uniformed officer.
The uniformed officer nodded as Mulder talked to him, then headed
in Scully's direction. Mulder motioned for her to join him.

When she reached her partner, he lead her outside, then toward
the flume.

"Ryan and I interviewed Maderas's students. All eight claim they
were in the restaurant for about three hours. The only time they
lost sight of Maderas was _after_ Hernandez and the witness were
discovered."

"He was with them the entire three hours?"

Mulder nodded. "Not even a potty break."

The crowd had thinned out some, the appeal of the crime scene
fading with the addition of time and more uniformed officers.
Francis's assistant, Joe, had arrived and was crouched over the
body, deep in thought. Ryan's nose was buried in his notebook,
the top of his pen held prisoner between clenched teeth.

Mulder stood next to Scully, though he kept his distance, her
personal space uninterrupted. For that, she was relieved. Though
she had work literally at her feet, Mulder kept seeping into her
thoughts. His mouth, his hands, his body, his hardness...

Mulder's voice startled her. "Scully, did Maderas mention his
girlfriend?"

"Just that she wasn't going to be his girlfriend much longer.
Why?"

Before Mulder could answer, Ryan's cell phone buzzed. The
detective nodded, breathed a "good news," nodded again, then
clicked off the phone.

"That was Agent Taylor," Ryan declared. "He went with the witness
to the hospital. Said the guy woke up in the ambulance. He can't
talk because of his injuries, but he can write."

"Scully and I will head over there." Mulder stood and started
walking away from the body. He stopped, turned back. "Scully?"

"You go ahead," she said in a flat tone. She was determined not
to let her professionalism drown in the sea of emotions. But she
also needed time away from him, time to focus on nothing but the
case. "I'm going with the body, to do the autopsy."

Mulder nodded, but Scully could see the disappointment on his
face, barely hidden by his own facade of professionalism.

"Why don't you go?" said a familiar voice.

Scully turned to see Linda Francis standing next to her. When did
she walk up?

Francis pointed to Lucy Hernandez's body. "It'll take us a couple
of hours to get the body back to the office and prepped. I'll
give you a buzz when we're ready."

"The photos..."

"...will be taken by yours truly," Francis finished for her. "Joe
is taking care of the trace evidence."

"Looks like it's in good hands," Scully conceded, her thin smile
covering her disappointment.


<<<<<>>>>>


Flagstaff Memorial Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
10:30pm


Taylor met Mulder and Scully at the nurses station at the center
of the ICU. He looked exhausted, despite having nursed almost an
entire cup of coffee.

The younger agent pointed to the room directly across from the
nurses station. "The doctor is in with him now. As soon as he's
done, it's our turn."

"Do we know who the witness is?" Mulder asked.

Taylor nodded. "Richard Whedon, twenty-one, student at NAU. He's
a waiter at the Saw Mill. Detective Ryan said he known the kid's
dad for thirty years." He frowned at the coffee cup and tossed it
in a nearby trash can.

All heads turned as the hospital room door opened. Out stepped an
olive-skinned man, a ring of salt-and-pepper hair surrounding his
oval head.

"How's he doing?" Taylor asked the man, whose coat declared him
'Dr. Zakhia.'

"Better than any of us could have hoped," Zakhia said as he
placed a medical chart on the counter. "We're still concerned
about his larynx, of course, but he's doing remarkably well."

Scully reached for the chart, and Zakhia reached out to stop her.

Taylor stopped his hand. "It's okay. Agent Scully is a medical
doctor."

Zakhia seemed perturbed but put down his hand, allowing Scully to
take the chart. She skimmed the reports, her eyebrow quirking
almost immediately.

"You were able to perform a tracheostomy?"

Zakhia nodded. "It looked as if the attacker grabbed him right
here." His hand went to his neck, directly under his chin. "Most
of the pressure was above the trachea. It's the only thing that
saved him from suffocating to death."

"He's not able to talk?" Mulder asked.

"Not sure he'll ever be able to talk," Zakhia replied solemnly.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded the nurses station until
Scully broke the lull. "Can we see him?"

Zakhia's expression was firm. "Just a few minutes. That's it. And
not all three of you. The kid's been through enough already
without having an entourage descending upon him."

"You two go," Taylor said as he motioned to Scully and Mulder.
"I'll call Ryan and get an update of the scene."

Scully nodded her appreciation to Taylor as she lead her partner
into the hospital room.

Richard Whedon, propped up by two pillows on the hospital bed,
opened his eyes and positioned his gaze on Scully as she
approached the bed. His head remained still; the tubes connected
to the hole in his throat prohibited movement. The pain in his
eyes screamed louder than any voice could.

"Mr. Whedon, I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. We're
with the FBI."

A bob of his head told her she could continue. His hands toyed
with the notebook and felt-tip marker sitting on his lap.

"Were you working tonight at the Saw Mill?"

Whedon nodded slightly as he scribbled on the notebook for nearly
a minute. He turned the paper to face Scully. It read: FINISHED
MY SHIFT. LUCY CALLED FROM CAR, WAS 5 MINUTES AWAY & WOULD PICK
ME UP. 20 MINUTES & SHE DOESN'T SHOW. I WENT OUTSIDE TO LOOK.

"Lucy's your girlfriend?" Mulder asked.

Whedon nodded.

"Do you know if Lucy ever dated an associate professor at the
college..."

Before Mulder could finish, Whedon's hand was writing
frantically. He showed the agents the paper: SHE DATED MADERAS.
THOUGHT HE WAS IN JAIL.

Scully looked at Mulder before answering, "He was, but he was
released earlier today."

Whedon's mouth opening to say words his voice couldn't support.
His lips pursed in frustration and he penned his response: HE
KILLED HER! ALMOST KILLED ME!

Scully's eyebrow arched. "Are you saying Carlos Maderas is the
one who attacked you?"

More scribbling: WHO ELSE COULD IT BE?

"But did you see him?" Scully pressed.

Whedon took a deep breath, released it with a whistling sigh
through the trach tube as he wrote: DRESSED IN LONG JACKET W/
HOOD. FACE HIDDEN. HUNCHED OVER LUCY.

It was Mulder's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Did the attacker say
anything?"

Whedon nodded and scribbled: WEIRD VOICE, BREATHY & DEEP. TALKED
ABOUT HANDS OF TIME & STARS ASCENDING. LIKE RECITING POEM.

"Do you remember the words?" Mulder asked.

Whedon put a finger to his lips, then wrote: LAST LINE - THE
NIGHT SILENT WITH STARS ASCENDING. Whedon shrugged and added to
the paper: NOT EXACT WORDS.

Scully wrote in her own notebook before asking, "Anything else
you can tell us about the assailant?"

Whedon wrote: STRONG, PICKED ME UP BY NECK & TOSSED ME.

"Do you remember what hand was used to pick you up?" Mulder
asked.

Eyes narrowed, Whedon gave Mulder an odd look, then wrote: LEFT
HAND.

Scully nodded, not surprised by his response. She glanced at
Mulder and could tell he was coming to the same conclusion:
Carlos Maderas was not the killer.

"What happened after you were attacked?" Scully asked.

With a shrug, Whedon scribbled: BLACKED OUT, DIDN'T SEE WHAT HE
DID TO LUCY.

Whedon's hand shook as he wrote LUCY, and a tear fell from his
eye, smearing her name when it landed on the paper. He wrote his
final words: SHE'S GONE, ISN'T SHE?

"Yes, she died at the scene," Scully said softly.

She watched Whedon turn away from her and Mulder, though the
trach tube kept him from turning away enough to hide the tears
descending his face.

"We're very sorry, Mr. Whedon," Scully said sincerely. "Thank you
for talking with us."

Whedon didn't look at them when they left.

Outside the room stood a pacing Taylor, his face relaxing as
Mulder and Scully approached. "So, did he say who it was?"

"Unless Maderas has regrown a few fingers," said Mulder, "he's
out as a suspect. We'll have to let him go." He explained
Whedon's revelation and Maderas's alibi at the crime scene, and
succeeded in getting an exasperated sigh out of the younger
agent.

"But he was there at the restaurant. What are the chances that he
would be there right when the murder happened unless he did it?"

"We know he frequents the Saw Mill," Scully replied. "It's not a
stretch for him to be there."

Mulder agreed with a nod. "The killer is on a mission and won't
stop until that mission is complete. Being caught is not an
option. The complete lack of evidence at every scene proves that.
If Maderas was the killer, he wouldn't have waited around for us
to find him."

"I was so sure he was guilty." Taylor shook his head. "What now?"

"We need to find Adrienne Burrard," Scully stated. "She was on
her way to the Observatory earlier this evening."

"I'll follow you there." Taylor gave a quick wave and walked
away.

When Taylor was out of earshot, Mulder turned to Scully. "Do you
want me to drop you off at the coroner's office?"

Scully opened her mouth, intending on saying yes, but she shifted
gears. She couldn't let what went on less than an hour ago affect
her job. Even if it took every bit of her concentration to keep
those thoughts from overpowering her.

"No," she replied firmly. "I'll go with you. I have some time
before the autopsy."

His eyes widened slightly, but he responded with a nod as he
followed her down the hall to the elevator. Scully could feel the
heat of his gaze as they waited. She refused to look at him
because she knew what she would see. She already knew she was
hurting him. She was hurting herself as well, by not admitting
what she was feeling.

The problem is I'm not even sure what I'm feeling, she thought as
the elevator arrived.


<<<<<>>>>>


En route to Adrienne Burrard's apartment
11:10pm


Scully held the styrofoam cup with both hands, warming her palms.
She was grateful for Mulder's suggestion to get some coffee to go
from the hospital cafeteria. She would have been grateful for the
'specialty' coffee if it hadn't tasted like French vanilla tar.

She watched Mulder's profile as he took a long drink of his
coffee, his hand eclipsing the cup. She could almost feel the
warmth of the fluid as it flowed over his tongue, heating his
mouth, that mouth that inflamed hers...

Mulder put the cup in the car's holder. He turned to meet
Scully's gaze, held it for several seconds before he looked back
at the road. The questions she saw in his eyes made her stomach
leap for her throat. What were they thinking? What had they
done...

"It's escalating," Mulder said, shattering Scully's mental
flogging. "The interval between murders have gone from two weeks
to two days. We've got one, maybe two victims to go before the
killer's mission is accomplished."

"The numbers on the chest..."

He nodded. "Each victim is serving a role, as if the killer is
casting each as a specific character."

"How do we know when we've run out of characters?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "But I'm pretty sure
Adrienne is being saved for last. The piece de resistance, the
one that will give the most pleasure to kill."

Scully fought a shudder. With everything she had seen, every
murder she had investigated, she never got used to murder being
described as someone's 'pleasure.'

"What about the words the killer spoke?" she offered. "What could
they mean?"

"Part of the ritual. Serial killers often pray or quote passages
from favorite works before each murder."

Scully's only reply was a nod. She turned away from her partner,
looking out the window into the darkness. Her emotions had no
place in a murder investigation, yet they kept haunting her.

Everything was coming apart at the seams. The case, their
relationship...

"Scully?" His tone caused tears to pool in her eyes.

"Not now," she said without facing him. "After the case." She
ventured a look. She was sorry she did.

"Are we okay?" His gaze sliced through her like a lance.

"We're fine, Mulder."

The doubt in his eyes contradicted his nod.


END PART 7


**********************

ENSKY (8/11)
by viXen 


Forest Lawn Apartments
Flagstaff
March 13
11:25pm

Scully felt like they hadn't left the apartment complex. They
passed the same party-goers lining the walkway in front of the
same apartment. Six hours did nothing to diminish the party.

Once at Burrard's door, the agents flanked the door; Mulder on
one side, Scully and Taylor on the other. When Mulder rapped on
the wood, the door moved, easing open.

In sync, all three agents reached for their guns. Mulder stepped
inside first, gun sweeping the dimly lit room. As Scully and
Taylor entered behind him, Mulder went down a hallway toward the
bedroom. Scully headed to the kitchen. By the time Taylor shut
the front door and joined her, Mulder returned from the back of
the apartment, his gun holstered.

Taylor stated the obvious. "She's not here. No sign of struggle,
but her front door was open."

"Maybe she was in a really big hurry." Mulder moved into the
living room. Scully followed, fingering the magazines on the
coffee table. Nothing looked out of place from earlier.

Taylor's curious "Huh" turned the other agents' heads.

The younger agent pointed at a square black box sitting next to
the phone, and again stated the obvious: "Answering machine." He
pressed a button on the machine.

In a tinny tone came Carlos Maderas's voice: "Adri, I need to see
you. Meet me after work. You know where."

The machine clicked, then a monotone female voice stated the call
came in at six-thirteen.

"That wasn't long after we were here," Scully said. "She was on
her way _to_ work when we saw her."

Mulder nodded. "Maybe she's still there."


<<<<<>>>>>


Lowell Observatory
11:50pm

Mulder pulled up in front of the visitor's center, making his own
parking spot. Taylor did the same.

"I called Ryan," Taylor said as exited his car. "He'll meet us
here when he's done at the scene."

The agents reached the visitor's center, yet found the building
locked and the lights out.

"I thought they had night tours," Taylor said.

Mulder cupped his hand over his eyes and looked inside the
building. "They do, but they stop at eleven."

Scully started toward the side of the building. Mulder and Taylor
followed, and met up with her at a side door marked 'Authorized
Personnel Only.' She tried the door knob. No luck. Mulder decided
on the direct approach, slamming his fist on the metal door.

"Hello?" Scully yelled as she joined her partner in pounding the
door.

Their persistence paid off, as a muffled "just a minute" came
from behind the door. Keys jingled, a deadbolt unlatched, then
the door opened.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." Martin Haskins's eyes were as wide
as quarters. He gave Taylor a quick glance, then motioned the
agents inside.

Mulder led the way. "Did Adrienne Burrard work tonight?"

A nod from Haskins. "We had a special tour, a group of Arizona
legislators. We're up for more funding, so we wanted to show them
where the money will go. Adrienne and I were the guides tonight."

As Haskins spoke, Scully took in the decor of the room. Post-
Modern Low-Budget Office, she concluded. Faux wood desks, metal
filing cabinets, worn cocoa carpet. The walls, however, turned
the office into Early American Astronomer. Every inch of the four
walls was covered with star charts, photos taken from space,
paintings, drawings and countless magazine and newspaper articles
touting Lowell Observatory and its work. She caught Mulder's gaze
wandering as well.

Haskins swiped at his sweating brow. "Can I ask what's going on?"

Mulder's gaze went from Scully to Taylor, then to Haskins.
"There's been another murder."

Haskins gasped. "Dear God."

"It's imperative we find Ms. Burrard," Scully said. "She's not at
her apartment."

Quarter-wide eyes stared back at her. "She said she was going
home, but it's possible she's still on the grounds. I'll release
the front gate so you can look around."

Scully's attention shifted from Haskins to her partner, who had
moved to one of the posters lining the walls, a star chart
plotting the constellations. She watched as he reached out for
the chart, his index finger connecting the stars. He tapped the
chart and turned to Haskins.

"How are the stars catalogued? By name?"

"By name and their HR number." Off Mulder's questioning look,
Haskins added, "Their number in the Bright Star Catalog, the
industry standard."

"Do you have a copy of this catalog?" Mulder said, his voice
tight.

Scully's eyebrows arched in unison. The Bright Star Catalog. A
catalog of numbers.

"We have a copy around here somewhere," Haskins said as he
started pulling open filing cabinet drawers. On the fifth drawer
he lifted out an encyclopedia-sized book and put it on a nearby
desk with a thud.

"Is there a star with the number one-one-five-one?" Mulder asked.

Haskins turned to the index and scanned the contents. With a nod,
he said, "Asterope."

Mulder's forehead crinkled. "What about one-one-five-six?"

Haskins checked, then said, "Merope."

Taylor urgently flipped through his notebook, found the page he
needed. "One-one-four-zero, one-one-four-two and one-one-four-
five."

After searching a few pages, Haskins responded, "Celaeno, Electra
and Taygeta."

Scully knew the names. "The Pleiades."

All three men looked at her as if she'd uttered an obscenity.
Mulder's expression was especially priceless, Scully thought as
she fought a smile.

"My father was a man of the sea," she said, as if that explained
everything. To her it did. Ahab had been fascinated with the
stars. Though she'd never admit it to Mulder, she had been
fascinated as well. Her awe of the sky faded as she grew up, but
the names -- and the memories of time spent learning them with
her father -- were still as bright as the stars themselves.

Haskins nodded slowly. "She's right. The Pleiades is an open
cluster of seven stars in the Taurus constellation. The remaining
two stars are Maia and Alcyone, one-one-four-nine and one-one-six-
five, respectively. Alcyone is the brightest of the seven stars."

"Seven," Scully said absently. "That's the magic number."

Taylor looked as if he were in a trance. "The constellations are
based on Greek mythology, right? What's the story with the
Pleiades?"

Scully took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "If I remember
correctly, one of the sisters was romantically pursued by Orion,
The Great Hunter. She refused his advances, and Orion became
enraged. He hunted the sisters, and to save them, Zeus turned
them into doves and placed them in the sky so Orion couldn't harm
them."

"Wait a minute." Mulder started pacing, a hand over his mouth,
fingers rubbing dry lips. "Orion... Orion..." He slammed a hand
on a nearby desk.

Scully and Taylor leaned their heads forward, waiting for Mulder
to say something, anything. Haskins looked as if he was about to
have a heart attack.

"Lucy Hernandez was Maia." Mulder's voice soft, strained.
"Adrienne Burrard will be Alcyone."

Taylor's mouth dropped open, disbelief flooding his face. "How do
you know?"

Haskins added a gasp to the dialogue, but didn't comment further,
choosing instead to heft his stunned body into the nearest chair.

Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "Richard Whedon said the
killer recited something to do with stars ascending. It sounded
familiar but it didn't click until now." He paused, took a deep
breath. "'And day, with all its hours of light/Was slowly sinking
out of sight/While, opposite, the scale of night/Silently with
the stars ascended.'" Another pause. "That's from 'The
Occultation of Orion' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."

Scully flinched at the realization of what Mulder had said.
"You're saying... Mulder... that's not possible."

"What's not possible?" Taylor said, an edge of frustration
marring his voice.

Scully turned her full attention to her partner. "Mulder, the
force used to inflict these injuries would be virtually
impossible for anyone to do, but would be _absolutely_ impossible
for someone her size."

Taylor's frustration turned to anger. "_Whose_ size? Who the hell
are you talking about?"

Shocked, Scully waited for Mulder to drop his bomb on Taylor.
What he was thinking was impossible. More than impossible. When
it became evident her partner wasn't going to speak up, Scully
did it for him, saying the unbelievable.

"He's talking about Libby Ryan."


<<<<<>>>>>


Once she assured herself Haskins wouldn't go into shock or
cardiac arrest after Mulder's revelation, Scully left the
visitor's center and caught up with Mulder and Taylor, who were a
few steps from the iron bars surrounding the inner campus.

Taylor saw her and motioned to Mulder. "Would you please tell him
he's wrong? Just because the girl carries a book of Longfellow
poems doesn't mean she's a murderer."

Scully's gaze went to Mulder. She knew there was some truth to
her partner's revelation. Despite the physical impossibility,
despite her impression of Libby Ryan, despite her confidence in
Ted Ryan's ability to detect a serial killer in his family,
Scully couldn't tell Taylor what he wanted to hear.

"I'm not sure he is wrong," she said, turning to Taylor. "Though
I admit I'm having trouble with some aspects of the theory."

"She has the motive," Mulder said.

Scully met Mulder's gaze and held it, their normal sparring
stance in place. For her, Taylor faded into the night sky.

"I don't doubt that, Mulder" she answered. "It's obvious Libby
wanted her relationship with Maderas to go beyond the
'intellectual connection' they had. The motive isn't the problem.
The method _is_."

Mulder shook his head. "Adrenaline rush, Scully. There are
hundreds of documented cases of men and women lifting impossibly
heavy objects off friends or loved ones in danger. Adrenaline can
make ordinary people do extraordinary things."

She hated when he tried to throw science in her face. "We are
talking about a woman who weighs less than a hundred pounds, with
arms the width of my wrist, putting her open palm on someone's
neck and applying one forceful thrust in excess of one hundred
pounds. I don't care if her body is producing enough adrenaline
for a three-hundred-pound bodybuilder, she can't do what was done
to these women."

"She can if she has help," Mulder said.

Her eyebrows arched. "Who? Maderas? I thought you were sure he
wasn't involved."

"I am," he replied. "I'm not talking about a second person,
Scully. I'm talking about a second personality."

"You think she suffers from multiple personalities?" Scully
asked.

Mulder shrugged. "In a way."

He's being evasive, she thought. That could only mean one thing.
Though his feet never left the ground, her partner had taken a
quantum leap.

"Mulder, what are you saying?" She kept her voice level.

His lips quirked into a smile. "Have you ever seen 'The
Exorcist'?"

Scully tilted her head, her mouth open in surprise. No.
Absolutely not. He couldn't possibly be talking about...

"Possession?" she said, her voice jumping half an octave. "You
think Libby is possessed? Dare I ask, by whom? Or what?"

"She's playing the role of the hunter," Mulder replied calmly.
"She's hunting the seven sisters of the I-dated-Carlos-Maderas
sorority."

Scully let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "So what you're
telling me is that Libby Ryan was able to crush these women's
necks because she is possessed by the spirit of a Greek god."

"Of course not," Mulder said with a smirk. "Orion was a mortal,
not a god."

She shot him a lethal look, which he answered with a chuckle and,
"I'm not saying she _is_ possessed, Scully. If she _believes_
she's embodying the spirit of The Great Hunter, then she
_believes_ she has the ability to kill these women. The power of
suggestion can be more potent than the power itself."

The only response she could muster was a shake of her head. This
was 'out there,' even for Mulder. She could see Libby Ryan as the
killer. Quiet, a loner, obsessive personality, in love with a man
who doesn't return the affection. She gets angry and kills those
she sees as competition for Maderas's attention. How she was able
to fatally injure these women still eluded Scully, but possession
was not the answer. Even the belief of being possessed can't give
super-human strength to someone Libby's size...

A glass-shattering scream interrupted Scully's thoughts.

"The Pluto Dome," Mulder said. "Make-out central. That has to be
where Maderas was meeting Adrienne tonight." He reached for his
gun and pushed open the gate, Scully and Taylor close behind.

Another scream pierced the silence, followed by a male shout of
"No!"

Adrienne and Carlos were in the dome. But they were not alone.

When they arrived at the dome, the door flew open and out
staggered a bloody Adrienne Burrard.

"She's crazy! Libby... I... Carlos is still in there!" She leaned
against the dome, cradling her blood-splashed left arm to her
chest.

Scully helped Adrienne away from the dome, toward one of the
ornate street lamps along the observatory walkway. She took the
young woman's arm and examined it gently. Shards of crimson-
dipped bone jutted through skin. Broken in too many places to
count. Scully removed her suit jacket and carefully wrapped
Adrienne's arm.

"Adrienne, listen to me," she said slowly. "You need to get to
the visitor's center. Can you do that?" She paused until she saw
a weak nod. "Martin Haskins is there. Tell him to call nine-one-
one. Keep your arm as still as possible until paramedics get
here."

Adrienne nodded. "Please. Carlos is in there. Don't let her..."

Scully smoothed a hand over Adrienne's shoulder. "I won't. You
just worry about getting to Martin."

The young woman nodded and moved slowly toward the visitor's
center.

When Scully turned her attention back to the dome, she saw that
Mulder and Taylor hadn't waited for her; they were already
inside. She walked quietly, like a stalker, her body and gun
poised for action. Her foot hit the concrete walkway as a male
scream billowed from the dome. Her walk turned into a fast run as
she prepared herself for the worst.

It didn't help.

At the base of the telescope was Libby Ryan, her back to the
dome's entrance and the hood of her rain pancho barely clinging
to her head. Dangling over the young woman was Mulder, suspended
in air by Libby's left hand gripping his neck.

Scully screamed, "No!"

Libby's answer was to slam Mulder's head against the telescope's
thick metal casing.

"Libby, please," Scully pleaded, trying to keep her voice
forceful. "You don't have to do this."

When she didn't get a response, Scully aimed at Libby's arm. She
focused, lining up on right shoulder, hoping to wing her and
force her to release Mulder and grab for the wounded shoulder.
Just as Scully's finger tightened on the trigger, Libby moved her
arm forward, which moved Mulder's body behind hers, destroying
Scully's chance of shooting without risk of hitting her partner.

"Damnit," Scully breathed. Desperate enough to try the shot
anyway, she aimed for the back of Libby's knee. Her finger
twitched against the trigger, pulled tighter.

"Olivia Marie Ryan!"

Scully's head snapped to the source of the sound: Ted Ryan,
standing in the doorway, his body surrounded by an eerie glow of
artificial and moonlight.

Scully's gaze went back to Libby. The young woman's attention was
fully on the detective, her grip on Mulder barely holding, then
finally releasing as she let the agent fall to the ground.

"Olivia, come here," Ryan said forcefully.

Libby took three steps forward, then jerked to a halt, as if
yanked back by some imaginary hand.

Scully chanced a look around, wondering where Taylor and Maderas
were. She found Maderas, partially hidden in the shadows,
standing near the entrance. What wasn't hidden was the stark
terror-stricken eyes, or the rigidity of a body paralyzed by
fear.

"Olivia," Ryan barked.

"No." A deep, harsh voice exploded from Libby Ryan. "The seven
must die."

Ryan countered, "He is not one of the seven."

Libby didn't respond, but she didn't return to Mulder's side to
finish what she had started. Father and daughter engaged in a
staring contest, a battle of wills that gave the agents some much-
needed time.

Scully heard the rustle of clothing behind her, and turned to
find Taylor, approaching her slowly. She pointed to Ryan, and
Taylor nodded, understanding. Scully moved away from Taylor, her
steps completely silent, as she neared her destination: Mulder.

Libby was still close to Mulder, but Scully didn't care. Her only
thought was to get to her partner, her... what? What were they to
each other now, after what happened in the hotel room? Lovers?
She shook her head. She couldn't think about it now.

When she reached him, Scully could see Mulder struggling to
breathe. Curled in a fetal position, he jerked at the touch of
her hand.

"It's okay," she soothed in a whisper. "It's just me."

He relaxed, rolled onto his back. She pulled at his tie,
loosening the knot and unbuttoning the top two buttons on his
shirt. She bit back a gasp. His neck looked as if it had broken
out in a rash. A rash in the shape of a human hand.

"Mulder, slowly," she whispered as she sat next to him. "Slow
breaths." She lifted his torso, dragged him into a semi-seated
position, leaning his back against her chest to better open his
airway. His head rested against her shoulder.

"Slow breaths," she repeated, running a hand through his hair.
"Hang on, Mulder. Don't you dare leave me." Her gaze moved to
Libby, who was now staring at her and Mulder. Scully couldn't
remember seeing such rage in a person's eyes. The young woman's
face, shadowed by the pancho's hood, looked different. Her skin
darker, her eyes bigger, her face more gaunt, almost skeletal.

Scully's arm went around Mulder's chest, and she pulled him
closer.

"Leave them alone, Libby," Ryan said. "They don't want to harm
you. None of us do."

"Then leave us to our business," Libby snapped in the deep,
demonic voice.

Us, Scully thought. Maybe Mulder was right. Maybe Libby believed
she was being controlled by another entity...

"Where is the seventh?" Libby yelled, startling everyone in the
dome.

Scully's gaze went to the entrance, and she saw Maderas cowering
in the shadows. She wondered why he hadn't left when he had the
chance. A wicked streak in Scully surmised that Maderas found the
fire and passion in Libby too fascinating to resist. Rational
Scully deduced that Maderas was too terrified to move.

"Don't worry about her," Ryan said. "Come with me, Libby. Let's
go home."

"No," Libby bellowed.

Scully saw Taylor move beside Detective Ryan.

"Listen to your father," Taylor soothed. "You can stop this."

Libby bristled. "Where is Carlos?"

"He's not worth it," Taylor said. "He's not worth all of this."

No, Scully thought. No, Taylor. Wrong answer...

Libby roared, an inhuman scream, and she rushed toward Taylor and
Ryan. Both men raised their guns at the blur coming at them.

A flash of light. An explosion of gunpowder.

Who fired?

The question clung to the edge Scully's mind as saw Libby Ryan
stagger backward, grabbing her shoulder. The young woman pulled
her hand away and whimpered at the sight of dark liquid dripping
from her fingers, cried out with a wounded-animal wail, then
slumped to the ground.

When Detective Ryan dropped his gun, fell to his knees and
started sobbing, Scully knew she had the answer to her question.


<<<<<>>>>>


Flagstaff Memorial Hospital
March 14
5:40 am



As she walked down the antiseptic-scented hospital corridor,
approaching the last of the three rooms on her list, Scully
realized how lucky everyone in that dome had been.

Her first visit had been to Adrienne Burrard, who suffered a
severely broken arm, some nerve damage and most likely months
worth of physical therapy to regain marginal use of her wrist and
hand. Surprisingly, Maderas camped out at her bedside, providing
much-needed emotional support to the young woman. The caring,
sensitive man inside Carlos Maderas had somehow dug his way out
from underneath layers of chauvinism and machismo.

Next had been a trip to the intensive care unit. Libby Ryan's
room. At her bedside was her father, hunched over in a chair next
to the bed. He hadn't heard her enter the room, but turned as she
approached the bed. A sad smile on his chapped lips, he nodded a
greeting before turning back to his daughter.

"The surgery went well," Scully said, slipping into doctor mode
with an ease that unsettled her. "The bullet just nicked an
artery, and they were able to repair it quickly. She'll make a
full recovery." Physically, at least.

"She woke up earlier." Ryan's voice flat and dry. "She doesn't
remember a thing. She even thought she was a target herself,
because of her friendship with Maderas. That's why she didn't
want me to know.

"I believe her," he added, though Scully didn't say a word. "I
know when she lies. She gets this twitch in her left eye." He
smiled, drifting off in thought before sobering, frowning. "They
think she might have that Multiple Personality Disorder. This
other... personality is responsible for the murders."

Scully saw the doubt in Ryan's eyes. She doubted the MPD angle
herself. Though it was a more plausible explanation than
possession...

As she stopped in front of Mulder's room, Scully couldn't help
the sense of deja vu sweeping over her. How many times had she
found herself in this same situation, opening the door to pain
and the memory of seeing Mulder nearly die? How many more times
would she have to endure this? How many more times until she
didn't have to endure it, because he would be gone?

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then opened the door.
She found Mulder buttoning his dress shirt. He left the top two
buttons undone. Much to Scully's relief, the injuries to his neck
were superficial. The pain and restricted ability to talk would
remain for a few days, but would leave no lasting effects. The
swelling on his neck had gone down, though the redness remained,
joined by light blotches of putrid yellow and purple.

"Think anyone will believe they're hickeys?" Mulder asked, his
voice husky and barely above a whisper.

She smiled, felt the beginnings of a blush heating her skin. The
uninvited thought of whom he expected to give him the hickeys
crept into her mind.

"How's Libby?" he asked, allowing her mind to return to work.

"She's doing well. She shouldn't have any nerve damage or
restriction of movement."

"What about Ryan?"

She shrugged. "About as well as to be expected. He believes Libby
has no recollection of the murders."

He nodded. "Most victims of possession have no memory of their
actions while under the influence of the entity..." He stopped
and smiled at his partner's disapproving look. "Too Linda Blair
for you, Scully?"

"I think a better explanation will be found once she undergoes a
psych evaluation."

"Maybe." He grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door, his
hand brushing her shoulder. "Let's get the hell outta here."

She nodded and followed him out, thanking God with each step that
Mulder was able to walk out of the hospital.



END PART 8


**********************

ENSKY (9/11)
by viXen 


Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.
March 14
2:50pm EST


Sometimes a long plane flight can be an asset, because it
provides time to think, time to reflect. Sometimes a long plane
flight can be a curse for the same reason. For Scully, the flight
back from Arizona belonged in the curse category.

Uninvited replays of Mulder's body crushing hers against the
hotel room door played in an endless loop for the entire five-
hour trip. She wanted to believe she could handle it the way she
handled everything else in her life: with a level head. But that
tactic wouldn't work if her every thought involved having her
level head locked with Mulder's at the lips.

Thankfully, she didn't have to face the subject of her thoughts
on the plane. The air pressure change caused by the plane's take-
off wreaked havoc on Mulder's neck. By the time the plane leveled
out, his breathing was so shallow, he sounded like an asthmatic
in the middle of downtown L.A. Once his breathing returned to
normal, Scully convinced him to take one of the painkillers
prescribed by the E.R. doctor. He nodded off within minutes and
slept the entire flight, most of which he spent with his head on
her shoulder, and most of which she spent trying to resist
running her fingers through his hair.

The only time her mind wasn't focused on some part of Mulder's
anatomy was when she thought about the case. A search of Libby
Ryan's apartment turned up an Exacto knife; one ten-pack of
disposable Exacto blades, missing seven blades; four books on
Greek mythology; seven books on astronomy, all of which had dog-
eared pages in the sections about the constellation Taurus; the
class schedules for each of the six dead women; the class and
work schedules for Adrienne Burrard; and over two dozen pictures
of Carlos Maderas, which included magazine ads he had done as
well as candid Polaroid photos.

Despite the overwhelming evidence, Mulder still believed Libby
Ryan wasn't aware she was a murderer. Despite the obvious
premeditation of the murders, Mulder still insisted the spirit of
Orion did all the dirty work, using Libby's body as its medium.

Scully looked over at her partner, his face relaxed in sleep. She
wondered how he could ignore the natural and side with the
supernatural. A man with such high intelligence disregarding the
obvious and probable in favor of the obscure and unlikely. He was
a mystery to her, even after seven years. She smiled. She always
loved a good mystery.

The mumbled landing announcement from the cockpit snapped Scully
out of her daydreaming. Her eyes focused on Mulder's face. How
long had she been staring at him? She was about to wake him for
the landing, but the change in air pressure did it for her. His
face contorted into a grimace.

"Let me guess," he groaned as he lifted his head from her
shoulder. "We're home."

"Almost. How are you feeling?"

"Like I have a hangover, only I didn't have the pleasure of
getting drunk."

She offered a small smile and watched as he closed his eyes
again, letting his head rest against the seat. He remained that
way until the plane came to a stop at the gate.

The agents gathered their luggage and stood in the cattle-call
line to disembark. Once off the plane, Mulder picked up speed,
and Scully found herself having to jog every few steps to keep up
with him.

"Mulder, what's your hurry?"

"Just want to get home," he said without looking at her. "It's
been a long trip."

That it has, she thought with a sigh. She joined him in
maintaining the silence not only through the airport, but to the
parking area until they arrived at the car.

"I can drive," she said, holding out her hand for his keys.

"I'm fine," he replied, his comment seasoned with sarcasm. "It's
been over five hours since I took the happy pill. That's an
adequate amount of time for the effects to wear off, isn't it,
Doctor?"

I deserved that, she thought as she nodded and went to the
passenger side. She knew she deserved his anger and his sarcasm
because she wouldn't discuss the shift that was happening in
their relationship. The shift from professional to personal. She
admitted their relationship had been personal for years, but it
was a platonic personal, always one step away from intimate
personal. They had taken that one step in a hotel room in
Flagstaff, Arizona. There were no steps between them now. Except
for the ones she kept taking backwards.

She closed her eyes, leaned back in the seat, willing everything
that happened in Arizona from her mind. She'd always been
efficient at repressing events she didn't want to think about,
tucking them into the outer recesses of her mind. The only
problem was they kept coming back in her dreams...

"Home sweet home."

Scully's eyes snapped open at Mulder's words. With a yawn, she
realized she must have nodded off. They were already in the
Hoover parking garage, parked next to her car. Mulder cut the
engine and got out, popping the trunk. By the time Scully shook
the sleep from her head and stepped out of the car, he had her
luggage sitting next to her trunk.

"Thanks," she said, nodding to the bags.

He shrugged, looking shy all of a sudden. She was well aware of
his eyes on her as she opened her and loaded in the luggage. He
was hovering, and she knew exactly why.

"Drive safe, Mulder," she said as she closed the trunk. "I'll
finish our report tonight after I'm done here."

"You're not going home now?"

"I have to talk to Skinner," she said, reinforcing the point by
looking over his shoulder to the elevators. "I'll see you
tomorrow."

He nodded, though she could see disappointment flooding his eyes.
She walked away, toward the elevators, the echoing click of her
heels on the concrete somehow soothing.

"Hey, Scully."

She turned to see him approaching. He stopped, his body mere
inches from hers. Her eyes made it as far as his Adam's apple;
she couldn't bring herself to look in his eyes. In Flagstaff, she
had seen the honesty in his eyes, his true feelings bright and
strong in their depths. She couldn't handle that honesty right
now.

She gave him a shaky smile. "Mulder, don't worry. I haven't
changed my mind about the job offer."

He stepped back, giving her more room, as if sensing her
discomfort. "I know. I just wanted... I know you need some time
to... process what happened, I think we both do. But I just need
to ask you one question."

Her mouth opened, ready to argue, but she clamped it shut. One
question wasn't too much to ask, right?

He took her silence as compliance. "Was Padgett right?"

Her breath caught in her throat, though she was able to stifle
the sound. Padgett was wrong about many aspects of her life, but
he nailed the right answer on one: Is Agent Scully already in
love?

Of all the questions for Mulder to ask...

"Padgett was psychotic," she replied slowly, choosing her words
carefully. "He couldn't possibly have known every aspect of my
life, especially what is inside my head."

"Just answer the question." Mulder squared his jaw. "Please."

It's not that easy, she wanted to say. She loved Mulder, but what
she wanted to do with that love was the true question. Logic and
emotion had done an excellent job of confusing her. She would get
to the point of convincing herself that they were partners and
should stay that way, then she would remember what it felt like
to be pressed against that door by the weight of his body. What
it would feel like to be pressed into a mattress by the weight of
his body. His naked body...

"I can't answer that with a simple yes or no," she said,
frustration roughening her voice.

"Why not?" His own frustration pushed his voice up half an
octave.

"Because... because I can't. Mulder... I just can't."

"I don't want to press you, but..."

"Then don't. Please." She took a deep breath and stepped into the
elevator. "I have to go. Skinner's waiting for me."

The doors closed, separating them, but not before she heard his
response: "So am I, Scully."

A sickening wave of irony swept through her stomach. She didn't
need Philip Padgett or his characters to rip out her heart;
Mulder had done it without even touching her.


<<<<<>>>>>


Skinner's office
3:45pm


"He's waiting for you," Kimberly said before Scully had fully
stepped inside the reception area.

Scully nodded, moving confidently to Skinner's door. She knocked
once, waited for Skinner's muffled reply to enter, and opened the
door.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said, nodding as she moved to sit in
front of his desk. "I'll get right to the point. I need an answer
from you concerning the Deputy Assistant Directorship."

"My answer is no," she said, her voice firm.

Skinner's eyebrows inched up. "You've thought about this?"

"Thoroughly, sir."

A terse nod. "Can I ask why?"

"I like my job," she said matter-of-factly.

"And you're sure you won't like what this new one has to offer?"

"I'm sure I would, sir," she replied. "But I've never been a
quitter."

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"My job here is far from done. Agent Mulder and I have come a
long way, but we have a long way to go. The answers we've
uncovered are just on the surface. To leave now would be to
abandon all the work we've done over the past six years. We have
learned so much, and there is much more to learn, much more to
uncover. I am just as committed to this as Agent Mulder is..."

Scully stopped. Like a dam breaking, her mind flooded with the
answer she'd been searching for so desperately.

All along she had wondered about commitment. She was well aware
that any relationship with Mulder would be difficult. What she
wondered was if it was even possible. They were two very
different people. His recklessness aggravated her; his
willingness to believe without proof annoyed her. Sometimes she
wondered how they had remained partners all these years. But they
had. Despite reassignments, they always came back to each other.
She was now willing to admit that the promise of an intriguing
case wasn't the only reason she kept coming back.

The X-Files was an integral part of her life, but she could go on
if reassigned elsewhere. She wouldn't let go of what was learning
exactly what happened to her during her abduction, but she could
look for those answers without the X-Files. Without Mulder. It
would be more difficult to accomplish, but she could do it. The
point was, she didn't want to look for those answers alone. She
wanted Mulder by her side every step of the way.

Could she devote herself to Mulder? She already had.

"Agent Scully?"

Scully's focus snapped back to her boss. He was looking at her,
curiosity with a touch of annoyance in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's been a long trip." She took a cleansing
breath and let it out slowly. "What I'm trying to say is that I
have made a commitment to the X-Files. I find it rewarding and
challenging, and I am not willing to give it up for a desk job,
not even a prestigious desk job."

She realized that if she had substituted 'Mulder' for 'the X-
Files,' the same statement would be true.

"Am I to assume I can't talk you into changing your mind?"

"No sir."

Skinner nodded. "I have to say I'm disappointed. Not surprised,
but disappointed. I had the committee convinced you were the only
person for the job."

Scully bristled. "Sir, I didn't ask you to pursue this for me. As
a matter of fact, I wasn't in a position _to_ ask, considering I
wasn't made aware of this offer until the wheels were already in
motion."

"I pursued this," Skinner said, his voice as tight as a fist,
"because I thought it was a good career move for you."

"What you did is appreciated," she said, her gaze and voice
unwavering. "The way you did it is inexcusable."

Skinner clenched his jaw. "I don't need to defend my actions to
you, Agent Scully."

"I'm not asking you to, sir. I just expect to be treated with the
respect I deserve."

His eyes flared but he refrained from comment. Scully knew his
tactics were not standard practice, and she could tell he knew
she knew. She also was aware that Skinner had long since
discarded standard practice with the X-Files division.

Skinner cleared his throat. "I will inform the committee that you
are not interested in the Deputy Assistant Director position."

"Thank you." She rose, taking his nod as a dismissal. She made it
to the door, then curiosity stopped her from leaving.

"Off the record, sir. Was this offer truly clean?"

Skinner leaned back in his chair. "It's been common knowledge for
some time that Director Palmer was going to retire this year.
There were no sudden... acts that looked suspicious. I believe
this was the real deal."

She nodded, still not convinced but willing to accept Skinner's
explanation. She turned, placed her hand on the knob, put her
weight toward the door until Skinner's voice stopped her.

"Off the record, Agent Scully." He waited for her to turn and
face him. "If you weren't partnered with Agent Mulder, would you
have taken the offer?"

A small smile curled her lips as she opened the door. "In a
heartbeat."

She walked out, her stride confident. She knew that in Skinner's
office, she had made two decisions that would change her life.

Her smile widened.



END PART 9


**********************

ENSKY (10/11)
by viXen 

** Rated NC-17 for lots of lovin'. If you're under 18, don't even
bother continuing. **



Mulder's apartment
Arlington, VA
March 14
4:25pm


Scully stood outside his apartment, her hand poised to knock. She
hesitated slightly, then rapped on the door. Her mind replayed
what she wanted to say to him. They would have to be careful not
to let their personal life interfere with their professional
life. There would have to be ground rules...

Her breath caught in her throat as the door opened, revealing
Mulder wearing nothing but a pair of faded black sweatpants. All
rational thought left her mind as her eyes glided over his naked
chest like a slow caress. Her gaze finally traveled up to his
face. She found curiosity and confusion in his eyes, and maybe,
just maybe, a hint of arousal. She hoped.

"Yes," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, what, Scully?"

"Yes. Padgett was right."

Mulder's eyes closed for several seconds, then opened as he
exhaled a shaky breath. He leaned against the door jamb, as if
unable to support his weight any longer.

Before she could stop herself, she closed the distance between
them, her hands roaming the expanse of his chest. His skin was
burning, scalding her fingertips. She replaced one of her hands
with her lips, placing a tender, lingering kiss over his heart.
His skin tasted salty, a bit tangy, like the rim of a margarita
glass. Absently, she wondered how he would taste with a twist of
lime.

"Scully," he sighed, his fingers burrowing in her hair.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and let her cheek rest on
his chest, just over his heart. Taking comfort in his heartbeat,
slightly elevated and steadily quickening. Taking comfort in his
breath, slightly shallow and also steadily quickening.

Pulling away, she looked up, anxious to see what his eyes
revealed, but she wasn't given the chance. His lips found hers
immediately, picking up where they had left off in Flagstaff. She
felt herself being pulled forward into his apartment, her mind
barely aware of her feet moving, brain cells too busy processing
the rough, slick swipes of his tongue in her mouth.

She heard a thud, and realized she was drowning in arousal and
deja vu: her back was now against the door, her body gloriously
trapped between hard wood and hard Mulder. Though every nerve
ending she had was already on overload, she wanted to feel more.
She pushed her body away from the door, into Mulder. He pushed
back, slamming her into the door and crushing her as his tongue
pushed further into her mouth. The move caused a river of arousal
to begin flowing down her body. She could smell herself, thick
and heavy, like a thunderstorm. She knew he could smell it as
well.

He broke the ravaging kiss, inhaled in a deep breath through his
nose, let out a growl, then attacked her neck with his mouth. He
sucked at her skin, nipped and licked, marking her as his own.
She allowed him, only because she would have her chance to mark
him later. Fair is fair, she thought as she forced air into her
lungs. His heavy body and his heady kisses were stealing her
breath to the point that she felt herself starting to
hyperventilate.

"Mulder," she said between gulping breaths, "do you think we
could try this somewhere else?"

He pulled his lips from her neck and gave her a coy smile. "You
have something against doors?"

"Pounding on them, no. Being pounded against them, yes."

"I see your point," he laughed as he brushed his lips over her
forehead. "Do you want to come inside?"

"Very much so, Mulder." She ran a hand over his cheek, forcing
his gaze to meet hers.

Mulder's smile faded. He pulled her into a tight embrace, as if
he were holding on for his life. She held on for her life as
well, absorbing his strength through her clothes, through her
skin. Through her soul.

When he released her, Scully's gaze immediately went to his face.
She saw what she was sure was in her eyes: awe. The reality of
the situation was so overwhelming when she stopped to think about
it. They were finally at the milestone in their relationship she
thought they would never reach: the consummation of the love and
desire they spent seven years trying to deny. Always holding each
other at arms' length, never letting each other inside. She
wanted him inside. Finally she could admit it to herself. She
would admit it to Mulder. Soon. Not now. Right now, she wanted to
celebrate. There would be time to talk later.

She saw his expression soften, the harsh planes of his face
relaxing. He smiled, as if acknowledging that he knew what was on
her mind and he whole-heartedly agreed. He moved away from her
and walked to the doorway of his bedroom. He turned to face her
and stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance, each forearm
resting on the doorjamb.

"You sure you want in here, Scully?"

"I'm positive."

"All hope abandon ye who enter here," he said with a smirk.

He's giving me a way out, she realized. He was trying to be a
gentleman, and if she wasn't already aroused beyond reason, she
might have given his offer more than a few seconds of thought.
Luckily for them, her mind was incapable of processing any
thought other than how long it would take to get his sweats off.

She approached him and allowed herself the luxury of running her
hands from his abdomen to his collarbone. "Mulder, the only
things I plan on abandoning in your bedroom are my clothes."

His jaw dropped open and an unbelieving laugh popped from his
mouth. Then his hands went to her shoulders. He crouched, his
eyes level with hers. He moved his head a few times but kept his
eyes on hers and the smile on his face. "Scully, are you in
there?"

She gave his chest a playful double-handed slap, her eyes trying
to broadcast anger, but her smile gave away her amusement.

His hands slowly slid up her neck to frame her face. "It's
just... you seem so sure about this, but I know you weren't sure
a few hours ago. I'm wondering what happened to change that."

"Skinner," she replied.

Mulder's eyes widened. "What?"

With a smile, she said, "When I was talking with Skinner,
explaining to him why I didn't want the new job, I realized that
my commitment to the X-Files wasn't just about the work." She
traced a path from his shoulders to his face.

He kissed her then, a kiss as warm and languid as a summer
breeze. When he finally lifted his lips from hers, he said, "Hey,
since we're both hopelessly committed to our work, we may as well
get something extra out of it. Job satisfaction can only go so
far."

"I like the way you think," she said coyly, tightening her arms
around him.

He raised his eyebrows playfully. "Are you sure you're Scully?"

"It's really me, Mulder." She gave him the widest, most heart-
felt smile she could ever remember being on her lips.

"You're really here," he said, a thread of astonishment weaving
through his voice.

"I'm here," she whispered against his lips. "Right where I
belong."

His mouth closed over hers in an instant, the kiss harsher now,
more demanding, explaining to her what he wanted once she entered
his bedroom. She was more than willing to give him everything he
wanted. Everything, and so much more.

She felt herself being pulled forward, physically and
emotionally. As they moved into his bedroom, she felt her control
slipping out of her reach. It frightened her, the thought of
letting herself go completely. It also excited her, knowing the
only man she would give control to was Fox Mulder.

He stopped short, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the
waterbed and his lips leaving hers. Her lips curved into a wicked
grin, and she gave him a small shove, just enough to send him
backwards onto the bed. She heard his back hit the water-filled
mattress with a slap, then she saw his face contort in pain.

She gasped. How could she have forgotten?

"Oh, Mulder. Your neck."

"No, it's OK," he replied, his harsh tone tight with pain.

"No, it isn't. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." She sat next to
him, stroked his cheek and the side of his neck. "That does it,
no crazy stuff for us tonight."

His laugh came out as a weak cough. "You mean we can't swing from
the chandelier?"

"You don't have a chandelier."

"Give me five minutes on the phone with the Gunmen, and I will."

She shook her head, trying to hide a smile. "No chandelier-
swinging, sorry."

"Damn."

He leaned his head against her arm, like a cat nudging for
attention. Her hand instinctively went to his hair, brushing her
fingers through the brown silk strands. From the relaxed look on
his face, the gesture was as comforting to him as it was to her.
She smiled, closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Her eyes
opened and she was met with her reflection on the ceiling. She
let out a chuckle; she'd forgotten about the mirror.

"Maybe it's a good thing I don't have a chandelier," Mulder said
as his eyes met hers in the mirror. "I'd have to take this down."

"We can't have that, can we?" Her voice was so husky, it shocked
her. Was she actually getting aroused at the thought of watching
herself making love to Mulder? You betcha, she thought with a
grin.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked, returning her grin.

"You." She broke eye contact with his reflection, choosing to
look at the real thing. She leaned down and kissed his lips, then
his forehead. Knowing he wasn't at one-hundred percent, she
decided a Plan B was in order. And she knew just what to do.

"Mulder, why don't you scoot up against the headboard and let me
do the driving tonight?"

He looked up at her, his eyes simultaneously darkening and
twinkling. "Are you sure you'll be able to reach the pedals?"

A smile spread over her lips as her hand smoothed a path down his
chest, over his hip. "What do you think?" She settled her hand
over the bulge in his sweats and gave a firm squeeze.

Her name, tangled in a gasp, was his only response. She took it
in the affirmative. As her lips found his, her hand traveled the
length of his erection. Impressive, she thought as she swallowed
his moan. Impressive, and all hers.

Unable to stand the barrier of cotton hiding her new treasure,
she pulled at the strings on his sweats, unknotting them, then
yanked on the waistband.

"Lift your hips," she said against his mouth. He obeyed
immediately, and she pushed the sweats over his hips and down his
thighs. She encountered yet another barrier: heather gray boxer-
briefs. She breathed out a harsh sigh. Unlike the sweats, the
boxer-briefs left little to the imagination. She traced the
prominent outline of his erection, her index finger traveling up
one side, over the head, down the other side.

"Scully, you're killing me," Mulder choked out. His hands gripped
the blanket with such ferocity, his knuckles turned white.

She didn't reply, choosing instead to focus her attention on the
gray cotton nuisance in front of her. She peeled the boxer-briefs
down, her eyes widening with each inch of flesh revealed. Once
the material made it past his thighs, Scully let out a content
sigh. Her eyes explored every wiry hair, every vein, every curve.
Like the rest of his body, his erection was long and lean. Though
not too lean, she mused as she bit her lower lip, imagining how
he would stretch her, fill her. Complete her.

We're really doing this, she thought, still amazed they had made
it to this point.

"Are you going to look all night or what?"

She looked up and saw his mischievous grin. "Or what," she
replied, matching his grin. "You. Headboard. Now."

"I love it when you order me around," he said, his voice like
cream on sandpaper.

With her help, Mulder sat up and moved toward the head of the
waterbed. He sat with his back against the headboard, his arms at
his side, his erection proudly standing tall.

"Uh uh," she said, doing her best to not let her gaze wander down
his body. "Lie down."

"Why?"

She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because your
doctor said so."

He smirked, a defiant twinkle in his eyes. "Since when do I
listen to my doctor?"

"Since she can do this." Scully popped the top button of her
blouse. She undid the next, and the next, and the next, until the
blouse opened completely.

She looked at him, swearing she could see his penis twitch. She
pulled her gaze up his body to his face. The dark, dangerous look
in his eyes sent a pleasant shiver up her spine.

"Ready to listen to your doctor, Mulder?" she asked sweetly.

"As soon as she loses the shirt," he replied in a voice so deep
and thick, Scully barely recognized it.

She shivered again as her hands pulled open the blouse and let
the smooth material slide from her shoulders, down her arms. Her
eyes found his face, and she sighed at the sight of his tongue
sweeping out over his bottom lip.

"Now the pants," he rasped, as if unable to fully support his
voice any longer.

Before the second syllable of her name left his lips, her hand
was at the waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping her pants, her
eyes never leaving Mulder's. She pushed the pants down her
thighs, then let gravity take them the rest of the way down. She
stepped out of them and kicked them aside, and only then would
she break eye contact with Mulder. She couldn't help herself; her
gaze went to his hips. His erection strained against his body,
curling slightly toward his stomach and to the side, as if
reaching out to her. She wondered if it was possible to come just
from looking at him. The orgasmic current surging through her
body told her it might just be.

"The bra, Scully." His voice brought her eyes back to his.

She shook her head defiantly. "Not until you lie down."

Mulder licked his lips. "Anything you say, Doc." He slid his body
down the bed until his back was on the mattress, and his head and
neck supported by a pillow.

She approached the bed and smiled down at him. His hand brushed
against her arm, then her hip, then her hand. Fingers entangled
in hers, he pulled her closer.

"Come on in, Scully, the water's fine."

With a laugh, she climbed on the bed. The mattress shifted, a
small ripple traveling the length of the bed. A motionless
mattress, she thought absently. That was a good thing,
considering what they were about to do.

She straddled him, her knees on either side of his ribs. She sat
lightly on his stomach, and she could feel the tip of his
erection nudging the material of her panties. She shivered again.

"Tit for tat, Scully."

Her eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?"

She watched a grin curl his lips as his fingers smoothed up her
legs, her hips, to rest on her waist.

"I'm horizontal, just like you ordered, Doc." One hand burned a
path to the tiny satin bow in the center of her bra. "Now it's
your turn."

She tilted her head to the side, feigning ignorance. "My turn to
what, Mulder?"

He tugged on the bow. "Lose the bra. Now."

Electricity crackled in her veins. His voice was as rich as dark
chocolate, one step above a growl, one step below dangerous. She
liked dangerous. Wanted to immerse herself in it. In Mulder.

Her hands went behind her back, unhooking the bra in one
practiced move. She let the material loosen around her breasts,
and put her hands at her sides. Mulder took the hint; his hands
flew to her shoulders. One finger under each strap, massaging her
skin, then pushing the straps down her arms.

She flung the bra aside, heard it hit something, possibly his
dresser. She didn't care. She was too busy drowning in the
sensation of Mulder's hands cupping her breasts, the pads of his
thumbs skimming over her nipples in teasing whispers.

She studied his face, eyes narrowed in concentration and darkened
in desire. Those eyes made her feel worshipped. She knew the term
was wrong; she was not a deity or a saint, and therefore was not
worth the worship of another human being. But seeing the
reverence in his eyes, feeling the adoration in his touch, she
believed she was the one he put above all others, the one he
cherished more than life itself. Though she had chastised him for
putting her on a pedestal, here, in his bed, she allowed it. She
welcomed it. Needed it.

"Hey," he said, breaking her out of her reverie. "Do me a favor."

"Anything," she whispered.

His gaze dropped to her chest, then moved up to her eyes. "Bring
those down here."

Her breath caught in her throat. She should have been appalled,
or at least pretended to be. If she'd still been thinking with
her brain, she might have, but her brain was no longer in charge.
Mulder's mouth on her skin. Everywhere on her skin. The thought
caught her breath again, choking off what surely would have been
a moan. She leaned forward, putting her hands on the pillow on
either side of his head. Her breathing, already ragged, rasped
through her chest like a choppy sea wind. She tilted her chin
down, allowing her to see Mulder's face. The hunger she saw in
his eyes nearly made her collapse.

"Lower," he whispered, the strain of trying to lift his head and
neck from the pillow pulling at his eyes and mouth.

She lowered herself to her elbows, her breasts mere millimeters
from his lips. She bit her tongue as she saw him lick his lips.

"Oh yeah," he moaned as his hands went behind her back, pulling
her closer to his face.

She moaned as he latched onto one nipple, engulfing her flesh in
a humid fire. His tongue was like wet velvet, sweeping over her
nipple, hardening the already rigid bud. Just when she thought it
couldn't get any better, his teeth joined in. A light nip,
followed by a soothing lap of his tongue. Over and over, nip and
lap, nip and lap, all the while his lips suckling and massaging
the soft skin of her breast. She felt herself surrendering to the
ecstasy, her control crumbling faster than sun-dried mud. Her
body buzzed from the extreme sensation, his mouth becoming the
focal point of her universe. She was so close, so unbelievably
close...

Not yet, she thought. Not until she had the chance to show him
she could give as well as she could take. With every ounce of
will power she could summon, she lifted away from him, her nipple
leaving his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned his disappointment,
but she silenced him quickly, kissing him with an intensity she
had forgotten existed inside her. Too long since she had allowed
this side of her to come out to play. Too long since she had
studied the body of a lover with the detail of an explorer
mapping new territory.

She started her expedition at his neck, after prying her lips
from his. Her tongue swept over his Adam's apple, down to the
hollow of his clavicle. A nip at his collarbone, then forging a
trail south, stopping to play in the sparse meadow of chest hair
for a few licks, then south again in a straight path to his
navel. His salty flavor became stronger, more intoxicating the
closer she got to...

"Scully, where are you going?" His voice rumbled like thunder.

Her lips curled into a smug smile. She lifted her head, looked up
at his face. She fought a sigh. God, he was beautiful. His lips
forming a loose circle, his eyes squeezed shut, crinkled at the
corners. He was the picture of a man immersed in pleasure.

You ain't seen nothin' yet, she thought as she moved herself
further down his body to straddle his legs. She knew he couldn't
lift his head to see what she was doing, and she decided to draw
out the moment. She could feel his anticipation seeping from his
skin. His low whimper started her countdown.

Five, four, three, two, one...

Her mouth slipped over his erection, taking in just the head, her
tongue swirling around the bitter beads of liquid escaping from
him.

"Scully... oh fuck... Scu..."

Loss of vocabulary. That's a good sign, she thought as she
wrapped her hand around the base and took in more of him, pulled
back to the head, then back down again, taking in more each time
until she could feel him nudging the back of her tongue. He was
beyond vocabulary now, his voice only able to sustain grunts,
growls and the occasional moan with her name wrapped in it. She
settled into a rhythm, in and out, her tongue twisting and
turning to reach a sliver of skin it hadn't touched before. Her
hand joined in, pumping up to meet her lips. Her other hand
wasn't idle; her fingers teased over and under his sac, down his
thigh, and back again. Hands and mouth absorbing his heat through
her skin, fueling an already uncontrollable fire inside her, the
flash point at her core.

"Scully, please" he breathed as his hands reached for her head.
"You... stop. Please."

She'd performed fellatio more times than she cared to admit, but
each time, she'd made her one ground rule perfectly clear to the
recipient: Dana Scully does not swallow. She glanced up at
Mulder, and the look of complete bliss on his face told her that
one of his favorite credos was really true: rules were meant to
be broken.

She ignored his pleas, pinned his hands to the mattress and
doubled her efforts until she heard his strangled cry and felt
him streaming over her tongue. She prepared herself for the
bitter, salty liquid to hit her palate. Not entirely unpleasant,
she thought, conceding that her assessment of the taste was
seasoned with the sweet flavor of arousal. She swallowed his
offerings and kept her mouth around him until she felt his body
go slack.

"Scully," he moaned, his voice shaky.

She let him slip from her mouth, and she kissed her way up his
body, stopping when she reached his mouth.

"You called?" she whispered, nipping at his lower lip.

Desire-drugged eyes smiled at her. "Oh, you shouldn't have done
that."

"You didn't enjoy it?" she asked with a mock-frown.

"Scully, if I had enjoyed it any more, you'd be performing CPR
right now."

She ran a hand through his hair, smiled at him before lowering
her lips to his. He returned the kiss, though he was a bit slow
on the uptake. She broke the kiss and watched as his lips took
several seconds to realize her mouth was no longer there.

I've just blown my chance for getting lucky, she thought. No pun
intended, a voice in her head added helpfully.

She moved off him, removing her soaked panties before kneeling at
his side. Even if she wasn't going to get any for a while, no
sense in being modest. She wasn't sorry for giving him pleasure
at the sacrifice of her own. Deep down, she knew it would be
worth the wait.

She leaned over him, nipped at his earlobe. "Mulder?"

"Mmmm... give me a minute."

She kissed his forehead. "No, it's OK. You need your rest."

"No," he whined. "Don't wanna sleep. Wanna jump you."

"You can jump me later."

He opened an eye. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she said with a laugh. "But right now, you need to
rest."

"No," he whispered.

"Doctor's orders." She curled up next to him, laying her head on
his arm. She felt his hand skim her thigh.

"Sorry, Scully."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Mulder. You need time to heal."

"Sorry," he slurred. "Wanted to be everything to you tonight."

"You already are," she whispered, fighting the lump in her
throat. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, and closed her
eyes.


END PART 10


**********************

ENSKY (11/11)
by viXen 

** More NC-17 territory ahead. If you're under 18, vamoose! **



Mulder's apartment
Arlington, VA
March 14
11:10pm


On the fringes of a dream, she heard a moan. The voice was
familiar, one she knew intimately, yet the timbre was different,
with a rawer edge. Another moan followed, one lower and longer
than the first. When the third moan echoed in her ears, she
realized the voice was hers.

Senses awakened before mind and body. Hot breath on her neck. A
scent -- warm, sexual and very masculine -- tickling her nose.
Long legs wedged between her legs, holding hers apart. A hand
resting above her breast, over her heart. Another hand between
her legs, parting her, stroking her.

"It's just a dream," she whispered.

"Not this time," a voice graveled behind her.

Her tenuous hold on sleep floated away like a child's balloon.
No. She didn't want the dream to go away. Only when her mind
found its way through the fog of sleep did she realize the dream
wasn't a dream. The hand over her heart pressed against her,
fingers kneading, as if wanting to burrow under her flesh.

Hand over her heart... fingers burrowing... into her heart...

She stiffened, her body shoring itself up against the prison of
arms holding her. Panic filled her lungs like polluted air,
choking her. Hand over her heart, fingers slicing her skin...

"It's all right," her captor whispered. "It's just me, Scully."

As she awakened fully, rationality kicked in. With a relieved
sigh, she realized it wasn't Padgett trying to steal her heart.
It was Mulder, who had managed to steal her heart years ago.

Her breathing evened out, and she remembered she was in Mulder's
bed. With Mulder. Naked. She hummed her approval as she became
aware of the body spooned behind her, limbs entangled with hers,
lips and teeth exploring the back of her neck, erection nudging
her ass. She became aware of her own body, taut as the strings of
a violin, virtuoso fingers playing her, coaxing from her a
symphony of moans and gasps.

Her eyelids fluttered open, focusing on the digital clock on the
nightstand. They had slept for several hours, though she didn't
remember being so tired. Obviously the nap has done someone some
good, she mused as Mulder's arm draped over her leg, hiking her
thigh over his hip.

"Mulder." Her voice barely audible, all energy focused on the two
fingers sliding along her slick folds.

"Am I dreaming?" he groaned as his idle hand found work keeping
her breast warm.

"You'd better not be." She gasped as his erection slipped between
her legs, stroking her opening. "Mulder..."

His answer was to thrust against her -- tiny, maddeningly slow
motions with his hips. His leg moved, pulling away from her and
taking her leg with it, opening her further to him. She felt the
moisture seeping from her, coating those wonderful, curious
fingers. She gave a breathy laugh, wanting to tell him what
thorough investigative techniques he had, and how much she
appreciated them, but she was unable to get her brain and voice
to work together.

Her laugh was cut off by a sharp gasp as his fingers parted her
folds and found the cluster of nerves hiding, waiting for his
touch. She cried out, arched against him as he applied more
pressure, the pleasure too much to handle. She could hear her
moan, constant and operatic, climbing and dropping an octave with
each change of his angle. She tried to stop her voice, but she
couldn't. So she stopped trying. She let her control slip out of
her grasp.

Now, her only thought was of release. She wanted it, needed it
like she needed air and food. She couldn't keep still, arching
her back, clutching at any part of him she could touch. Every
nerve ending on her body was focused on the point where Mulder's
fingers touched her. His erection kept thrusting, teasing,
nudging her but never slipping inside.

An overwhelming need spread through her body like a wildfire in
dry brush. She wanted him inside her. He had to be inside.
Inside.

"Inside."

"What?" A puff of humid air against her neck.

"Inside," she groaned, pushing her back against him. "Want you
inside."

A growl vibrating her skin. "Not yet."

"Yes." Begging. "Now."

She reached between her legs, her hand brushing his. His fingers
closed around her wrist, trying to pull her hand away.

"Scully..."

"Please. Need you... inside."

Resignation and desire blended in his moan. His hand let go of
her wrist, moving to her stomach and settling there, pulling her
hips against his. Finally, her hand found its target, and she
wrapped her fingers around his hardness. She gasped as he bit her
shoulder, and she tightened her grasp.

"Fuck..."

I'm trying, she thought as she tilted her hips down. Not enough.
Because he was holding her so close to his body, she couldn't get
any traction on the bed to thrust down. She needed him inside.
Now.

"Scully..." Breathless, barely coherent.

"Do it," she growled.

His hips jerked up, and he slammed into her in one stroke.

She let out a gasping scream, the feel of him inside her almost
caused her to shatter into a million pieces. Muscles she hadn't
used in so long tensed around him, gripping his hardness like a
fist. She had to tell herself to breathe, the act no longer
involuntary.

Finally, finally he moved within her, pulling out just a few
inches and easing back in. Then holding there, arms crossed over
her chest, holding her to his body as if she would run away if he
let go. He moved again, in and out, slow, even strokes. Then
holding. She squirmed in his arms, trying to find an angle that
would provide some relief. Her arousal now unbearable, she barely
resisted the temptation to reach down and touch herself. As if
reading her mind, Mulder's arms loosened around her. One hand
smoothed down her side, over her hip and settled just above where
they were joined, his finger drawing tiny, slow circles.

"Mulder..."

She couldn't keep still, shifting under his finger, trying to get
him to move his finger faster, trying to get him to move inside
her. He had stopped thrusting. Why wasn't he moving? She was so
close, so close and he wasn't moving.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm..."

She gasped as he took her sensitive nub between his thumb and
forefinger and massaged it roughly.

"Oh God! Mulder... stop..."

"Why?"

"Because I'm... too close..."

"That's the idea."

A groan rumbled in her chest as he finally thrust against her,
burying himself as far as he could go.

"Let it go, Scully. Come for me." A nip at her neck. "I wanna
feel it."

Something deep within her grew, swelled, rushed through her body
like the winds of a hurricane. Her voice started as a moan,
soared higher until it exploded as her orgasm washed over her in
a violent wave. Drowning, she was drowning, but he was holding
her, making sure she wasn't whisked away by the current.

Slowly, she came back to herself, the dizzying rhapsody
subsiding, leaving twitching muscles and a satisfied smile.
Mulder's shallow, even breathing was mesmerizing, threatening to
lull her to sleep. Can't have that, she thought as she ran a hand
over his arm, which still held her close.

"Mulder, are you still awake?"

A snort of laughter ruffled her hair. "Are you kidding?"

She chuckled softly and reached up behind her, stroking his hair.
He was still inside her, impossibly hard, and her muscles were
still contracting around him. The feeling was... indescribable.
She couldn't think of a single time in her life when she had felt
this euphoric, this satiated.

A gasp pushed through her lips as he started to move again. Every
time he thrust in, she could feel the tip of him hitting her
cervix. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. She
couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this full, stretched
and sore in all the right places. And it's Mulder filling you,
she said to herself. For some reason, she kept having to tell
herself it was Mulder, as if she didn't believe he was behind
her, pushing into her with increased fervor.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to see you."

"I'm right here," he whispered against her shoulder.

"I know, but... I want to see your face when..."

"When, what?"

A smile curled her lips. He wanted to hear the words. Good thing
she wanted to say them. "I want to see your face when you come."

She heard his breath catch, then resume at a more ragged pace. He
withdrew from her body, and she sighed. He felt so good... She
winced when she moved her leg; being held at an odd angle, draped
over Mulder's hip, her leg had fallen asleep and she had a nasty
cramp creeping into her calf. Ignoring the pain, she turned over,
finding Mulder on his back.

Before he could move, she raised herself up and moved over his
body, straddling him, kissing him with such force, it surprised
them both. She swallowed his gasp and thrust her tongue against
his, taking control of his mouth. He didn't seem to mind,
relaxing his lips and tangling his fingers in her hair.

While his hands and mouth were occupied, Scully reached down
between them and grasped his erection. He broke the kiss and
moaned, his hands loosing their grip in her hair. She moved down,
sitting above him on her knees, her hand still wrapped around
him. Lining her body up with his, she lowered herself until just
the tip of him slipped inside. Slowly, she relaxed her leg
muscles and engulfed him.

Their moans blended in the silence. His hands closed around her
breasts, fingers stroking and kneading, pulling gasps from her as
he thrust up. He was so far inside her, she swore she could feel
him nudging her throat.

Faster. She needed to go faster. She lifted up, immediately
slamming herself down on him. Light pain shot through her pelvis,
quickly overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure. Over and over, she
pulled up, slammed down, his hands circling her waist and helping
to quicken the pace.

She leaned her head back, her hands on his thighs supporting her
weight. She opened her eyes and was met with the most erotic
sight she'd ever seen. He was looking at her in the mirror, a
wolf eyeing his prey, eyes so wide, so dark.

"Scully..."

Her name, in that voice, said it all. Everything he felt about
her was spoken in those two syllables.

She fell forward, hands on his chest, eyes locked with his. He
moved faster, knees bent, feet planted on the bed. Better
traction, she thought as he thrust up with such force, it should
have broken bones. She couldn't feel the pain anymore; the only
sensation in her body was pleasure.

"God!" He was splitting her in two, and she loved it.

"Yessss..." His hand snaked between them, roughly stroking her,
coaxing her higher as he thrust harder, his hips pistoning at an
unbelievable rate.

She floated for a second, weightless, then mind and soul
exploded. She screamed the first syllable of his name, the second
syllable cut off as all breath was forced from her. Minuscule
white flecks behind her eyelids, stars imploding in the night
sky. As if miles away, she heard his gasp, then a groan, then her
name as she felt a stream filling her. She forced her eyes open.
His eyes closed, pulled tight with desire, beautiful lips pursed,
face covered in a thin film of sweat. Another wave rippled
through her, this one drowning her in her own feelings for this
man.

Feeling light-headed, she collapsed onto him, resting her head
against his chest, mouth open, bathing him in humid, heavy
breaths.

"God, Mulder. That was..."

"I know," he said, before she could find the words. His hand
found her head and stroked her hair.

They lay in silence for several minutes, basking in the
afterglow. Even with him still inside her, even with her body
still rocking with orgasmic quakes, she kept having to tell
herself it really happened. She wasn't dreaming. She and Mulder
finally had made love, and it was... fucking amazing. She smiled
at her word choice.

Lifting her body slightly, she felt him slip out of her. She
sighed, disappointed, and she saw his frown. She moved to his
side, still half-draped over his torso. His arm immediately went
around her shoulders.

"Mmmmm... I think I've died and gone to heaven," she said, well
aware she was slurring her words.

"Not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because you're never going to die."

Her eyebrow arched. Something in his steady tone worried her. She
raised her head from his chest, examining his face. His eyes were
closed, but his face relaxed. No smirk, no signs of sarcasm at
all. He wasn't serious, was he?

"Mulder, I'm going to die someday."

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "Clyde Bruckman said you
wouldn't."

"Mulder..."

He raised a hand in surrender. "I know, I know. Death is
inevitable. But I can dream, can't I?"

"You can dream as long as you know when the dream stops and
reality begins."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not dealing in reality?"

She shrugged, unable to hide the teasing smile on her face. He
joined in, smiling, pulling her closer. She laid her head on his
chest.

"Just do me a favor, Scully. If you die before me, will you come
back and possess me?"

Her lips curled into a sly smile. "I thought I already did."

She felt his chest move in a silent laugh. "I meant in the
supernatural sense."

"Why would you want to do that? You'd spend all your time
debunking your own theories."

She heard and felt his laugh this time. "Are you always this
wicked after sex?"

She almost said 'yes,' but stopped herself. His line of thinking
had piqued her curiosity. "Seriously, Mulder. Why would you want
my spirit to possess you?"

He shrugged. "Then you would always be with me."

His bare honesty shook her like an earthquake, as did the
seriousness of his statement. He couldn't shut down his brain
even after mind-blowing sex. She lifted her head from his chest,
propped herself on her elbow. Her hand stroked his face, and she
waited for him to meet her gaze.

"Mulder, none of us ever truly leaves as long as we live through
the memories of friends and family. Even when we're gone, we're
still here." She paused, shrugged. "At least, I'd like to think
that when I die, I won't be forgotten."

"Never," he whispered with a passion that made her shiver.

"Then I'll always be with you, without the need for possession.
Not that possession is in the realm of possibility."

"Why not?"

She tilted her head to the side, giving him her 'are you
serious?' look. "Mulder, it's physically impossible for another
human being, a _dead_ human being at that, to possess the body of
another human being."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe in possession when the
Catholic Church preaches to the masses about an afterlife?"

Her jaw twitched, her face readying itself for another round of
skeptic versus believer. Then she looked down at Mulder's naked
chest, let her gaze wander lower, over his abdomen and hips, and
lower still, between his legs. Unconsciously, she licked her
lips, then brought her gaze back to his face. What were they
arguing about?

"Can I make a suggestion?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Shoot," he said with a nod.

"No shop talk in bed."

A victory smirk crossed his lips before he said, "For once, I
agree with you one-hundred percent."

She leaned down and sealed the deal with a kiss, one that was
slow, soft, but still passionate. She didn't think it was
possible to kiss him any other way but passionately. She didn't
think it was possible to do anything with him that didn't involve
his passion lighting their way. It was what made Mulder the man
she loved. Even if he did insist that possession was possible and
that she would never die.

"I'm not immortal, Mulder," she said when their lips parted.

"I know you're not. I just..." A sigh. "If you have to die, I
want it to be of old age. In the meantime, I want you to be
safe."

Her heart leapt for her throat when she heard the pain in his
voice. "I _am_ safe, when you're by my side. I know that I'm
safest when I'm with you, and you are safest when you're with me.
We watch out for each other. It's what we do best." She paused,
unable to resist kissing his chin. "If you insist on putting me
on a pedestal, you'd better get your ass up here with me."

He grinned. "Think there's enough room up there for my couch?
Maybe a big-screen TV?"

Hiding her smile, she laid her head back on his chest, relaxing
at the sound of his heartbeat. "No couch. No TV. Just you and me,
Mulder."

She felt his shoulders move in a shrug, then heard, "I can live
with that."

So can I, she thought as she snuggled closer.



THE END!
**********************

Author's Notes: There are several people to which this fic is
dedicated, because if not for their patience and diligence, Ensky
would not have been finished. First, to JS and MA, who went above
and beyond the call of beta duty. You two are the wind beneath
Ensky's wings. Second, to Missy, whose messages I looked forward
to so much after each chapter posted. You're the best non-stalker
an author could ever want. :) And last but certainly not least,
to the kind, wonderful readers who sent encouragement during
Ensky's WIP process. If not for all of the tasty feedback morsels
in my Inbox, I would have given this fic the ol' heave-ho long
ago.

For those word connoisseurs out there, I highly recommend the
book, "The Word Lover's Dictionary" by Josefa Heifetz. So many
fun and obscure words, including the title of this fic:

ensky: to make immortal.

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