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Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ ginarain@aol.com

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Part 3

Mulder took their soft drinks over to an outdoor patio. 
Ingenious idea for a roadside diner. The smell of diesel 
fuel was always appealing. He watched Scully as she 
emerged into the sunlight. She looked a bit better. She 
seemed to be wearing less makeup; probably having 
splashed water on her face had removed what she had on. 
She stretched her arms above her head giving him a 
lovely view of her chest straining against the dark blue 
turtleneck sweater she was wearing under her opened 
coat.

More and more, he found himself wanting to be alone with 
her without work being an issue.  They had waited long 
enough.  It was just a matter of one of them jumping in 
and starting this new phase and both seemed to have 
forgotten how to use the spring in their step. 

"All freshened up?"

"Well, as much as a little sink will allow. Mulder, why 
are we sitting outside when it's only 40 degrees?"

"Because, I need the cold to make me more alert than I 
was. It will probably help you, too."

She closed her coat and burrowed down into it. She 
lifted the cup.  Iced Coke. She had been hoping for 
coffee.

"Screwed up again, did I?" He said, off her expression.

"No. How could you? I didn't tell you what I wanted. 
When you asked, I said, "anything."

"It annoys me that I didn't know what 'anything' meant," 
he stated simply.

It did annoy him. Seven years and he couldn't even 
predict what she'd like to drink on a road trip. He 
should know everything about her by now. And have her 
know that through it all, in spite of it all, he was 
paying attention. 

"Don't worry about it, Mulder. I like Coke."

He breathed in the cold air. It probably wasn't a smart 
idea to sit out here. Maybe it made sense in the summer. 
It was damned cold now and somehow the hollow sound of 
the wind blowing through the bare trees added a very sad 
and lonely note to the afternoon. Even the camaraderie 
of the afternoon seemed empty and false out here. It 
made him inexplicably uneasy.

"Come on, Scully.  Go back to the car. Sit there and 
warm up and I'll get us some coffee."

"No, Mulder. It's fine."

"No, it's not. We can save these for later if you like. 
What else can I get you?"

She was about to protest when a thought occurred to her.

"French fries."

"Really?" He was stunned.

"Yeah. Really. I'd like them. And, get a double order so 
you can snitch an appropriate amount from me."

He smiled at her. 

She attacked the issue of Ryan Wilkins with new vigor 
after eating a third of the french fries Mulder brought. 
They were making their steady way to the Big Apple. Once 
back in the car, the playful easiness returned.

"Okay. Ryan Wilkins seems to be employed by a very posh 
little day spa in Manhattan. Every single one of the 
victims went in for treatments from him. Facials, 
paraffin wax treatments, that kind of thing. Ryan has a 
criminal record. At age 18, he came home from military 
school graduation, walked into his home and killed his 
father. Shot him at point blank range, called the cops, 
turned himself in and proceeded to be a model prisoner 
for the next 17 years before he was paroled. Psychiatric 
records indicate that he never really showed remorse for 
what he did but his psych tests were too strong in every 
other way and there didn't appear to be any sociopathic 
tendencies noted anywhere in his past. He was released, 
almost immediately signed up for 600 hours of training 
to become an esthetician, got a license, a job, and is 
now a model employee."

"All right. Now, other than the fact that he is a common 
link between all the couples, what makes him the chief 
suspect?"

"His mother died of respiratory failure during a 
facelift in 1975. Specifically, March 26, 1975. She was 
just 39 years old.  This is the same date that all the 
murders have been committed.  One per year since he's 
been out on parole.  There seems to be some indication 
from prison interviews and talks with family members 
that Ryan suffered some form of child abuse at the hands 
of his father. There is also an indication that the 
father was emotionally abusive toward his wife--a great 
deal of put-downs and comparisons to other women. A lot 
of infidelity--beginning almost ten years prior to her 
death.  All the murder victims were married to strong-
willed men--some faithful, some not. There seemed to be 
a lot of codependency in the marriages and all the women 
were scheduled to have some sort of cosmetic surgical 
procedure at a fairly young age."

"So he kills them first?"

"Well, that is the theory. Wilkins used a gun to kill 
his father. He used morphine to kill these victims."

"Allegedly," Mulder couldn't resist.

"You're right. Allegedly. Morphine is known as a pain 
killer and used to be used in. . .well, very early forms 
of what we would now consider 'mercy killings.' Maybe 
that's what he thinks he's doing.  Easing them from the 
life of pain he thought they were destined to live. 
Leaving the husbands to suffer with extreme guilt and 
the torture of prison life.  Maybe he felt he let his 
father off too easily by shooting him."

Mulder was quiet.

"Mulder?"

"No. It's fine. It's a good theory and we just have to 
figure out if he is actually doing the killings or how 
he controls the victims' minds. I'm actually just not 
used to having all the psych work done for me. It's 
quite detailed."

"Ah, you feel cheated."

"Yes, Dr. Freud. I suppose I do."

"Well, just concentrate on your role-playing then. You 
can put in an Academy Award winning performance being my 
hubby."

"Well, if I have to be a dissatisfied husband, I'd have 
to, wouldn't I?"

She looked at him as he stared straight ahead at the 
road. He said the oddest things sometimes.

Regency Hotel
New York City
9 PM

Mulder lay back on the huge California-king-size bed. 
California-king. Translation: Big as a fucking boat.  

She was taking her sweet time in that bathroom. He had 
heard the water running for quite a while and he knew 
she was in the bathtub. Taking one of her precious 
bubble baths, no doubt. He didn't quite understand the 
fascination of fizzy lavender scented water but then 
again, he was very practical when it came to bathing. 
Five-minute showers and he was ready to attack the day. 
Or night. He was glad she had let him use the room 
first, or he might have been annoyed by now. 

He picked up the remote and channel surfed a bit.  Not 
much on. Or not much that she would be interested in 
watching with him. He wasn't sure why he was concerned 
about that because he was sure he'd be relegated to the 
couch in the other room of the suite shortly after she 
emerged from her soak. There was no way she was going to 
let him share the boat-sized bed. He was expecting a 
repeat of the marital bliss they shared at the Falls of 
Arcadia complete with green goo coating her face. He 
frowned and rubbed lightly against his tee shirt-covered 
abdominal muscles. She knew he was in love with her. She 
had to. There were days he felt the same emotions coming 
from her but there was something missing. A kind of 
silent "permission granted" signal that he kept waiting 
for but never quite received. Without it, he couldn't 
bring himself to make a move. Their bond of trust was 
too strong for such base actions. That was it, he 
thought with a frown.  Their relationship had sublimated 
into something that went beyond the physical and into a 
completely different dimension.  That was nice, he 
thought with a wry smile. Maybe someday someone could 
write a fucking book. Turn it into another movie. People 
would cry at the tragedy and beauty of it all. In the 
meantime, he could cry every time he had to look 
longingly at his hand instead of the real object of his 
desire. Well, someone could write a movie about that, 
too. In fact, he was pretty sure someone had and he 
could find it among his personal collection of movies in 
the shade of blue. He chuckled softly to himself, not 
really finding it all that amusing.

"What's so funny?" Scully asked as she finally emerged 
from the bathroom, steam flowing behind her.

"Nothing. . .I just thought. . ." he looked in her 
direction. No green goo. She was wearing the fluffy 
white bathrobe provided by the hotel and if he wasn't 
mistaken, and he was pretty sure he wasn't. . .she 
didn't really have anything else underneath. Her hair 
was still wet and curling around her neck in tiny loose 
swirls. He sat up immediately. It wouldn't do to be 
lying back in the rather flimsy protection of 
sweatpants. It gave way too much away.

"Sorry I took so long, Mulder. That tub is just so huge 
and I almost drifted off in there."

"That's fine. I was just going over the file. But, 
frankly. . .that's kind of useless since I practically 
know every word in there by now. We can't really do a 
thing till tomorrow, so we might as well relax. More 
room service, Scully?"

"No." She slid on the bed and lay back against the 
pillows. He was seated cross-legged facing her. She 
hadn't thrown him out yet. "I'm not really hungry. Just 
tired."

"Well, you should get some rest then." Okay. He didn't 
want to actually leave unless she requested it. She 
didn't seem in a big hurry to do that. 

"Mmmmmm. . ." Her eyes were half closed, half staring at 
him. He cautiously lay down next to her and waited for 
her to throw him out. She didn't.  She half turned to 
face him more fully. A glimpse of significant cleavage 
made its appearance at that point.

"Um, Scully. . .I enjoy the view but for my own sanity, 
I think maybe it would be better if you kept that robe 
closed a bit more." He reached out and touched the very 
edge of the material where the top half of her left 
breast presented itself to his vision in all its creamy 
glory. His fingertips lightly ran across the skin. "Are 
you wearing anything under here, Scully?"

"I don't know Mulder. You are supposed to be a rather 
competent investigator. Why don't you tell me?" She 
said, suppressing a yawn at the same time.

He gulped visibly. Signals? This seemed like a signal. A 
not so subtle, written in neon lights "permission 
granted" signal. He wondered if there had been any booze 
in the bathroom that he didn't know about.

He lightly drew the side of his index finger over the 
top of her breast, over and over. Never seeking to touch 
further. Simply reveling in what he had already been 
allowed to explore. 

"You are so soft, Scully. And even softer here."

She smiled lazily. "That feels nice, Mulder."

Nice? Not a favorite word of his when he was trying to 
be moderately sexy. Still, he supposed it was better 
than "get your ass out of my bed, you horny mother 
fucker."

He moved his finger and traced the dip between her 
breasts. When he did, he felt the plumpness of her right 
breast brush more fully against his hand. He 
automatically licked his lips. He was going to kiss her. 
Right there. If she wanted to throw him out, now was a 
good time. If not, he wanted to know. . .now. He 
muttered a soft "Scully," and moved closer when he 
noticed a certain rhythm in the way her chest was rising 
and falling.

"Scully?"

She was sound asleep. Now, he was gulping visibly for a 
different reason. It wasn't a moment of anger, or even 
severe disappointment. It was a moment of realization. 
Cold realization. They really had gone too far past it 
all. Or she had. They had reached a point where they 
could be in the same bed, in various stages of dress or 
undress, with his hand on what should be one of her 
erogenous zones and she could simply drift off to sleep. 

He gingerly climbed off the deck of the love boat and 
went into the second room. He put on his boots and a 
jacket and left the suite.

Regency Hotel
March 16, 2000
7 AM

Scully woke up in the morning and slid her hand up and 
down the sheet next to her. No Mulder. She opened her 
eyes. Why did she expect him to be there? Oh, yeah. She 
smiled. His beautiful fingers running across the top of 
her breast so tenderly. She stopped smiling. Shit. Oh, 
shit. She fell asleep. 

She jumped out of bed and into the adjoining room.

"Mulder. . .I'm sorry. . ." He wasn't there. 

"Mulder?" she called out.

No answer.

Where the hell did he go?

Probably something to do with the case. She'd explain 
when he got back.  She went into the bedroom and quickly 
dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. Suitably 
city-chic.

She heard the keycard sliding through the door slot and 
Mulder entered the room, head slightly down, cheeks and 
hands flaming red.

"Mulder? Where have you been?"

"Out."

"Did Skinner call? Did Johnston?"

"No. I just had difficulty sleeping. I went for a walk 
in the park."

"When?"

"Around 11."

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"And you were there all night?"

"No. Not all night. I had coffee at a diner. I walked 
down to Grand Central station for a while. Watched the 
people there. Took a walk back up here. New York is 
fairly interesting at night."

"It's also fairly dangerous."

He shrugged. "I'm armed."

She walked over to him and grabbed one of his hands. He 
jerked it back. She reached out and grabbed it again, 
holding it firmly so it would take nothing short of an 
act of violence on his part to pull it away.

"You're cold. You could get frostbite out there all 
night."

He looked in her eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Scully? I'm a grown man who 
went for a walk. Do I need permission? Do I need to 
apologize?"

"No. Of course not." She steadily rubbed his fingers 
softly. He winced as the circulation began to return 
more fully.

She stopped rubbing his hands and started unbuttoning 
his jacket. 

"C'mon. Take this off and relax. I'll order some 
coffee."

He quickly complied and grabbed the remote control, 
turning on a morning talk show. The sound of the raucous 
audience rudely permeated the air. He lay back and 
stared blindly at the screen.

She looked at him. He seemed so tired. 

She had ordered the coffee and sat next to him.  She 
curled her legs up on the couch and ran her fingers 
through his hair. 

"Just rest, Mulder." 

He turned his head slightly and looked in her eyes. 
There was a definite sheen of slight moisture in them. 
He could blame it on the cold wind blowing into them all 
night, but she knew better. She had wanted their 
relationship to shift in the proper direction as much as 
he did. Probably more. She felt the bitter irony of 
having her body betray her at absolutely the worst 
possible moment.

"Why didn't you wake me up last night, Mulder?"

"For what?"

Ah, so that's the way he wanted to play it.  Wounded 
male ego pretending nothing hurts.

"To talk to me about what bothered you enough to drive 
you out into the cold night instead of curling up next 
to me and getting a good night's sleep."

"Scully, from which planet did you just land?" 

Well, that was rude. But she understood what he meant. 
They had never shared a bed before on any case.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep Mulder. I've been very, very 
tired and just couldn't help it."

"I know. It's fine."

"I don't think it's fine at all. I didn't want to fall 
asleep."

"You may think that's true."

"Mulder--it is true. I didn't want to tell you because 
you're such a worry wart, but I haven't been feeling 
well. I called in a whole bunch of favors and was up for 
hours before I actually made it to the office. And, I 
had a PET scan run the night before. Everything turned 
out all right.  I'm just anemic. I was sent home with 
vitamins and a diet of kale and spinach. And orders for 
loads of bed rest. Guess which one of those instructions 
will be the hardest to follow?"

Anemia. Not cancer. Good. 
Feeling sick. Not telling him until the tests were run 
and the verdict came in. Bad. 
Selfish? Maybe. But he couldn't help the way he felt. 
Still, he squashed down his feelings and managed a small 
smile.

"I'm glad you got the rest then. You needed it. We'll 
have to see that you get plenty of it during our down-
time on this case."

"Well, I think you'll need it as well after traipsing 
all over the city last night."

"No, I'm used to it. Besides, I had to work out a few 
things in my mind--over the case and all."

Scully swallowed hard. She felt she had to say 
something.

"Do you issue rain checks?"

He looked into her eyes. He knew he should feel relief 
on many levels but he felt unease. Something was wrong. 
Something beyond her falling asleep while he was making 
his move and beyond his hurt feelings over her usual 
self-protective behavior. As with most things in their 
lives, they would have to postpone addressing the issue 
until after he dissected it in his own mind and after 
they did their work today. 

Still, he slowly nodded his head. She wasn't convinced 
but she gave him a weak smile anyway.

End of Part 3