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Title: Hot Wax
Author: Gina Rain
Category: X, MSR
Rating: R (sex, language)
Spoilers: Nothing major. Story is set post-Closure. 
Small spoilers for Arcadia. Requiem and season 8 do not 
exist in this world.
Feedback: ginarain@aol.com
Archive:  Anywhere, just let me know
Summary: A serial killer is targeting Manhattan couples. 
When Mulder and Scully try to lure him into revealing 
himself, they stumble upon quite a few revelations of 
their own.
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, CC and 1013 invented two 
wonderful characters. They hired actors who added 
immeasurable dimension to the written word. This story 
is merely an attempt to recapture just a bit of the 
magic that occurred when the moon, stars and planets 
were all in perfect alignment.
Missing Parts: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/
Thank you: A million cyber-roses to my super-beta, 
Christina. This was a mammoth project and she approached 
it, as always, with enthusiasm and an eagle eye. I can't 
thank her enough.



March 26, 1975
New York City

Last night, his mother laughed at his fears.

"It's not like I haven't done this before, sweetie. I 
was fine. Just fine. Besides, won't it be nice to have a  
younger, prettier mom? You can tell your friends I 
discovered a time machine. That will impress them."

"I don't have any friends."

"Sure you do, sweetie. Now, give me a kiss and go off to 
bed."

Fourteen-year old Ryan Wilkins did not want to "go off 
to bed." He wanted to talk his mother out of the 
unnecessary surgery she was about to undergo. 

"Your face is just fine the way it is, mom."

He knew that wouldn't be enough. 

"Well, now you know that's just not true. I wish it 
were. I thought the little eye job I had would have 
taken care of things for a little longer but the lines. 
. ." she frowned, lost in her own little world. 

"It's for him, isn't it?" Perhaps if he bluntly stated 
the truth, she would listen to him.

She smiled. There wasn't much humor in the smile.

"Your grandma always told me that you should do anything 
to keep a good man once you've got him. Daddy is a fine 
looking man. I'm not about to let him go on a search for 
a fine-looking woman. I plan on staying as attractive as 
I can, for as long as I can."

"But, mom. . ." He wanted to point out that his father  
had already found "fine-looking" women. Or, more 
accurately, fine-looking girls, but couldn't bring 
himself to be that cruel.

"But mom nothing." She swooped down and planted a kiss 
on his forehead. He was going to be tall someday, she 
thought. Puberty hadn't quite hit full force but he had 
already shot up a few inches over the winter.  She would 
teach him a little differently than her mother-in-law 
had taught Bill. She would teach him to value what was 
on the inside.

"Go to bed, Ryan. I have to go to the hospital early but 
I will be back Thursday morning. Sweet dreams, honey."

Ryan felt he should say more. Where were the magic words 
he needed that would reverse his mother's decision to 
have someone cut into her flesh and stretch her skin 
more tightly around her facial structure? She was a 
stubborn woman and obviously did not look in the same 
mirror as the rest of the world. Everyone saw beauty. 
How could they not? She looked at minuscule lines and 
found craters.

He sighed. She would be all right. She said she would.  
He went to bed but not to sleep. Not for a long time. 
When he finally woke, without recollection of having 
slept, he realized he missed kissing his mother goodbye 
before she went to the hospital. He had so wanted to do 
that. There was an aching deep in the pit of his 
stomach. She had to be all right. 

He was called to the principal's office right after 
lunch.  The greeting was somber. His mother had died of 
unforeseen surgical complications during a routine 
facelift.

March 15, 2000
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Scully walked into the basement office with a rather 
cheery "good morning, Mulder" already escaping her lips. 
Uncharacteristic of her considering the early hour and 
the still cold, dank weather. And certainly 
uncharacteristic considering the fact that she had 
already been up and about, without benefit of caffeine, 
since 6 AM. Sitting just outside of the hospital lab. 
Trying not to chew her perfectly manicured nails. 
Waiting for the results of the tests she had last night 
and those she had just completed this morning.  Tests 
she normally dreaded when they were labeled "routine 
follow-up." But tests she truly feared this time around. 
This time it wasn't just a date circled on a calendar 
that made her visit her oncologist. This time there were 
symptoms. Bouts of extreme fatigue. So extreme she found 
herself practically falling asleep on her feet. 

"Well, Dana, I'm glad to say you absolutely wasted my 
time and robbed us both of some sleep," Doctor Perkins 
announced, as he left the lab where he had just called 
in quite a few favors to get the additional blood work 
done on the spot. 

Anemia. Simple, uncomplicated iron-deficiency anemia, 
probably brought on by all the Tylenol and Advil she had 
to take for the battering she and Mulder received during 
their last few cases. Over the counter medication mixed 
with a badly balanced diet and lack of rest. And, well, 
she really didn't even care what else caused it. She 
knew how to fix it. It was something fixable. The 
diagnosis had put a smile on her face and the immediate 
need to go to work and banter with her partner. Amazing 
what a reaffirmation of life does to one's spirit.

He wasn't in the office. Shit.

She removed her coat and switched on her computer. She 
checked her e-mail and then opened a half-written report 
on a recently completed case.

"Hey, you haven't finished your coffee. Stop that." A 
hand came down and covered the screen. She smiled.

"I have to be tanked up on coffee before I start work?"

"Nope. It helps, though. Makes your typing faster. So, 
it's really counterproductive to begin before you have 
had your fill of java. And we wouldn't want to be 
counterproductive."

"So, what do I do in the meantime, Mr. Efficiency?"

"Talk to me, of course," Mulder said. He reached out his 
index finger and playfully flicked the end of her nose.  
"Good morning, Agent Scully."

She gave him a patented "you must be drunk" look. Did he 
really just flick her nose with his finger? Good Lord. 
She wasn't sure what amazed her more. The silly gesture 
or the fact that she hadn't reached for her gun yet. The 
thought that she really wanted to reach for his lips 
using hers as bait was even more amazing.

"Must be something awfully strange in the air today, 
Mulder," she said, watching him perch his posterior 
against the edge of her desk.

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Oh. By the way. We're having 
lunch in about ten minutes."

"Lunch? It's barely 9 AM." 

"Yes, but since we will be on our way to New York at 12, 
we need to lunch now."

She slammed her paper cup on the desk. She didn't want 
to go anywhere today. And certainly not to a city that 
was at least as bleak as the one she was already in.

"Generally, you make more of an impact when the cup is 
ceramic." Mulder said quietly. She looked down at her 
hand clutching the paper cup. It had been a pathetic 
gesture, she thought, and one she was about to compound 
if she didn't relax her grip on the flimsy material. 
Besides, breaking the cup would get Mulder's designer 
suit all wet and then she'd really be in trouble.

"It's a friend of Skinner's, Scully. He needs help and 
we're it. There's no getting out of it."

"What's it about?"

"Serial killer is all I know. We'll be finding out 
together. Romantic, huh?"

"Lovely."

He unhinged her fingers from the paper cup that was 
about to burst at its seam and lifted it to his mouth. 
He took a sip and met her gaze. A brief twinkle of 
amusement flickered in his eyes.

"Maybe, we'll have time to shop," he said, airily.

"Give me my coffee back, Mulder," she said, instantly 
cheered by an absurd vision of him carrying boxes as she 
shopped floating through her mind. 

As he walked over to his desk, she mentally hummed the 
theme song to Green Acres while visions of Mulder as a 
farmer and herself as a peignoir-decked diva floated 
through her mind. It was a silly song and a silly 
thought but it felt so good to be healthy enough to 
criticize her own frivolity. 



Rino's Diner
Washington, D.C.

They both were drinking coffee from ceramic cups before 
the hour was up. Ed Johnston, Skinner's friend and Chief 
Detective on this case, was off the stuff. Bleeding 
ulcer. The acid made it worse. He sipped water.

"So, a serial killer in New York. Why haven't we heard 
about it?" Mulder asked without preamble.

"It hasn't hit the press."

"It hasn't hit the New York press? The Post hasn't 
gotten wind of it yet? This is an X-file."

"Yeah, well, it's kind of serial killing with a twist."

"Well, naturally," Scully said, the sarcasm escaping 
through gulps of hot coffee.

"What's the twist?" Mulder persisted.

"Okay. There have been four deaths so far. First one 
started in 1996. One each year since then. All of them 
occurred on March 26. Women ranging in age from 35 to 49 
found dead in their beds. Death came from a massive dose 
of morphine. Each woman was laid out on the bed like a 
queen. Husbands called the crimes in. Husbands all 
confessed."

"Doesn't sound all that complicated so far."

"I'm getting there. In each case, the husband's 
fingerprints were found on the hypodermic needle. A note 
was left in the husband's handwriting, suggesting a 
possible motive."

"But. . ." 

"But, the husbands didn't do it. I know who did. It's 
just a matter of figuring out how and stopping him. 
That's where you two come in."

"How?"

"As his next victims."

End of Part 1