The Common Fate of All Things Rare - Chapter 4

[cheapredhead]

SUMMARY: Ever wonder what happened between the silence of Never Again and the flowers from Memento Mori? Well, we did...

RATING: R

SPOILERS: Season 4

DISCLAIMER: We read the IWTB novelization, guys. 'Nuff said.

**********

3825 KESWICK ROAD
SATURDAY, JANUARY 25TH
9:22 AM

Mulder pushes through the crowd of reporters, microphones shoved in our faces as a barrage of questions assaults us from all sides. I follow just behind him, taking advantage of his height for the moment

"Agent Mulder! Have you got a profile of the suspect yet?"

"Agent Mulder, is this anything like the Monty Props case?"

"Agent Scully! Tell us about the hearts!"

"Is there anything you'd like to say to the victims' families?"

We finally make it to the house, the row of grim-faced policemen who let us through jostling to keep the vultures at bay. One of the officers kicks the door shut behind us with his boot.

"Jesus," Mulder breathes, slumping against the wall.

"You can say his name again, and then maybe add Jehovah, Allah and the entire Greek, Roman and Egyptian Pantheons," Wickham growls as he approaches us with heavy steps. "Because barring divine intervention, we're royally fucked right now." He eyes us up and down. "And you two look like shit."

I pinch the bridge of my nose as another headache swells to a crescendo behind my sinuses. Last night's alcohol intake did not help, to say nothing of my drunken advances towards my partner.

"Where is she?" Mulder asks sullenly.

"This way." We follow Wickham down the hall to the body of April Larsen, lying like a broken puppet on the wooden floor, her mahogany skin ashen and drained, thanks to the long gash across her throat. The blood on her chest is clotted like raspberry jam. Wickham taps his watch then holds up five fingers at the few plain clothes cops milling around in the room. They nod at the detective and leave us with the forensics team.

"We found Heike's heart under the floorboards, just as you predicted. Still going through missing persons reports to try and find out whose heart was under Carla Stewart. No luck so far."

"No talking ravens yet," Rick informs us.

"Would you like a shot of amontillado?" offers Jasper. "Hair of the dog."

Wickham glares at them and they wander off to peer out the window at the reporters.

Mulder crouches next to the body and bounces on his toes, head in his hands. "What the hell am I missing?" he mutters to the dead woman.

I turn my attention to Wickham. The scar on his face stands out like lightning against his livid skin and there is a muscle twitching relentlessly along his jaw. He looks bone tired and defeated.

I take a few steps towards him and lay a concerned hand over his forearm. "Are you all right, Detective?"

He looks down at my hand and some of his old self seems to slip back in momentarily. He lifts his eyes to catch mine and asks with a weary yet teasing smile, "So someone has to die for you to be nice to me, is that how it works?"

I squeeze his arm before letting go. "Yes, Detective, that is exactly how it works."

"What would the body count have to be for you to be *very* nice to me?"

I raise an eyebrow and pretend I'm sizing him up. "Waterloo, at least."

"I have friends in the military. I could bomb Switzerland for you."

"Why Switzerland?"

"Why not?"

I shake my head, smiling. "You're impossible."

He leans down to whisper by my ear. "But you like it."

I click my tongue against my palate and roll my eyes at the ceiling before going back by Mulder's side. I slip on a pair of latex gloves.

Mulder gets to his feet, shaking his head. "I got nothing. I'm not even sure if the case is related to Poe anymore. Something just doesn't add up."

"Then we'll start from scratch until it does," Wickham asserts before leaving us to go in the next room to talk to one of his tech guys.

I kneel down to inspect a dark smudge on April Larsen's cold hand. "She's left-handed too," I point out.

Mulder turns back to the floor. "What did you say?"

"Left-handed. See? She's got ink-stains all over her left hand but none on her right."

He looks impatient. "Yes, I see that. It's the 'too' that's got me confused."

I stand up, taking my gloves off with a snap. "Heike was left-handed. I noticed it when I was doing the autopsy."

"And you failed to share that piece of information with me because…?" His voice has turned cutting. I realize that my friend and partner - the man I kissed last night - is gone. Instead I have to deal with the insensitive prick who bosses me around and accuses me of refusing assignments.

"Because a lot of people are left handed, Mulder. It didn't seem relevant."

Mulder makes a little frustrated dance, pacing aimlessly, and slapping his thighs a few times. It would be funny if the growing certainty that I might have seriously screwed up hadn't started to solidify my insides like a hard shell of cooling lead.

"It didn't seem relevant?" He repeats what I just said under his breath one more time, obviously having a difficult time believing what he's hearing. "Listen to me, Scully, I'm the fucking profiler in this partnership. *I* decide what's relevant! I don't know what's wrong with you lately, but if you're not going to talk to me about it, you'd better get the hell over it because it's affecting your work."

I bristle. "So not only do you expect me to report on every detail of my personal life, you don't trust my judgment now?"

"Your judgment may have cost someone her life." He takes me by the shoulders none too gently and turns me towards the corpse. "Go ahead, say that to her."

His fingers are digging like claws against my clavicles.

"Mulder, you're hurting me."

"I hope so, since it seems to be the only way to get your attention these days." He's speaking sotto voce but there is no mistaking the anger in his voice.

I go very still. "Mulder. Enough."

"What's going on?" Wickham's voice asks behind us. Mulder jerks away from me.

I lift a hand to rub my shoulder, staring at April Larsen, mostly to avoid looking at the two men behind me. The tension between Mulder and me is so sharp you could poke someone's eye out with it.

"We need to find out if Carla Stewart was left-handed too. And the woman taken today," Mulder tells Wickham.

"Cecilia Forgie. We'll get someone on it ASAP. You really think this has something to do with the case?" he asks.

"Heike Brandstatter was a leftie as well."

"Only about 10-12% of the population is left-handed. That's not likely to be a coincidence," Wickham agrees.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mulder nod grimly.

"I'll find that out for you," Wickham says, digging out his phone. He's about to hit the speed dial when he pauses. "How come this hasn't been mentioned before?"

"Good question," Mulder snarls. He goes to the living room window and lifts a curtain to see if the news crews are still waiting outside.

Wickham raises his eyebrows at me. "Agent Scully? Care to tell me what the hell is going on?" He crosses his arms. "I expect an answer this time."

I glare at him. "Maybe you should go find out why none of your people picked up on it either, instead of playing Bad Cop/Condescending Cop with your new drinking buddy."

Wickham returns my icy stare. "Oh, that's convenient. You get called in here because the assumption is that we can't find our asses with both hands and when you screw up, you try and cover it with *our* incompetence?"

"Is this some of Mulder's dating advice? Because whatever he may have told you, I can tell the difference between flirting and being insulted."

Something shuts down behind his eyes and he abruptly gestures for me to follow him. "Agent Mulder," he calls out. "Don't bother with the front door; the reporters are worse than starving ticks on a fat dog. You two can leave through the back door in the kitchen."

Mulder drops the curtain and joins us, irritation still emanating from him in waves.

Once in the kitchen, Wickham kicks a bag of cat litter out of the way and opens the door. "There's a gate in the backyard, and a path that leads behind the block. I'll tell Rick to go around and pick you up." The winter sun is bright and hurts my eyes. I pull out my sunglasses and am about to put them on when the detective reaches out and lowers my hand. He gazes evenly at us both, his voice quiet and precise.

And angry.

"Now, listen to me very carefully. You two clearly have some personal problems that are interfering with your focus on this case. So here's what you're going to do: you're going to drive to your hotel and fight or fuck or snort an eight ball of blow - whatever you do to get functional - and then  we're going to find this guy. You come back here with a game face or you go home. Do you understand me?"

"Look - " Mulder begins.

"No." Wickham's voice cuts, his tone final as an executioner's axe. He moves out of the way to let us go through the door. "I don't need to hear anything from either of you right now. This offer is final and non-negotiable."

Mulder storms out without any further comment. I step outside, slipping my sunglasses on and wondering if my carelessness cost April Larsen her life.

I follow Mulder across the yard and watch him open the little wooden gate that leads to a shady path meandering between houses. He does not wait for me, seeming eager to put as much distance between us as possible. I can hear the ice crunching under his soles.

"Mulder! Wait."

He ignores me and I quicken my pace, trotting to catch up with him - every step resonating in my teeth and sending waves of white heat inside my head.

I try again. "Mulder. Can we talk about this?"

My partner stops abruptly and turns around to shoot me an incredulous stare, his breath coming in short white plumes. His eyes are cold as the frost I see glittering on the leaves edging the path.

"Oh, you want to talk now?" he spits from between clenched teeth.

I slow down, approaching him cautiously. "I made a mistake." I stop in front of him and remove my sunglasses. "I made a mistake and I'm sorry."

Mulder seems to deflate a little at this, his shoulders sagging. "We don't know how pertinent this detail is to the case anyway. It might not be relevant." He shoves his hands in his pockets and worries a chunk of ice with the edge of his shoe.

"But you think it is. I know you, Mulder. You wouldn't lose your temper like this if you didn't think it was important."

He shrugs and says nothing. I shred some evergreen needles, the scent of pine rising in the frosty air. "I'm trying to find a valid reason for not telling you that Heike was left handed earlier. And you know what Mulder? I can't find one." I brush my gloves off and look up at him. "Maybe I did come back in the field too early."

He snaps a few dry twigs off an overhanging branch. "That's what I think. You should have stayed back in DC and taken more time to recover. I didn't insist because I wanted you here with me."

I lift an eyebrow at this. "You wanted me at arm's reach to keep an eye on me, is that it?"

He takes a few steps towards me and reaches out to touch the bump on my forehead. "I just didn't want anything else to happen to you."

My lips curve a little at this "Are you sure this is what this is about, Mulder? Keeping me safe from harm?"

He turns away from me, resuming his walk towards the road. "What else would it be about?"

I give him a look which makes it very clear that I'm not fooled for a minute by his aloofness. I'm about to voice this in no uncertain terms when Rick's voice stops me in my tracks. "Good morning, Miss Daisy."

A police car is parked by the curb. Rick is outside waiting for us while eating a donut, his hat pulled down all the way to his brow. Mulder opens the door for me, and we climb in as Ricks removes his bulky ski jacket before getting back behind the wheel.

"I'll drop you as close as I can to your car and you can make a run for it. The good thing about the press is that all the gear weighs the bastards down, so you should have plenty of time to get in your ride and get the hell out of Dodge."

"Thanks Rick," Mulder says.

"Don't mention it." He stretches an arm across the back seat as he maneuvers the car onto the street, displaying an Egyptian cartouche tattoo on his wrist. Eye, feather, bowl.

"That's an interesting tattoo, Rick. What's it say?" I ask.

"R-I-K," he says sheepishly. "Jasper and I had them done when we went to Cairo with Ron Wade."

"Ron Wade? Really? I've followed his work for years. I'm impressed," I tell him.

"Some days I think I'm the only one who isn't inked," Mulder muses.

I shoot him a dirty look as the car stops at a red light.

Rick frowns in the rearview mirror. "I don't know what you two did, but Jack sure was pissed off. It took Jasper a half a box of donuts to get him settled," he says.

"We disagreed on baseball." Mulder tells him, his tone indicating that Rick would be wise not to inquire further.

**********

MARYLAND STATE MEDICAL EXAMINER'S OFFICE
BALTIMORE, MD
8:22 PM

I hear the muffled ring of my phone from my coat pocket and fish it out while Karen takes a turn at the microscope.

"Scully."

"Your phone manners need work," Wickham informs me. "Emily Post advises one to say hello."

"I really don't think you're one to lecture me on social niceties," I snap. "I have a sneaking suspicion Emily Post wouldn't think much of your conflict resolution strategy." I notice Karen trying very hard to look like she isn't eavesdropping.

Wickham sighs. I can imagine him rubbing his neck as he talks. "Can we call a truce, Agent Scully? I'd like you to meet me in a little while because I have something to show you about the victims."

I glance at Karen and then at my watch. "I can be at the station in half an hour. We're just checking out some tissue samples, but we're nearly finished."

"Don't come to the station," Wickham says. "Most of the Baltimore Sun staff is still lurking in the bushes, though I think the reporters from out of town are holed up at their hotels for now. But I bet your hair shows up nicely for a telephoto lens."

"Out with it, Wickham. What have you got in mind? If this is a clever ploy to end up in my hotel room, I can tell you right now it won't work."

He laughs. "So paranoid. Meet me at the Whistling Oyster in an hour."

"That's where you took Mulder. Your favorite hangout?"

"No. I just like saying the name."

What harm can there be in it? "I'll get directions from Karen. See you then." I hang up the phone.

Karen looks at me. "You have a date with Jack Wickham?"

I sit next to her and hope I look scornful. "Definitely not. He just wants to show me something related to the case."

"I went on a few of dates with him," she says slyly.

"Really?" I am interested despite myself. "How did it go?"

"It ended for religious reasons," she deadpans. "He thought he was God and I disagreed."

We laugh together and I remember how good it feels to be outside the company of men.

**********

THE WHISTLING OYSTER
9:16 PM

I enter the dimly lit bar, wondering once more what I am doing here. I spot Wickham sitting at a nearby table, beaming at me, a beer in his hand.

"Stop grinning, Detective. This isn't a date," I tell him sternly.

Wickham pushes a chair towards me with his foot. Mulder would have stood up.

"Look around you Agent Scully. You, me, a bar and beer. Just as I predicted."

I rest my hand on the chair's back, not ready to sit just yet. "The only reason I am here is because you said you had something important to show me, and that the station was still invaded by journalists."

"Is that the only reason?"

Why am I putting up with this? I should just leave him sitting here and go back to the hotel. Whatever he needs to show me can probably wait until tomorrow. But something is holding me back. I am still reeling from what was potentially a gross error in judgment on my part and don't dare let anything go by the wayside that might help us. And if I have to put up with Detective Wickham's shameless flirting, then so be it.

Agent Scully doesn't make mistakes. I look at Wickham smiling up at me, patiently waiting for me to make up my mind, his index finger lightly circling the rim of his glass.

Agent Scully doesn't do a lot of things.

I sit down.

Wickham leans back in his chair, his eyes dancing as he takes a sip of his beer. "Where's your partner?"

"Still at the library, I believe."

"Did he tell you what he was looking for?"

I shake my head before signaling the bored waitress. "No."

Wickham watches me as I order an orange juice. "Still trouble in paradise?"

I hold his gaze. "No."

He laughs. "That's all right, I won't pry."

"I find that hard to believe, considering this is the second time you've asked. Understand this: what you witnessed at the crime scene this morning was not unusual. Mulder and I have very different personalities and clashes are bound to occur. People who don't know us can easily draw the wrong conclusions - as you did." I reach for the folder on the table.

His hand covers mine, preventing me from retrieving the folder. "That may be so, but if my forensic pathologist partner neglected to share what could turn out to be a vital piece of the puzzle, my profiler self would probably be pretty mad. And he looked fairly pissed off to me this morning."

I remove my hand from under his. "You're not him."

He pushes the file towards me with a wicked smile. The man is attractive and he knows it. "For you, Scully, I could be."

"No, you couldn't," I say firmly as I open the file. "And you can call me Dana."

"I see...not worthy enough to be on a last name basis, huh? I think I'm wounded."

"You'll recover," I assure him. "I've seen these photos before," I add as I flip through a series of crime scene shots.

He waits for the waitress to serve me my drink and then reaches out and spreads the pictures on the table. "What do you see?"

I look up at him quickly. "You found a pattern?"

"Look closely and you'll see it too."

I stare at the gruesome shots until I begin to see something. It doesn't make sense to me but… "They all have their left arm resting across their stomachs?"

Wickham nods enthusiastically. "Yes, and see where their other arm is?" He jabs a finger on each shot.

I follow his finger and see that each victim's right arm is resting more or less at the same angle; slightly away from her body.

"He's positioned them."

"Exactly."

I examine the shots a little longer while drinking my orange juice.

"This guy is all about rituals, Dana. This must have some significance to him. And if we find out what this is…"

"…we might find out what makes him tick." I gather the pictures back in their folder with a sigh. "I'm afraid that logic and motivation of a man who cuts off women's breasts completely escape me. You should talk to Mulder about this. Why didn't you call him instead of me, actually?"

"You really have to ask?" He finishes his beer and stands. "Anyway, you can go and tell him now. I have to return to the station and make some calls."

I stand up as well and look at him with a teasing smile. "That was a short date."

He laughs and steps closer, handing me the file. "Ah, Dr. Scully, you're a sin waiting to happen."

He brushes a quick thumb over my cheek and then he's gone.

And despite the pleasant shivers his smoky voice triggers in my abdomen, I am coming to the unavoidable realization that my drunken confession the other night is true. Every man to whom I am attracted now commits the crime of not being Mulder.

I dig my cell phone out of my pocket to call my albatross.

**********

HOLIDAY INN INNER HARBOR
10:24 PM

I find him back in his hotel room, sitting on his bed with his rumpled suit still on - minus the jacket - and surrounded by books and papers. "Defacing library books again, Mulder?" I stare at his bare feet, marvelling as usual at the sheer size of them.

He looks at me over his glasses. "What did Wickham say?"

That I'm not hiding my feelings as well as I thought.

"That the bodies have all been positioned a certain way."

"Yes, I've noticed. They all have their left arm resting under the chest wound and the other at about a thirty-degree angle to the body. Very subtle positioning, but it's there."

"It has to mean something for him but what?" I fold my own arm over my stomach and hold my right arm at a similar angle, mimicking the victim's pose.

"Don't move."

Mulder is staring at me with an intense look that worries me. "What?" Please tell me my nose is not bleeding again. I begin to lift a hand towards my face.

"Scully, don't move," he repeats, removing his glasses and slipping off the bed, slowly moving to stand behind me. He puts his arms around me and takes hold of both my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine and holding my arms in the victim's position.

"Mulder…" I whisper, his closeness unsettling after last night's events.

"Don't worry Scully.  My intentions are honorable."

This is supposed to make me feel better?

"Look…" he murmurs against my hair, guiding my hands until my left elbow is pulled up sideways and my right arm is extended straight out from the shoulder.

"Life," he says, then folds my arms back in their original position. "Death."

He repeats the movement, and I suddenly understand what it is he's showing me. In the extended position it looks like I'm holding a bow and arrow.

"Archers? He wants the victims to be archers?"

"Amazons, Scully. They're Amazons."

"That's why he's cutting their breasts off!" I turn around in his arms to face him. "And because they're left handed, he's cutting their left breast, because that's how they would shoot with a bow and arrow."

We beam at each other and I let myself fall in his arms, all the resentment and awkwardness of the previous week suddenly erased.

"He's killing left-handed Amazons, Scully."

I hug him tighter and he does the same. We stay like this for a long time. His hands stroke my back absentmindedly and I know he's thinking, making connections, establishing patterns. I relax in his arms and enjoy the simple pleasure of being held. I try not to think about the fact that telling him earlier about Heike's left-handedness might have changed April Larsen's fate. Instead I take a mental paintbrush and cover all my doubts and remorse with a thick coat of Mulder.

Mulder's knees against my thighs, Mulder's chest against my cheek, Mulder's back against my hands, Mulder's -

Oh.

Mulder.

I lift my head to meet his eyes. An ironic little smile is tugging at his lips. "Honor is such a subjective concept, Scully."

I hide my face in his shoulder, laughing. "Are you sure it's not the thoughts of Amazons that turns you on? All these gorgeous, half naked warrior women riding horses -"

His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me closer. "Oh, I'm sure."

I gasp and lift my head again; this time my eyes are dead serious. "I know I was rather inebriated last night, but what about you? How drunk were you, Mulder?"

"Not enough."

"I see." I run my hands over his chest. I just cannot believe this is us - like this. "How did this happen?" I whisper half to myself.

"Courtesy of Absolut."

"That's not what I meant."

"It just happened, Scully. Let it be."

"You're quoting the Beatles at me now, Mulder?"

"I could quote Elvis if you like."

"What? Fools rush in?"

Though we're hardly rushing in, I think. Even the most sanctimonious nun who ever taught me can hardly claim one kiss in four years would rank me next to the Whore of Babylon.

"A little less conversation, Scully."

I rise on my toes to kiss his mouth softly. "Okay," I breathe against his lips. Just as I'm about to pull away his hands come up in my hair, holding my head firmly and he's kissing the hell out of me, crushing my lips and chasing my tongue. I whimper in his mouth, giving back as good as I get.

This is madness. We're not ready for this.

I'm not ready for this.

I put my hands on his chest, pushing him gently away.

Mulder looks down and blinks at me, bringing a hand to his mouth as if to check that what just happened was real.

This is way too real.

Still breathing hard, I straighten my shirt and jacket. "Call Wickham. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Slipping into something more comfortable?"

I squash the smug grin I can see blooming on his lips with a curt, "With my files. To work."

He purses his lips and nods his understanding. We both know work will always take precedence over whatever the hell it is that's going on between us.

And that knowledge is what is keeping me sane and grounded right now. I feel my life spinning around like an amusement park ride; the one with no restraints that leaves you with your back pressed against the wall as the platform rises and twirls. And Mulder - whose eyes I can always find in a crowded room - is the force that keeps me from freefalling through space.

I walk past him and open the door, not looking back as it clicks shut behind me. I head to my own room and gather my neat stack of data in my arms, wondering how much longer we can keep dancing back and forth like this.

Last week I told him that, professionally speaking, we were going in an endless straight line. And that my own life was standing still. Newton's first law states that an object in motion will not change its velocity or direction unless acted on by an outside force.  This is also true of objects at rest.

Newton's second law tells us that a change in the momentum of either such body is the direct result of the amount of force which acts on it, and that the body's motion will be in the same direction as the force.

I hope the forces pushing us forward and in new directions are stronger than the ones holding us back, but Mulder and I have always operated in our own inertial frame, so my calculations are rough estimates at best.

**********

HOLIDAY INN INNER HARBOR
SUNDAY, JANUARY 26TH
 8:20 AM

I knock on Scully's door and she starts talking as she opens it. "That was quick, thanks. I'm sorry about the blood but I…oh. Mulder."

She's wrapped in a towel, her hair soaking wet, and the expression on her face is both uncertain and embarrassed. She's holding the hotel robe, which has blood all over the lapel. She drops it to the floor and kicks it into the bathroom. I try not to stare at the not-quite-healed marks on her arms.

I take a few more steps into her room and push the door shut. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I just um, I called housekeeping for a clean bathrobe and some towels. I thought that's who was at the door. You're early, Mulder."

"Scully, what happened? Did you have another nosebleed?"

"I cut myself shaving," she lies, looking me straight in the eye and daring me to challenge her. It is a testament to her physical presence that she can look intimidating even as she wears nothing but a towel and comes scarcely to my shoulder. She looks thinner than I remembered, but then I rarely see her wearing so little.

"What were you shaving? Your chest hair? The blood's all over the neckline."

She gives me a cold look and is about to answer when there's a knock at the door. I open it to reveal a woman with a stack of clean towels and a robe. She hands the bundle to me with a dubious expression. "Thanks," I say. "Things got a little…wild in here." I wink and shut the door firmly in her startled face.

"Wonderful," says Scully in a tone that clearly indicates she does not think anything wonderful has just happened. "Do you even think before you do stupid things like that?"

I roll my eyes. "Scully, I don't think she's going to spread gossip about the redhead in 746 entertaining gentleman callers."

"Caller," Scully corrects. "I'm not running an escort service out of my hotel room."

I walk over to the bed and sit down while she heads to the bathroom. "Well that's a relief," I say. "I'd hate to think you were luring other men in here after treating me so cruelly."

She stops at the door to glare at me over her shoulder.

"It was a joke, Scully. Go get yourself decent." She looks suspicious, but retreats to the bathroom once more.

It wasn't a joke at all, of course. I'm not blind and I can see that she finds Wickham charming in spite of herself. I focus my energy on not thinking about her towel dropping to the floor on the other side of the wall.

She comes back out a few minutes later, Scully-casual in what is essentially a suit without a jacket. Her hair is still mostly wet and is curling around her face. She seems so much less severe like this, but if I ever told her that, she'd never let me see her this way again. So I look and enjoy but say nothing.

Scully walks over to the counter to fuss with the coffee pot - her back to me - and says, "We need to talk."

She's right of course, but it's the last thing on earth I feel like doing. "Absolutely," I agree. "If you could be any animal, which would you pick?"

She brings me a cup of coffee. "Come on, Mulder. I'm serious."

I take a sip from my mug before looking up at her. There are plum-colored shadows under her eyes and bruises and scrapes still mar her makeup-free face. Her jaw looks sharper than usual. I can tell by the way she's holding herself that she's got something rehearsed and needs to get it out. "Let's hear it."

She sits next to me and runs a manicured finger over the rim of her cup. "Mulder, I think the past couple of nights may have happened for all the wrong reasons."

I've been expecting this and don't entirely disagree, but I want to hear her thoughts. "What reasons are those?"

Scully sets her coffee on the night table and looks down at her hands. "There's been a certain amount of distance between us lately, and I worry that we're trying to bridge it in the wrong way. We've both been so stressed about this case and seeking out…intimacy is a natural reaction to this sort of thing."

I reach behind her, setting my drink next to hers on the table. "I've considered all of that too." She tilts her head up at me as I continue. "But I think there's something more. I think this is also about what happened in Philly."

She draws a sharp breath and looks away.

I take her elbow gently, mindful of the bruises he left on her. "Scully, I don't know what exactly that guy did to you, and you don't have to tell me. But if this is about wanting to erase that somehow, you do need to talk to someone."

She turns slowly back to me with a brittle laugh. "It's not that, Mulder. Truly, it isn't."

Something tells me to believe her. "Okay," I say.

Scully gives me a sad smile. "I hate to think I've screwed things up between us." I must look surprised because she chuckles. "Oh come on, Mulder. I got drunk and threw myself at you the other night."

I nudge her with my shoulder. "Yeah, I guess you did, didn't you? I don't know how you can even face me this morning, Scully."

Her cheeks blaze. "Well, if I remember correctly, you were more than happy to reciprocate," she says defensively, then realizes that I am teasing. She bites her lip and drops her head, trying not to smile.

I slide my arm around her back to pull her closer. I can almost feel her skin beneath the thin shirt, and I close my eyes to recall her tattoo.

Scully rests her head on my shoulder and makes a soft noise. "We're not really very good at this, are we? I mean, four years of uncompromised professionalism, and then we manage to wreck it like this."

I open my eyes. "You think we wrecked things?"

She looks at me in confusion. "Well, I thought we just agreed that what happened was for all the wrong reasons."

I shake my head, taking in the clean scent of her hair. "What I remember, Scully, is you giving me your thoughts and me stating that I had considered them as well. I don't recall us ever having reached a consensus on the matter. In fact," I murmur, taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, "If anything, this conversation indicates we're being completely reasonable and objective."

"Oh," she says. "Is that what it indicates?"

I lean close enough for my lips to brush against hers. "Has it occurred to you, Scully, that perhaps we're just doing this because we want to?"

I can feel her smile. "It's a testable hypothesis. But what will Skinner say?"

"He'll cry."

"Let him."

I kiss her, trailing my fingers along her neck and through her still-damp hair. She's got her hand at the back of my head and is pulling my mouth against hers. Her hand starts unbuttoning my shirt, then slips inside. The touch of her fingers on my chest is electric and there is no chance we're going to be on time for our meeting with Wickham.

Her nails are leaving goose bumps in their wake. I put an arm around her waist, easing her slowly down to the bed. It is with greatly mixed feelings that I stop kissing her so I can stare down. Scully's hair is fanned out around her head, her breath coming quickly, and I reach down to begin opening her shirt. Her lips are parted slightly and she watches me, which is somewhat surprising. I always thought she'd close her eyes.

I know so very little about her.

I'm not supposed to know any of this about her, I remind myself. She's my partner.

Two buttons to go. Two buttons and I can still get up, walk out of here and stop pretending there isn't something else going on because it may not be about Philadelphia, but it's something because her nose keeps bleeding and she's tired and she's watching me unbutton her shirt.

The fabric falls away from her lean body and I think even OPR would accept that sometimes there are just mitigating circumstances.

Her bruises don't shock me this time. The only thought that really occurs to me is that I have a burning desire to know what her skin tastes like. I hold her face in my hands and she turns her head slightly to kiss my palm, then runs her teeth along my thumb. Any lingering blood in my cerebral cortex has just headed south.

My other hand moves slowly down her neck, between the rise of her breasts; down to the smooth skin around her belly button. I slide the tips of my fingers under the waistband of her skirt, where it is stretched across the frame of her hipbones. Her back arches upwards, and she draws my thumb into her mouth, doing things with her tongue that suggest a wellspring of potential.

I lean down to kiss the hard wings of her collarbones. She makes soft murmuring sounds and bats at my hair as I run my tongue over the tops of her breasts, tracing her navel with my forefinger. I move lower, kissing the warm, sweet skin just below her bra, feeling satin pressed against my forehead. Her back rises again and then she makes a sharp, pained noise. I look up as she props herself up on her elbows, which has the alluring effect of pushing her chest out further.

"Scully?"

She smiles ruefully. "My ribs…Mulder, I think…"

"You think too much," I say, cupping her breast and kissing her neck again.

"I think I should probably be on top," she says into my hair.

I don't know who this woman is, but I like her already.

"Then by all means, keep thinking."

She laughs and I kiss her mouth again before she stops me to sit up carefully. I shift to half-sit against the headboard, watching her stand. Her crisp blue dress shirt is loose and obscures most of her bra, her tailored gray skirt still as pressed and unwrinkled as if she had just strolled into the office. But the look on her face is nothing she's ever worn to work.

"Get over here, Scully."

She walks around the bed and eases herself next to me, leaning over to kiss me as she straddles my lap. Her skirt rides up and I press my hands to the sides of her legs, faintly disappointed by the feel of nylon. Disappointment turns to delight as I run my fingers upwards. My, my, Agent Scully is wearing thigh highs.  No garters, but honest-to-god thigh highs just the same. I snap the elastic against her leg.

"Pantyhose pinch at the waist, Mulder. Try to control yourself because these are like twenty bucks a pair."

I'll replace them if I have to.

"Is this a regular thing, Scully? Have you actually been wearing these under your prim little suits for four years without my knowledge?"

She sits back and smirks. "I think three-inch heels are enough of a concession in a job that requires me to chase bad guys on foot. I don't see any need to pack my backside into a straightjacket every morning too."

"I applaud your pragmatism," I say, leaning up to catch her bottom lip between my teeth, wondering how I will ever get through another day at work without risking both our careers.

Scully rolls her shoulders back and her shirt falls to the bed. She reaches around to unhook her bra and rocks against me.

"Scully…" I groan.

Her hands drop to her sides and she cocks her head. "I don't know, Mulder. I think it's getting late."  She checks her watch. "Maybe we should get going." She rises up on her knees.

I grab her by the hips to pull her back down. "Stay right here and I'll make it the best five minutes of your life, baby."

She laughs, tossing her head back; a ray of sunlight playing across the long line of her throat.

"Scully," I say. "Look at me."

She does, her face serious now, watchful as she shifts onto my stomach. I move my hands over her own, up her wrists, following the curves of her arms, before slipping them over her shoulders and down her back.  I trace endless circles on her skin with my palms and fingertips and she sighs dreamily, rolling her neck and trailing her fingers along my chest.

I imagine I can polish her white body until I reveal a layer of skin that no one has touched but me. That I can erase all the damage done and we can start over from here.

Eyes half-lidded, Scully murmurs my name as I unfasten her bra and slide it down her arms. I sit up fully and pull her forward until I get her perfect breasts at eye level. My breath catches in my throat as I run my thumbs over them and she makes liquid sounds at my touch, her fingernails scraping at the headboard behind me

I take her nipple into my mouth and she moans softly, her cool fingers skimming across my face and neck like snowflakes. She rocks back on her knees, grabs my hair and pulls my head backward to kiss me hungrily.

"Mulder," she breathes. Scully's mouth is honeyed, undiluted by alcohol or apprehension. The air between us is heady with the scent of her hair and her skin and her subtle perfume. I start to protest when she pulls away after far too short a time, but I give in when I realize she's removing her underwear. Then she smiles against my lips, her hands going to my belt buckle.

She watches me with her moonstone eyes, opening my zipper and pushing my trousers down. Her fingers pull at the waistband of my boxers and it isn't long before they join the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. She leans forward, kissing her way up my neck, and I close my eyes for a heartbeat as she returns to my lap. I look at her again -  feeling her knees grip my sides - and I bracket her waist with my hands, pressing my thumbs above her hipbones, fanning my fingers up her back as her spine arches towards me. She's crimson and gold, like a drift of autumn leaves and I want to pay her some frivolous compliment because, for the first time, it would not be inappropriate.

We stare at each other as I push up into her. The moment is raw, elemental. Scully is fire and water and I am burning up and drowning in her all at once.

I seriously consider the fact that we may be lucky if it's five minutes after all.

**********

BALTIMORE POLICE HEADQUARTERS
9:50 AM

The bank of karmic retribution is firm with me and I am rarely extended credit. A morning in bed with Scully is undoubtedly going to come at a high price and, having accepted this reality some time ago, I can only wonder when the other shoe will drop.

I need to stop looking at the Scully of forty-five minutes ago superimposed over the woman next to me now. I need to stop hearing her ragged breath in my ear and feeling her elegant little claws digging into my shoulder blades. Her hand brushes mine as she opens the heavy glass door and I blink away the memory of my hands at her bare waist; her skin smooth as vellum with that tumble of new-penny hair burning against her shoulders.

We're twenty minutes late for our meeting at the police station and Wickham greets us with a dark look. "No need to inform me you were running behind. Really, I'm at your beck and call." He slams a thick binder to his desk.

"Detective - " Scully begins. He looks up and regards her a moment too long.

"Your hair looks nice all wavy like that, Agent Scully. Blow dryer broken?"

A faint blush rises high in her cheeks, but it's subtle and the lighting is bad. I will him to shut up anyway.

Scully clears her throat. "As Agent Mulder discussed with you last night, we've concluded that the killer is positioning the women to resemble archers."

"And that the removal of the left breast is related to the mythological practice of the Amazons. The Amazons removed the right breast, but the women were left-handed and, thus, the killer removed the left breast. That's why he wrote 'sinister.' From the Latin sinistra; left," I add.

He sits down and looks at us both slowly. "Oh, so you two are communicating again? That's nice. Glad you were able to work your issues out. I'll assume you decided to forgo the cocaine, but two out of three ain't bad."

To the untrained eye, Scully looks cool as ever. But I can see her beginning to smolder.

"I think we're looking for a man who was abandoned by his mother at an early age. We need to start going through those background checks again," I add before Scully immolates Wickham with the cold fire in her eyes.

Wickham is doubly saved, because Scully's phone rings and after a brief conversation, she informs us that the lab wants her back. She throws the pair of us an indecipherable look and clips to the front door with a purposeful stride.

"I guess you decided to bring her that new microscope after all," Wickham observes dryly after the door swings closed.

"Wickham, I…"

He holds up his hand like a cop directing traffic. "Tell me. Did this first occur before or after your little performance at the crime scene yesterday? I just want to know at exactly what point in the timeline you decided to make me look like an idiot."

"For what it's worth, I truly thought you would be someone good for her."

"But you're better?"

I roll my eyes. "You think I seduced her to spite you? You don't give her much credit."

He looks thoughtful for a moment. I can see him weighing what he's seen of Scully against his desire to be pissed off at me.

"You make a valid point," he concedes.

"I honestly don't think I'm better for her," I tell him. "I'd argue I'm probably the worst thing for her, in fact."

Wickham unbends a paper clip. "You could talk her out of it, you know. Send her running to me."

I laugh. "I'm empathetic, Wickham. Not stupid."

He snorts. "You sleep on a couch and it took you four years to make a move on her? Would you care to define stupid?"

I don't think that will be necessary, thanks.

Jasper of RickandJasper - as I have come to think of them - moseys over with a box of donuts. "Hey," he says amiably. "Breakfast?"

I peer into the box and shake my head. "No thanks. I don't do jelly."

Wickham huffs. "You're such a prima donna."  He helps himself to two and then gives Jasper a dirty look. "Nice shirt, dumbass. You really *are* six, aren't you?""

I look at Jasper's sweatshirt which reads "Remember: You can't spell manslaughter without laughter."

I laugh and Wickham glares at me. "Don't encourage him."

"Sorry. It's funny."

Jasper beams. "See? Some people have a sense of humor. I have to head to class for now but Rick's upstairs printing out some stuff Karen sent over." He puts the bakery box down on the desk.

Jasper walks to the door and Wickham calls, "I've already booked Barney for your seventh birthday party. It's a little early, but his schedule fills up fast. Try to wear something appropriate, would you?"

"Laugh it up old man. I've got my whole life ahead of me."

"Make sure to ask a grownup if you get lost on campus, okay?"

Jasper gives him the finger and heads outside.

I give Wickham a questioning look.

He brushes powdered sugar off his cheek. "Jasper's birthday is Leap Day so we rag on him about it. His sixth-and-three-quarters birthday is a month away. I'm gonna get him a nice Buzz Lightyear or whatever the kids like this year."

Shit. Scully's birthday is coming up, isn't it? What do you buy your partner for her birthday now that you've slept together? There's probably not a delicate way to get Wickham's opinion on the matter.

"Let's go upstairs" Wickham says. "I want to keep anything new as far from prying eyes as possible."

We take the elevator up and when the doors slide open, we almost bump into Rick. "Hey," he says, handing Wickham a sheaf of papers. "I was just on my way down. Printouts on that plastic from the hearts. Karen's been busting her ass on this, so you'd better send some flowers." He winks.

Wickham finishes his second donut and flips through the pages. "This is promising," he says. "Have you been sweet-talking my girl? Why didn't she send this to me?"

Rick smirks. "Let's just say I have a way with the ladies. Besides, Jack, you're moving into geezer territory." He points at Wickham's graying temples.

"It's the difference between grape juice and fine wine," Wickham tells him.

"Wine turns to vinegar," Rick muses.

"Punk."

Rick laughs and gets in the elevator while we head to an office across the hall.

"The techs use this office, so we're okay in here," Wickham says. "Take a look at this and see what you think."

I sit down at a desk and pick up a Xena action figure while I read through the printouts. "Looks like they use a lot of it at Johns Hopkins. We can check it out tomorrow. It'll be pretty dead over there today, plus we're booked solid through the evening already. Nice toy collection in here, by the way."

Wickham examines an action figure of a woman dressed in black and red from the top of the monitor. "We only employ geeks," he says. "It's a job requirement. I don't even know what this thing is."

"Tiamat," I say without thinking. "Dungeons and Dragons. See? Here's a red dragon. Most powerful of the chromatic dragons." I pick it up and make it chase after a plastic Princess Leia. "Help me, Obi-Wan," she simpers in my wavering falsetto. "You're my only hope."

Wickham looks at me incredulously. "If you had any decency at all, you'd set Agent Scully straight on exactly what kind of freak you are."

"I'm Rick James, bitch," says the dragon, while Xena looks on in admiration.

Wickham shakes his head in dismay.

**********

HOLIDAY INN INNER HARBOR
SUNDAY, JANUARY 26TH
4:05 PM

My partner really knows how to pick her moments to become unreachable, I'll tell you that.  The ME's office confirmed that she'd left two hours ago and as I got fed up with hearing the irritatingly calm and friendly tones of her voicemail service, I decided to go back to the hotel. I could not find any logical reason for her to come back there in the middle of the day just as we were finally making progress on the case, but I couldn't think of anything else. Even if she'd spilled coffee on her suit and came here to change, it still doesn't explain why she isn't answering her phone.

I try to quell my rising paranoia. Maybe her battery's just dead.

I knock on her door.

She never lets her battery run out, the stern academic voice of all things Scully chimes in my head. She always has a spare.

I knock on her door again.

Maybe she's gone to church, to confess her morning sin. I can still feel the ghost brush of her skin on mine.

There are quite a few things I will need to add to her profile later.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and speed dial her number for the nth time that day. I hear a chirping sound on the other side of the door. Her phone is in her room. What the hell is going on?

I hurry back to the lobby, racing down the flight of stairs like a bat out of a belfry, and wave my badge around until they give me a double of Scully's key. I rush back upstairs and open her door.

The first thing I see is…well not much. Her curtains are drawn and the room is dark. I switch the lights on.

"Turn the fucking lights off!" Scully's voice snarls at me. The bathroom door slams shut just as I figure out that's where she is.

I turn the lights back off and make my way across her bedroom, wondering what on Earth is causing Scully to swear like that. She hardly ever does.

I lean my hand on the bathroom door. "Hey, Scully? What's going on?"

"Leave me alone, Mulder." Her voice is strange and kind of stuffy, like she's suffering from a cold.

"Scully, you know me better than that. You know I won't leave before you explain what you're doing in a dark bathroom in the middle of the afternoon."

"I have a headache and the light is hurting my eyes. Now go away."

"Not before I see you. I'm coming in, Scully."

"Mulder, no. Just go, please."

If anything, this last plea propels me inside even faster. If Scully doesn't swear often, she begs even less. Something is very, very wrong.

I push on the door handle and step inside. The light coming from the hallway is barely enough to give shape to objects in there. As my eyes adjust to the ashen gloom, I see Scully sitting against the bathtub with her knees up and her head in her hands.

I kneel in front of her and gently lay my hands on her shoulders.

"Hey, Scully. How bad is it?"

She doesn't answer.

I run my fingers along her arms until I reach her hands. I want her to let go of that death grip she has on her head but as I do so I feel something sticky against my fingers. Since I can barely see, I lift a hand to my nose.

I smell blood.

Her hands are covered in blood.

Fuck.

I panic and stand up to turn the bathroom lights on. Scully howls in agony and covers her face with her bloody hands to protect her eyes while rocking back and forth. I immediately hit the light switch again. I've seen enough. The white tiles all around her are smeared with blood.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I fall back down on my knees next to her, and wrap my arms around her, feeling her slender body shake with the tension of what seems to be excruciating pain. "Scully, we need to take you to a hospital."

She tenses even more in my arms. "No."

I let go of her to search for my phone in my coat pocket. "We're not discussing this, Scully. You're going."

Her hand closes on my wrist as I'm about to dial. "Mulder, listen to me. I want you to go over to my bag and get me…"

"Don't even try to talk me out of this," I tell her, pulling my arm away.

She sits up straighter against the tub and I can see her face now in shades of black and grey - the whites of her eyes bracketing the ink wells of her irises - her skin pale as a December sky.

Her hand touches my thigh. "I'm not, but I need you to give me another shot of Imitrex."

I consider this. "And then you will let me call an ambulance?"

"It won't be necessary."

"Scully, I don't care if I have to handcuff you and throw you over my shoulder, but one way or another you are going to the hospital."

She searches for my hand in the dark. "I meant, you can take me there yourself, there's no need for an ambulance. Help me up."

I help her stand up and she leans heavily against me as we make our way across her room to her bed. Once she is lying down, I go around the bed to set the bedside lamp on the floor and cover it with one of her blue shirts. A soft blue glow fills the room when I hit the switch and fortunately, Scully seems okay with it. She asks me for a damp cloth to wipe the blood off her face, then directs me to a paper bag from the pharmacy that sits on top of files on her desk.

"When did you get this?" I ask her. "Is this why you left earlier? You wrote yourself a prescription?"

She pulls the cloth down over her eyes, nodding weakly. "My headaches have been getting worse," she reluctantly admits while I prepare the injection.

"You could have said something."

"We're in the middle of a case, Mulder. I didn't want to distract you with my personal problems."

Except, Scully, that your personal problems made you sloppy enough to forget something important. Oh, I won't say it to your face; I know you've been digging into that guilt pie all by yourself, just by the way your eyes avoid mine whenever the name April Larsen is mentioned.

I approach the bed, syringe in hand. "How do you wanna do this?"

She removes the cloth from her eyes and gives me a priceless look before lifting her sleeve.

"Have fun," she murmurs.

I sit by her side and carefully give her the shot. "Unlike you, Scully, I don't get off on needles," I tell her once I've finished, rolling her sleeve back down.

"No, Mulder. You just get off on the results," she replies weakly before curling up in a fetal position, her breathing shallow and rasping.

I bite my tongue, aware that I'm being mean for no reason. I guess I'm a little angry she felt like she couldn't confide in me about this. The voice of Ed Jerse drifts back in my head - "She talked to me, man."

Well she fucked me too, but she still doesn't talk. Must be something I'm doing wrong. I lean over her and gently brush her hair behind her ear to kiss her temple. "Is it working?"

Her hand comes up and blindly pats the side of my head. "It will."

"I'm going to go to my room but I'll be back right away."

She makes a little humming noise and lets her hand fall back on the bed.  I stand up and leave her room, quietly closing her door behind me.

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

I return fifteen minutes later with a bloodstain-free shirt. Wickham has assured me over the phone that he doesn't need my sorry ass down at the station. I find Scully fast asleep in her bed, snoring like a retired general. After arguing with myself for a good long while, I decide to let her sleep for now. I gather the stack of files from her desk and choose use her bathroom as a study rather than going back to my own place.

Archimedes solved his problem while sitting in his tub. Maybe I should try it.

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

HOLIDAY INN INNER HARBOR
SUNDAY, JANUARY 26TH
7:04 PM

"Mulder, what are you doing in my bathtub?"

He jerks awake, scattering the papers on his lap, and stares up at me with a slightly disoriented air.

"Scully?"

He sits up, yawning and rubbing his eyes, while I do my best not to melt at how adorable he looks right now, with his hair standing up in every direction.

"Care to explain what you are doing here?"

He checks his watch. "Missing the Super Bowl kickoff, apparently." He gathers the papers around him, then stands up to step out of the tub.

"There was no need for you to stay here," I point out, reaching for my toothbrush and searching for the toothpaste in the toiletry bag I left opened by the sink.

"I was waiting for you to wake up to take you to the hospital, remember?"

Honestly Mulder, I don't remember much except that a teeth shattering pain drove me to my knees, as I felt like a burning needle was slowly being inserted behind my eyeballs.

"As you can see, there is no need for that now. I'm fine." I slide the toothbrush in my mouth and in the mirror I see Mulder's reflection hesitate and throw me an unreadable look before leaving me alone to my ablutions.

All I feel now is a lingering tenderness in my neck and jaw along with a deep weariness that makes my muscles feel like wet cotton balls. My fingernails are encrusted with blood and I feel sticky with sweat.

I need a shower.

I know Mulder is right, I tell myself while peeling off my clothes. I need to get myself checked into a hospital. I think I just experienced what is called a cluster headache - what migraines want to be when they grow up - but I am aware that these debilitating symptoms could indicate any number of other conditions. Including multiple sclerosis and brain tumors.

You have something I need.

I step under the spray and run my hands in my hair. The time for the stubborn denial at which I excel is over. Once this case is closed I will have to find out what is happening to me.

Under the water, I join my hands and start praying for my body to hold on just a little while longer.

Please Lord, let me hold on just a few more days.

**********