You should know: This story contains adult material including sexuality,
child abuse, and murder.  Sensitive readers may want to be on the lookout
to skip parts that may be offensive.  Things do get graphic.
Category: Scully angst
Summary: Assigned to find a horrifying serial murderer, Agent Scully
discovers things about herself and her past that she never suspected.

Anamorphosis - Greek, to form anew.  "the unfoldment of destinies
follows ...upon the fall of outer circumstances...[a] substantial event was
actually but a veil, a tissue of circumstance, conjured forth or the
realization of a plot already formed." [Joseph Campbell, _Creative
Mythology_]

Comments appreciated more than you know.

begun July 30, 1998; finished September 28, 1998
________________________
Anamorphosis
by Megan Reilly
eponine@prodigy.net
________________________

-1-

	The first time it happened, she was alone.  Headache touched her
forehead, so she'd closed her eyes for just a second.  The black behind her
eyelids was so quiet and comforting.
	When she opened her eyes one second later, thirty minutes had
gone by.

	The holidays used to be her favorite time of year.  The ritual of
Thanksgiving dinner.  She remembered from the time she was a very
small child, sitting on one of the tall stools so she could see her mother
over the kitchen counter.  Cooking wasn't all women did in those days, but
it was what her mother did.  Even when she was in school with medical
books piled higher than her eyebrows, she picked up her feet from
wherever she was and headed home.
	For turkey.  For family.  For home.
	A light drizzle was falling. It wouldn't have been so bad except it
was seven thirty at night in the last week of November and the wind chill
was less than twenty degrees.  She wasn't wearing a coat and her sweater
had somehow become unbuttoned.  It was ripped and she was freezing.  A
tree branch above her head was channeling water to drip directly down the
back of her shirt in torturous rhythm.
	It seemed even colder as fog began to roll in, obscuring the beam
from the flashlight she was holding. "Hey!"  Mulder yelled, but when he
turned to look at her, the fog was too thick for her to see his face.
	"Got it!" one of the other officers yelled.  Cooperatively, the fog
drifted away to reveal a child's body, fully exposed and perhaps a few
hours dead.  Blood had congealed in the most terrible places.
	Mulder said her name as she took a step in closer, trying to catch
her with hands she ignored.  But he was right to have tried to protect her. 
Her eyes seemed to bulge and she couldn't turn away fast enough.  The
knife handle was still stuck up into the girl, blood pooling on her thighs. 
Femoral artery compromised. Scully didn't know where to put her hands -
over her eyes or her mouth.  Her lunch, long forgotten, rushed up and
answered the question.
	"Crime scene sullied by agent with pathology degree."  Her face
burned in shame imagining the report even as she retched.  Then she had
to meet Mulder's solemn, sad eyes.  She didn't know why they were there.

	She was trembling in the locker room.  Even indoors, she hadn't
been able to get warm.  Not even wrapping herself in Mulder's body-
heated coat at the scene had helped.  Nothing would.  A girl was dead,
horribly.  Now she had the task of incurring further injury to the body in
order to try to find the monster who had done this.
	And it was a monster.   There was no mistake.  Just as terrible a
monster as she had ever faced.
	The clock had pushed past midnight and she had hours of work
ahead of her.  Standing there shaking did no one any good.  She didn't
know why this affected her so deeply.  She had seen other cases; even
other cases of child abuse or sexual abuse.  None of them had been like
this.
	She forced herself through the heavy door into the other, colder
room.  Her hands shook too badly to peel back the sheet that covered the
girl's slight form.  It took several minutes of deep, concentrated breathing
to coordinate the movement.
	Thank god they'd removed the knife.
	Her vision started to buzz a little around the edges.  Blood was
fighting for access to her brain and losing.  I'm going to faint, she thought,
with quite a bit of surprise.
	She didn't even feel herself fall.

	She didn't know how much time had passed.  She was sitting on
the bench in the locker room, dressed.  She didn't remember changing out
of her scrubs.  The fear of not remembering overwhelmed the calm she
had felt when she'd opened her eyes.
	"Someone else will have to do the post mortem," she told the
'assistant'/lab guard.  Her hands had stopped shaking.  Scully had never
refused to do something before. Never, in her entire FBI career.  She
wondered if there would be repercussions.  They wouldn't be enough to
change her mind and go back into that morgue.
	An hour later, she lay in bed, eyes open wide, listening to the
drizzle pound into the street.  She couldn't sleep.  Why did she feel this
way?  Inside, she felt as cold and closed off as ever before, but at the same
time, she felt like the fortress around her was about to collapse.  She didn't
want that to happen, but she didn't know what she could do to stop it.
	It was morning before she realized the night had passed.

	"I thought you said you didn't do the autopsy."  He sounded almost
accusing when she walked into the office the next morning.  A glance at
his puffy, tired eyes confirmed he hadn't slept any more than she had.  She
got weary; Mulder got cranky.
	She shook her head, sipping her coffee.  It tasted terrible and she
didn't want the caffeine.  But she wasn't sure she could survive without it.
	"Somebody did," he told her.  His eyes didn't leave hers as he sat
down across from her.  "I know there are elements of this case that disturb
you," he said diplomatically.  Trying to begin a discussion.
	Elements?  She could have laughed.  He'd taken his sympathetic
listener mode, folding his hands and opening the conversation, tilting his
head and waiting patiently for a reply.  She wondered if they taught that in
psychology classes.	
	If she didn't let him inside, she would crack.
	"I...kind of...blanked it out," she admitted with difficulty, trying to
make what was crazy sound casual.  She waited for him to make a
judgment, to confirm her worst fears and tell her she needed to seek help
immediately.
	But he nodded, like he understood.  She thought that he did. 
Maybe what she was feeling was normal. Maybe there was nothing wrong
with her.  She had hared out, the way Mulder did sometimes. Maybe
everyone did that sometimes.
	"You don't have to push yourself," he said.
	She didn't want him to go this alone. She also knew this case had
the very real potential to destroy her.  She didn't know why, but she knew
that it could.  She looked down at the report, filled out in her own neat
handwriting and worried that she didn't remember filling out the form,
didn't remember the incisions or the weights or the stitches when she was
finished.
	"That's why you can't be a doctor.  I can read your writing," Missy,
teasing her, that Christmas she'd joined the FBI.  Missy had tried to be
supportive.  She was the only one.
	She pushed the report at her partner.  "I'm leaving for San Diego at
noon."
	He didn't say anything.  Just nodded with his eyes on the pages. 
He'd told her she could walk away from the case, and now he was
disappointed because she had.
	"Maybe..." she stopped.  He looked at her. What was she thinking? 
Was she really about to suggest he go to California with her?  Even her
mother couldn't buffer the animosity between Mulder and Bill.  And it
wasn't her place.
	"Maybe you should step away, too," she finished lamely.
	He shook his head.
	"Have a happy Thanksgiving," he told her at noon.
	"See you Monday."  She took a long time putting on her coat,
hesitant to leave.  She had a bad feeling hanging over her.  She'd thought it
was about the case.  Now she wasn't so sure.

	The plane was packed and turbulent.  The attendants couldn't even
get drinks served.  Scully didn't want anything to drink anyway, because
then she'd have to careen down the long, jouncy aisle to the toilet.  She
was already mildly ill from the turbulence.
	When she put her head against the window and closed her eyes, the
plane jumped.  She could hear the woman next to her breathing.  Scully's
teeth clacked together as the plane lost several more feet of altitude.
	Across the aisle, she noticed a little girl.  She had a long blond
ponytail and sweet blue eyes, but she looked sad.  Scully wished she had
some gum to give to the child - she probably looked sad because the
pressure in the plane hurt her ears.  It made Scully's ache.
	The girl made Scully feel sad.  Going back to San Diego made her
feel sad. Matthew was a year old.  She wondered if he'd be walking or
talking.  Her class on childhood development in med school had been at 8
am; she hadn't learned much.
	She glanced at the girl, who was still staring at her plaintively. 
Next to her, a smaller blond boy began to squirm and wail in his seat.  The
sound was loud enough to perforate Scully's ears even before the boy's
father slapped him, which only amplified the screaming.
	Scully flinched, but then grew even more horrified as the father
replaced his hand back on the little girl's upper thigh.
	Her heart was beating much too fast.
	It doesn't mean anything, she told herself.
	Doesn't it?
	You don't know.
	And yet she did.
	The headache was back. She couldn't do anything about it, so she
closed her eyes and hung on to the armrests, anxious for the plane ride to
end. Maybe a rest was just what she needed.  A vacation.  It might do her
good.

	She wasn't going to rest at Bill's.  Things were awkward, worse
than before. Hadn't she written enough letters?  Called frequently enough? 
No, probably she hadn't, when she thought about it, which she hadn't done
before.
	Her mom didn't even hug her.  Margaret Scully was holding her
grandson Matthew.  I've finally fallen out of favor with them all, Scully
thought, lugging her suitcase out to the car.  At least she didn't have to ride
back to the house alone in the car with Bill.	
	"You look terrible."
	"Bill!"  Trashy Tara slapped his arm.
	"Well, she does. Doesn't she, Mom?"
	She wanted to tell them.  She wanted to tell them where she'd been
the night before, what she had seen.  The words seemed to bubble up,
filling her until she had to grind her teeth and concentrate on keeping
them inside.
	"Are you all right, Dana?" her mother asked, ever concerned.
	She nodded.  "Headache. Jet lag. I didn't sleep last night."
	"Ginseng for energy!" Tara proclaimed.
	Tara was a kook.  Scully knew she didn't need ginseng; what was
wrong with her couldn't be cured so easily by a bottle from GNC.  She
remembered Bill's wedding to Tara.  It had been meant to seem
whimsical, but failed.  Tara would never look like fairy tale princess,
given all the flowers and satin in the world.  She was a California princess
and it was all she'd ever be.
	Her father had been alive then.
	She didn't want to go in the house.  It felt like she was repeating
the previous Christmas.  She was repeating so many old days, not all of
them good.  They had lived a fair portion of her childhood in a house
identical to this one, on this same military base. Five years.
	Bill looked older.  Worry lines. The product of fatherhood?  Or
had he simply heard the same rumor she had, that this would be the next
California base to close?
	"Go to bed," her mother told her and gratefully, she did.
	The nightly ritual didn't comfort her.  The face cream, the
toothpaste, the initial slick slide of silk pajamas...none of them really
seemed to reach her.  Her head was getting worse.  A soak in the tub
might have helped, she thought, but she didn't want to take off her clothes.
There was something uncomfortable about bathing in other peoples'
houses.
	So she drifted, lying in the dark, trying not to be conscious of the
time that didn't pass and the family she didn't feel a part of.  Her mother
spent most of the winter in San Diego now, helping Tara with the baby
and enjoying the sunshine and warmth. It was doubtless only a matter of
time until Margaret moved to California permanently.
	Scully knew the sun would shine the next day.  Maybe it would be
a relief.
	After she heard everyone go to bed, she got up again, sneaking
through the quiet house like an intruder.  She just walked through the
rooms, discontent and remembering.
	She jumped, reaching for a gun that wasn't there when the light in
the kitchen came on.  Bill chuckled and she felt small.  "You are tense." 
His smile was cold.  "You jumped a foot."
	"Milk," she said, opening the refrigerator.  There were two gallons
housed inside.  Both full fat. Whatever.
	"So tell me about the FBI," Bill commented in the same tone he'd
used the ridicule her from the time they were children. Her hand slipped
on the milk and it plopped back to the shelf.  Tara shopped at Ralph's.
	"Dana."
	She wanted to tell him.  She wanted to spit every word in his
smug, bullyish face.  She wanted him to be her father and hold her just
because she was scared.  She wanted Mulder desperately.
	"There..."  her voice shook and the pain in her head was suddenly
breathtaking.
	"Tell me about your partner."
	"Knock it off."  Bill looked shocked, standing there in his
sweatpants as she pushed past him.  She'd never done that before.  She
could defend herself now.
	It occurred to her it was a strange thought to have.  Then she lay
down in bed and sleep engulfed her quickly.

	Tara was cooking. There was no joy in slipping into the kitchen
and popping morsels into her mouth.  The Scully torch had been handed
down...to Tara.  Bill was lost in a football game on TV and her mother
was playing with the baby.
	No room for Scully.
	"I'm going for a run."  If there was any pleasure in wearing shorts
in November, it was lost on her.
	"You don't weigh enough already."
	She tugged at the hem of the shorts.  She didn't want Bill looking
at her body and judging her.  He wouldn't understand.  Some exercise
wouldn't hurt his wife any, either.  She didn't care about calories.  She
wanted release.  She wanted escape.
	"Dinner's at fourteen hundred."  Another military command.
Maybe Bill'd get to be Admiral yet.  Show up Dad. That might make him
happy.  Scully only got more annoyed.
	She ran slowly, her muscles unwilling and unhappy.  Even with her
blood flowing, a hint of headache threatened.  She couldn't stop thinking
about the case.  It had been twenty four hours.  That was a long time in an
investigation.
	Bill would disapprove, so she stopped outside a deserted Circle K
store and used her phone card.  "Mulder, it's me."
	"Scully?"  He sounded so shocked.
	"How are you?"
	"There's been another one."
	Her knees buckled unexpectedly, leaving her clinging to the
receiver and leaning against a stone wall that had been painted over with
graffiti.  "Should I come back?" she asked.
	"No.  Look, I got to go."  He hung up on her.
	She replaced the phone.  She was crying.  It didn't even feel good. 
It certainly didn't make any sense.  She stood there, taking deep breaths
but the tears kept falling, sobs coming from somewhere too deep inside to
identify.
	"Lady, are you okay?"
	She raised her head.  Concerned citizen.  She closed her mouth and
nodded and he hurried into the convenience store.  She was a crazy lady at
the Circle K.
	She walked back to Bill's.  Her eyes still felt red and puffy so she
walked around the block again.  She didn't want them to know she'd been
crying.  Ever since she was a child, there was shame in tears. Boys didn't
cry. She remembered being afraid when Melissa would cry. Melissa cried
regularly, but Scully never did.
	Maybe Dana cries.
	The thought startled her. Coming crisp and clear like a voice in her
head. She was Dana, wasn't she?  If she wasn't, when had she stopped
being her and where had Dana gone?
	The voice didn't answer.  That was probably a good thing.
	Scully went into the house.
	"Where the hell have you been?"  Bill jumped on her the instant
she opened the door.  She froze, startled by his anger.  "We were going to
go looking for you."
	She looked blankly at him.
	"It's almost four o'clock, damn it!"
	"I lost track of the time."
	"Bill," Tara tugged at his arm.  "It doesn't matter."
	"She always does this!"
	Tara glared at her husband and reached for Scully's hand.  Scully
jumped back and realized it was the wrong thing to have done when she
saw Tara's eyes. Tara liked touching people. Scully didn't like being
touched uninvited.  "Dana, have some supper."
	"She doesn't get any!" Bill roared.
	"Bill," Tara said gently.
	"I'm not that hungry," Scully mumbled.  "I'm sorry." She headed up
the stairs to the room she was using, wondering if she could get a flight
back. She'd already ruined the holiday, what more was there to do?
	The shower felt good.  Hot, stinging spray and so much steam it
would have set the smoke alarm in her apartment to beeping.  She didn't
want to open the bathroom door and let the warmth out of her cocoon, but
she did.
	They were fighting about her.
	She couldn't stand in the hall, dripping in her towel, listening to
them argue about her.  But she could still hear them in the room with the
door closed.
	"Dana's just tired.  She's got a very stressful job."
	"I've been to war!  Dana is an irresponsible bitch."
	"Bill."
	"It's true.  She hurt your feelings by missing dinner -"
	" - I don't care about dinner -"
	" - and she did this last time!"
	Scully closed her eyes and leaned against the door, listening to
Tara defend her to her own brother.
	"This can't be easy for Dana after -"
	"She has always  been selfish.  What about our problems.  Did you
whine to her about the miscarriages?  Did I whine to her about the Gulf?
No, but it's all about Dana, isn't it, and I'm so sick of this!"
	"Bill, don't go up there."
	Please, Bill, don't come up here. There was no lock on the door.
	"Calm down. Dana's not worth it."
	The funny thing was, they were talking about Scully.  If she was
Dana, they'd be happy.  Dana was always good and dutiful.  Dana didn't
zone out and even when Dana was stressed, she managed to be pleasant.
	She wasn't Dana anymore.  She was Scully.  Her family didn't like
Scully.
	Scully wanted to call Mulder, but there wasn't a phone in the room. 
Kids didn't have their own phones in her family.  If she went downstairs,
Bill would yell at her more and she didn't want to hear it.  She knew she
was acting weird. She couldn't help it.
	But in Washington DC, there was another little girl dead.  Had he
done it the same way?
	She dug through her bags, searching for her cell phone. She didn't
have it.  Who would Mulder call if he needed help?  Scully was unreliable. 
When had she started to be?  The same time she got to be "Scully"?
	She watched the sun go down.  Even once it was dark, she didn't
turn on a light. Once, she heard light footsteps pause by the closed door.
Her mother. But she didn't say anything and walked away just as quietly. 
They all thought she was asleep.
	After a while, she was.
	A sonic boom woke her at a little past one.  It woke Matthew, too,
and he cried.  She could feel those cries inside her empty, barren body. 
Her blood seemed to ring with them.
	Was no one going to comfort him?
	She lay there for five minutes, gritting her teeth and feeling her
muscles knot.  Bill and Tara were terrible parents.  Knowing she shouldn't,
but unable to listen to that sound for another second, she slipped out of
bed down to the baby's room.
	He wasn't wet and he didn't stop crying when she fingered his
cheek, trying to reassure him that someone cared.
	Gingerly and reluctantly, she picked him up. What next?  He fit in
her arms.   She almost dropped him as his head sought her breast.
	Then he only cried harder because she clearly was not his mother. 
"Let me take him." Tara.  Finally.  Scully handed him over and she took
him to her breast, unembarrassed.  Scully could only stare.
	"Is it common to breast feed so long?" Scully asked.
	"In the olden days, women nursed their children for two years or
more."  Tara looked at her.  "I thought you were a doctor."
	"Out of practice." The silent felt awkward.  "Excuse me."  She
slipped back into the room she was using, feeling more empty and scared
than she had before.

-2-

	"How did you sleep?" her mother asked pleasantly at breakfast the
next morning.
	"Okay."  A lie.  Scully was a liar.  Was there ever a time she hadn't
lied out of necessity?
	Her mother nodded, accepting the answer.  It amazed Scully that
they had nothing to say to each other.
	"Mom, have I changed?"  She blurted the words out suddenly, the
only way she could ask about herself and Dana that would make any
sense.
	"You're just tired," her mother assured her.  It wasn't reassuring at
all.  "I'm going out to the sales, do you want to come?"
	She knew she should buy a big gift for Matthew to put under the
tree and a hostess gift for Tara, but she didn't want to go to the mall and
face thousands of mad shoppers.  "No, it's okay."
	Her mother nodded.  More distance.  Scully barely noticed when
she slipped out of the kitchen.
	The house was quiet.  Too quiet.  Tara and Matthew must have
gone shopping as well.  Tara seemed the type to skip breakfast, Scully
thought.  Or maybe she was just overweight from nursing the baby.
	The house felt empty and quiet and foreboding.  Silence like this
raised gooseflesh on her arms.
	They were putting up the tree tomorrow.  She could do them a
favor, she figured, and bring the ornament boxes up from the basement. 
Since she didn't have anything else to do, and they were all mad at her and
out doing useful things like holiday shopping.
	She got as far as the basement door and couldn't go in.  Bad things
had happened down there. She'd hidden Bill's rabbit down there, the one
that she loved but he didn't really, when she was mad at him.  He said he
was going to kill it, but it had died anyway.
	Why had Bill threatened to kill the rabbit?  Why had he been so
angry and she been so angry back?  It seemed very strange to her to
remember the result but not the reason for the argument, when was so
clear in her mind and the other not clear at all.
	Bill told her there were dead bodies down there. In the basement.
Buried under the floor, like in Edgar Allen Poe.  This had been right after
her grandmother died when she was eight and he was eleven.  Missy
hadn't believed it, at ten, and called her a baby for being scared.  She'd
tried not to let it show.
	Dead bodies in the basement. She shivered.  Bad little girls.
	She went upstairs to call Mulder, pausing a moment so she would
sound normal when she spoke to him.  But he didn't answer the phone. 
Her heart rate increased as she hit the redial button, but it continued to
ring, unanswered.  Her palms were sweating as she misdialed his home
number twice.  Even when she got it right, it rang and rang as his cell
phone had done.
	If he were hurt, someone would have called.
	Except she didn't have her cell phone with her and Bill was angry
with her.  He wouldn't have given her any messages about work or
Mulder.  She imagined Skinner, reticent to say too much.
	She couldn't call Skinner.
	She went down to the basement to find the ornaments.  The entire
time she was down there, she felt like someone was watching her.  The
eyes of the dead were trained on her back.  Every few minutes, she
glanced up to the top of the stairs to make certain no one had locked her
in.
	Such an irrational fear, she told herself.  Had she been locked in
the basement accidentally as a child?  She couldn't remember anything
like that happening, but it was odd the way childhood memories became
like photographs - individual moments of time with lots of black space in
between.
	She startled Tara when she went upstairs.  The other woman
screamed and jumped and grabbed at her heart overdramatically.  "Sorry,"
Scully said sheepishly.
	"I thought you'd gone out."
	"I thought you were shopping," Scully countered.  "I brought up the
ornaments."
	"Thank you."  Tara helped her put them in the corner that had been
cleared for the tree.  Then Tara went back to her soap opera and Scully sat
down in the chair, pulling one of the photo albums from the shelf into her
lap and opening it.  She didn't know what she was looking for. Memories,
she supposed.
	She was looking for the moment she'd stopped being Dana.
	But there wasn't a photo of that. She knew, though. After her
abduction, after she'd been kidnapped.  Scully didn't get hurt the way Dana
did. And she wasn't soft, anywhere.  Her hair was shorter and redder and
straighter and Scully weighed less than Dana, because Dana had a
weakness for Mrs. Fields' and iced mochas.  Scully never ate cookies and
she ran like she could outrun the devil and she fought with her partner.
	There was only one picture of Scully in the album. A photo at the
hospital after Matthew's birth.  Everyone was smiling but her.  Her
daughter had just died.
	It was silly to call Emily her daughter. She wasn't in any sense but
the biological.
	"What're you looking at?" Tara asked.  Scully just shook her head,
going back to the beginning to look at the pictures of Dana.
	Dana was a sturdy little girl with red ringlets and an ever present
smile.  Dana had been an ugly, fat teenager for a while.  Dana had been a
little bit wild later on.
	Then she joined the FBI and there were no more pictures until the
one from last year.  She closed the book.
	"Find what you were looking for?"
	She shrugged, not knowing.  She felt drained, joining Tara on the
couch and slumping in front of the TV.  A woman, dressed conservatively,
was having a conversation with her evil, dark wigged twin in the mirror.
	Tara felt the need to explain the inane soap opera plot.  "See, she's
got a split personality but nobody knows yet except for her illegitimate
brother her father had with her best friend when she was young, because
her personality and his personality are dating each other.  The father used
to, you know, abuse her when she was little.  First she had these dreams..."
	"Please," Scully said and Tara looked at her.  "The case I came
here to get away from..."  Was that any excuse?  Tara was still staring at
her.
	"Had a split personality?"
	Scully shook her head.  The show returned from commercial and
Scully thought about  Melissa Ephesian.  At the time, she'd dismissed the
woman's every claim. But after she died, Scully had wondered. Maybe the
woman had genuinely had a disorder.  Clearly, she was disturbed...abused
by her stepfather and her husband...
	She wanted to call Mulder.
	"Why is Bill so angry with me?" she asked Tara.
	Tara's eyes slid away.
	"I shouldn't come for Christmas," Scully said mildly.
	"No," Tara said, looking at her, becoming more animated.  She
was disagreeing with her.  "We have to bring this family closer.  Heal the
ties, not break them."
	Scully knew she was right.  "Is it okay if I use the phone?"
	Tara nodded.
	"Are you happy?"  She stopped to ask her sister in law.
	Tara nodded again.
	Scully went to call Mulder.  He still didn't answer and worry
gnawed at her.  She walked out of the house, walking down to the PX on
base to find a present for Bill, Tara and the baby.
	"Baby's First Christmas." It was cheesy and ugly and sent a dagger
into her own heart, but she bought it anyway.
	Tara loved it.  Scully went with them to buy the tree.  The entire
experience felt wrong without snow, buying from a lot next to a busy car
wash.  California Christmas. She'd grown to used to the east coast.  And it
was too early.  Their dad only let them have a tree for three days, and by
then the good trees were usually gone.
	She never bothered any more.  Not since her father's last words to
her had been a chastisement over the tree.  She envied Mulder a little. 
Being alone was honest.  Being alone with your own family was just
pathetic.
	Tara squealed with at the gift and showed it to the baby, who tried
to eat it.  The kid was going to be fat. Scully just knew it. Oh, well.
	"Mom, did I ever get locked in the basement?" she asked.
	Her mother shot her an odd look. "Not that I know of."
	Scully shrugged.  "I just had the weirdest feeling when I was down
there yesterday."
	"Half the time I couldn't keep track of where you all were." Her
mother smiled.  "My rambunctious ones."  Scully smiled, too, but it felt
forced.  "Bill -"
	"Mom!"  She didn't want her to ask Bill.  It was silly.  A silly
feeling.
	"Did Dana ever get locked in the basement when you were kids?" 
her mother continued anyway.
	Bill's eyes changed.  Dark and hard.  Scully'd seen eyes like that
before.  Killers. Liars.  That came as a jolt to her.
	"Why do you ask that?"  His voice was light but she could feel that
gaze.
	"When I was down there, I thought I was remembering something,"
she explained, embarrassed.
	"Don't lock the door!"  It was her voice screaming in terror.  "Don't
lock it!"  Her voice when she was a child.
	At that exact moment, Bill said,  "No."
	He was lying.
	"Dana never got locked in the basement."
	He was lying!
	She felt sick and scared and didn't know why. Why would he lie? 
What had happened?  Mom knew about the rabbit.  But maybe he didn't
want to remind her.  Scully felt herself calming down.
	When the tree was decorated, she went to bed, glad she was
leaving in the morning.  Going home. Her family wasn't home any more. 
And that made her sad.

	Bill glared at her all the way to the airport. It was four o'clock in
the morning. Her mother had bid them a sleepy farewell and gone back to
bed.  Bill had to work at six.
	"Why did you ask Mom that yesterday?"  he demanded as her
flight was called to board.
	Scully looked him straight in the eye.  "Why did you lie?"
	He took a step back.  "Have a nice flight."  She watched him walk
away.  Then she shook her head and let the attendant take her boarding
pass.

	Mulder met her plane.  It was cold in the airport and even felt
rainy.  She'd gotten used to California weather awfully fast.  She spotted
him lurking to one side of the gate area, looking grim. She walked over to
him quickly.  "What happened?"
	His eyes were velvety as he wrapped his arms around her and held
her tight.  "Mulder, what happened?" she demanded.  This was weird,
really weird. She didn't like it at all.
	Finally, he let her go and looked down at her. "I needed that." His
voice was low and ashy like he'd been crying.
	She frowned, her brows drawing together painfully, but she'd
needed the hug herself.  He took her bag from her shoulder and carried it
for her.  "How's the family?" he asked.
	"It's not home any more," she said after a thought.
	He nodded.
	"How's the case?"  There was no reaction.  Not even a shrug. 
"Mulder." Her voice was warning. It was cold outside.  She stared at him,
waiting.  "Something did happen.  You weren't answering your phone."
	"I shot him."
	Her first thought was, I leave you alone for three days and this is
what happens? But she said, "I'm sorry."
	"There's a copy cat." He tossed her bag into the back of the car. 
She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach.
	"How do you know it's not..."  She turned to him as she buckled
her seat belt.
	"PCR."  His voice was still low.
	"Are you okay?" she asked.
	"Laryngitis," he replied.  He started the car and pulled out into the
rain-slicked post holiday mess.
	Mulder had spent three days wondering if he'd shot the wrong man. 
He'd hard to wait for DNA results to come back to know it was a copycat
and not the same killer.  She wished she'd stayed with him.
	It was a quiet drive until he pulled up in front of her apartment
building. "I'd like to get married at Christmas," Mulder said.  His eyes
were fixed on an object through the windshield.
	"To who?" she asked.
	He looked at her and she knew. He was serious.
	"This Christmas?"  Her voice turned high and small, a great
contrast to his illness-damaged one.
	"Can I come inside?"
	"All this to get to come inside?"  It wasn't much of a joke.  He got
wet in the rain retrieving her bag from the trunk.  His hair flopped down in
his eyes and droplets collected on his eyelashes and lips.
	She threw the bag on the bed and grabbed a towel for him, rubbing
his hair dry as he bent his head low enough for her to reach.  She was
worried about him.  She tossed the towel down and went for the hot cocoa
in the kitchen - the real kind, made with milk. When she carried the mugs
into the living room, he had the towel pulled around him like a blanket.
	"When did you get sick?" she asked, touching his clammy skin.  He
didn't jerk away.  She wanted to check his throat.
	"The night it happened. The night you left."
	"I'm sorry I went.  It was a terrible visit."
	"Terrible how?" he asked, leaning back and relaxing.
	She shrugged.  Terrible in vague ways, ones she couldn't define. 
The dreams and the weird feelings and the isolation.
	"You haven't answered my question." He pressed the hot ceramic
mug against her skin like he was branding her.  She shivered because she
liked it.
	"You haven't asked me a question," she pointed him out.  Why
wasn't she scared?  Maybe it was being on her own turf again, so she didn't
have to be scared of her own shadow.
	He looked stricken. Why? He hadn't really been asking, had he? 
Now she looked stricken.  She couldn't leave it there.  So she said, "I've
always enjoyed fall weddings."
	A light went on in his eyes.
	"Are you still on the case?" she asked, snuggling her cold feet
between the couch cushions.
	He shook his head, picking up her foot and rubbing it between his
hands.  She closed her eyes and practically purred with the sensation.  His
hands were hot and masculinely rough against her tender, travel swollen
feet.
	When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. Kiss him, said
that voice in her head. The Dana voice.  Dana would kiss him. Dana
wouldn't be scared.
	I can't, Scully argued, he's sick.
	Shut up, Dana ordered and Scully would likely be having laryngitis
too.
	"Sweet Dana," he mumbled, mussing her hair as he hugged her,
post-kiss.  She felt herself stiffen.
	"Do you want me to be Dana?" she asked him.
	He looked surprised.  "I just...thought..." he sputtered.
	She'd confused him.  She was confused herself.  When had all this
happened?  Dana, Scully, did it make a difference?  He could call her
"ugly" in that tone and it would still mean he loved her.
	If she married him she'd have another name.
	If?
	"Maybe I should go."
	"It's still raining," she protested.
	He looked at her with plain longing.  "I don't want to mess this up.
Not yet anyway."  He kissed her softly on the head and walked away. It
was cold without him, and worse than that, it was lonely.

	Skinner gave her the autopsies to go over.  They were waiting,
piled up on her desk. Mulder wasn't there. He'd been suspended for a
month for shooting the killer and sentenced to counseling.  It was routine. 
She missed him.
	The crime scene photos turned her blood to ice. The autopsy
photos were worse.  No woman should have to suffer such horrors. And
this had been done to little girls.
	The copy cat's victim had red-gold ringlets and a Catholic school
uniform.
	The meeting with Skinner was very odd.  She could hear herself
talking but didn't know where the words were coming from. Clinical and
detached, while somewhere deep inside, she was crying.
	"There's no report here on the shooting,"  She managed to break
through to say.
	Skinner's face tightened. He took off his glasses and placed them
carefully on the desk. He looked at them for a second to verify that they
were just so.  Skinner was like that.  OCD or paranoia or a little of both,
everything in Skinner's world was Just So. His eyes when he looked at her
were startling.
	"Were you there?" she asked.
	"Agent Mulder did nothing wrong."  A hesitation.  It was wrong to
shoot an untried man.  "The perpetrator did not respond to commands to
desist."
	This bothered her.  "He was...?" her throat closed around the words
so tightly she couldn't get them out.
	She didn't need to.  Skinner nodded.  She spent a long time sitting
down in the basement that afternoon, staring at nothing.  Looking at the
picture every so often.  Deadening herself to it, she hoped. She would be
no use to anyone if she couldn't face this madman.  Carelessness cost
lives.

-3-

	It happened again that night as she was lying on the couch in her
fireplace warmed living room, overheated from making out with Mulder.
	They were acting like teenagers, kids afraid to take the final step. 
They were getting to know each other, slowly, certainly.  She was caught
up with his mouth.
	Mulder was more interested in her breasts.  One hand scooped
down into her shirt, rubbing and exploring her firm flesh.  Excitement
traveled a quick path through her body, the connections being made with
sweet intensity.  Mulder was hard.
	His skin was soft under her fingers that slid along his temple to
grab at his hair.  His hips began to rock against hers, mimicking the what
he wanted to do even though they were both fully dressed.
	She couldn't get enough of him.  But even as she wanted more, fear
was building along with need.  It was a vague feeling of dread within her;
unspecific.  Her heart was beating out a panicky rhythm.
	For a second, everything seemed to fade into a void.  Her breathing
calmed, but she had to force her eyes to open.
	"Mulder, we can't do this."
	It didn't sound like her voice.  She was scared again.  When had
she pulled her knees up around him?  Things had gotten out of hand. 
"Mulder."  She struggled to sit up and when she did, he looked at her.
	She hated that look.  "D.K, you're such a tease."  A mocking, angry
voice from her past.  She'd almost forgotten the nickname.
	It was no more than a second before Mulder's expression changed
to understanding.  "The case," he sighed as he sat back against the couch. 
His hair was stick up every which way and his eyes were still dark.  His
arm around her squeezed her shoulders in an awkward side-to-side hug. 
"It's okay."
	She just looked at him. "Is it?"
	He nodded.  She knew he was remembering the shooting.  She
wanted to comfort, but how could she without physically inviting him? 
Not being able to do anything frustrated her.
	That was their problem, she thought.  If they couldn't touch, there
were no words.  At times it also seemed to be their strength.  She didn't
know what to make of it.
	They sat there together for half an hour or so, each lost deep in
their own thoughts but comfortable in each others' presence.  Then Mulder
kissed her on the forehead and told her to sleep well, ready to leave.
	"Dream of me," she said and didn't know why she'd said it.  It only
made her feel that much worse. Mulder had wanted to make love to her. 
She had wanted to make love to him just as badly.  That was where things
broke down - she didn't know what had happened.
	Scully ran a steamy bath and poured in an extra helping of scented
bubbles from Bath and Body.  Aromatherapy, it said on the bottle.  It had
been an impulse buy.  Maybe it would work.  She sunk in deep hot water
and let go.
	D.K...when had they started to call her that?  She smiled at the
thought, but not at the memory.
	They'd moved back to California when she was thirteen.  She was
skipping eighth grade and going straight on to high school.  Her mom said
she should be proud, but it made Melissa glare at her.  Now there would
only be one grade between them.
	She'd decided on D.K. the weekend before school started.  The day
her mother went into labor with Charlie.  She wasn't going to be the
youngest any more.  The day was swelteringly hot and no one else was
home.  Dad was at the hospital with Mom.  The kids weren't invited.  She
didn't know where Melissa had gone off to. No one ever knew.
	The cement steps burned the backs of her thighs and the sun
burned on the top of her head and her nose.  More freckles. Her mouth
twisted.  Oh well.
	She lit one of the Morley lights she'd stolen from the gold and
white hard pack in her mom's purse, unaware she was under observation. 
They tasted like shit but she liked the way it felt between her fingers. 
Elegant. Grown up.
	Her mom and dad had gone to the hospital after dinner the night
before.  That was a long time ago.  Almost a whole day. She wouldn't have
admitted it, but she was worried.  How long did these things take?
	"Those things will kill you." Melissa plopped down on the step
next to her, pulling a pack of Camels from the pocket of her ragged too-
short cutoffs and lighting one of her own.
	Dana barely glanced at her. "Hypocrite."
	"Geek."
	"Bitch."
	"Maybe," her sister continued.  "They're not gonna let you get away
with that anymore, you know.  You're not a baby."
	"No, really?" Dana snapped.
	"You're so immature," Melissa retorted, getting up to go away, but
she stopped, dropping the cigarette from her fingers quickly and casually.
	Dana was too shocked to move. Her cigarette burned her fingers
but she still held it.  Their father was walking toward them. His shoulders
were slumped and his skin was grey.  She had never seen her father look
like that.
	"Daddy?" asked Melissa.
	"What happened to Mom?" Dana breathed.
	He just walked into the house, into his study, and locked the door.

	The water was cold.  She'd almost fallen asleep.  Scully felt
unsettled as she rose, pruny, out of the bath.  She pulled the plug, but
didn't bother with a towel or pajamas.  She got straight into bed. Freezing,
she wound the covers around her body.  She didn't want to think about
this.  And her head ached again.
	The memories didn't oblige.
	
	She and Melissa sat silently in the living room past sundown. 
"What happened?" Bill Jr. demanded when he walked in and turned on the
light.
	"Dad went into the study," Melissa said.
	"He didn't say anything?"
	Neither girl responded. Bill Jr. sighed, assuming responsibility.  He
knocked on the door and went into the study, returning a few minutes
later.  He sat down on the couch next to Dana.  Without looking at him,
she got up and moved.  It was habit. She wanted to sit by herself.
	"Is Mom okay?" Melissa demanded.
	Bill Jr. nodded.  "The baby was a boy. Charlie.  He has Down's
syndrome.  They're still running tests, but it's bad.  They think he'll have to
be institutionalized."
	Dana walked out.
	"Dana!"
	She wasn't going to cry in front of them.
	"Dana!"
	 Bill Jr. sounded angry.  She didn't care.   She didn't shout back that
it was D.K. now.

	Scully turned over, pulling the covers closer.  She was exhausted,
but she couldn't sleep.

	Serious blue eyes in the mirror.  D.K. was nothing like Dana.  She
combed her curly hair until it was straight.  It looked better straight.  She
had breasts poking into her white uniform blouse.  They seemed too large
for her small frame and had appeared what seemed like overnight, but that
was okay.  She had braces on her teeth, but that was okay too.  She didn't
have to smile.
	D.K. didn't smile.
	D.K. gave excellent blow jobs but she didn't let the boys from St.
Christian's touch her in return. It didn't make her the most popular girl in
school, but it didn't take much time away from studying, either.
	No, D.K. was nothing like Dana.

	Why was the phone ringing?  It was dark.  Scully fumbled for the
light. It was one in the morning.  She picked up the receiver. "Scully."
	"He didn't kill her this time."
	Skinner's words made her sit up in bed.  Would they catch him this
time?  "I'll be right there."
	She flung the covers back, surprised to remember that she'd gone
to bed naked.  The dreams...gooseflesh rose on her arms and she dressed
quickly.
	Shame met her in the mirror.  Brushing out carefully cut hair.  Her
teeth were straight now, but she never smiled.  Being wild was a phase in
high school.  It was something to do when she felt lost. But how much of
that time had stayed with her, even though she didn't think about it?
	The case, she reminded herself as she started up the car. But
Mulder was on her mind.
	He wouldn't approve like her brother hadn't approved.
	But it was all so very far behind her.
	Or would Mulder approve too much?
	She arrived the same time as the paramedics.  The girl was small
and thin, Hispanic, in worn clothes. Her nose was bloody and she was
screaming, clawing at her skin.
	Her legs were soaked with blood.
	Seven years old. High on crack.  Ripped open.  The paramedic
caught Scully's eye and shook his head.
	"There's no evidence," Skinner told her.  Her eyes followed the
ambulance as it screamed away. "Scully -"
	She looked at him.  "None?"
	"The wind and the rain," he said and she noticed for the first time
that the streets were wet.  It was like a photograph snapping into focus.
	"Maybe we'll get something from her."  So steady, so sure...she
didn't feel that way on the inside.
	"It doesn't look good," Skinner told her.  "Who could do such a
thing?"
	He wasn't really asking her and she knew it.  "Lots of people," she
said, matter of factly.  It made Skinner stare at her.  But there were
witnesses who had to be questioned so she couldn't care too much that he
was staring at her.
	
	Whitney Garcia was an A student, when she went to school.  Her
mother was a drug addicted prostitute and they lived in a by-the-week
motel room.  Scully let Skinner harangue the mother.  She would question
the girl, who was often left playing outside late into the night while her
mother worked.
	What kind of life was that for a child?
	It would be sometime yet before the girl would be out of surgery.
	Mulder's apartment was closer than Scully's was.
	She plucked nervously at a thread on the outside of her pants while
she waited for him to answer the door.  He'd been asleep. She knew it
even before he opened the door in sweatpants and a T shirt.  His sleepy
gaze quickly turned to fear when he saw her and realized what it would
take to bring her to him in the middle of the night. "Scully, are you okay?"
	She nodded.   "There's another one.  Alive."
	He took a deep breath.  "That's good, you can -"
	She shook her head. Not good, not good at all, to survive
something like this.  "It'll be a few hours before she's out of surgery."  He
let her walk in and sit down on his couch.  It was dark.  Cold. She felt like
she didn't know where she was.
	Mulder sat down next to her, not touching, not talking. Just being.
Waiting for her to be ready to tell him.  She thought that was what she
needed as she stared at the poster of a typewriter on the wall.  Why would
he hang a picture of a typewriter?  Yet, it blended in.
	"Did anyone run a tox screen on the other victims?" she asked
finally, not looking at him.
	"No."  He waited for her to tell him why she was asking. It was a
long wait.
	Time passed.  She was tired.  She would just lie down, just for a
moment.  She wouldn't sleep, she would just close her eyes.  Mulder's
head was tipped back and his eyes were closed.  He wouldn't mind.  She
curled up.
	"Scully, it's morning."  A gentle hand touched her shoulder.  She
opened her eyes, confused for an instant,  then everything rushed back. 
There was no time to enjoy the waking.  She jumped up from the couch,
pulling her shirt down from where it had risen in her dreamless sleep.
	"I have to go."  He stood aside as she hurried to the door. But she
stopped and looked into his eyes. "Thank you."
	He nodded solemnly.  "You can walk away, Scully," he told her. 
"If it's too much, it's all right."
	She didn't say anything. She'd taken advantage of him somehow
and she didn't like it.  He let her and she thought she liked that even less. 
No one had tried to call, so it was probably all right that she'd slipped
away from her responsibilities at the hospital.  It was still early.  She
turned away from Mulder.
	
	"Whitney Garcia," she requested, flashing her badge at the doctor
at the hospital.  A nurse had summoned him for her.  What had he thought,
she wondered.  Had he ever seen anything like this before?
	She started to say she was there to question the girl, but the doctor
spoke before she could. "I'll release the body to you."
	He walked away to get the papers and Scully stood there.  Stunned. 
She was dead. Whitney Garcia was dead.  It was a relief for her suffering
and for that Scully was grateful, but she felt a stinging disappointment at
the same time.  She'd needed to question the girl, to keep this from
happening again.  The doctor returned and put the papers into her hands,
the papers that would arrange for the body to be transported to the FBI
facilities.
	Scully was barely aware of what she was doing.  A post mortem
examination was methodical, all procedure to be followed.  How many
had she done over the years? Too damn many.  But her auto-pilot was
knowledgeable and in this case, she was glad.  She didn't want this death
to permeate her.
	But it did, even though she didn't want it to.  She threw up twice
before she was finished and she couldn't stop her hands from shaking as
she stitched up the incisions she had made.  Even thinking of Mulder
didn't help.  Except his words kept returning to her.  She could walk away.
	Before she killed someone.
	She could walk away.
	Before she killed herself.
	That thought, the one that made her pause, was what made the
decision for her.  Scully didn't want to die.  Not of this. Not by her own
hand.  She already was falling apart, and this case would only get much
more difficult.  With a little work, she would come back together.  If she
stopped now.

	"You wanted to see me, Agent Scully?"  Skinner looked pleased to
see her until he actually saw her.  She was aware that she was tired and
unkempt, though she didn't know the details.  Judging from Skinner's
expression, the details weren't very pretty.
	She'd forgotten no one had ever seen her unkempt.  Not even dying
had she been sloppy.  Things had gone in the other direction, to being
supercontrolled during her days in the hospital.
	"There must be someone in Violent Crimes qualified to take on
this case," she said in a low voice.  She wasn't qualified.  She couldn't
handle it.  What her father - her brother - her classmates in medical school
and in Quantico had said about her. Finally they were right. She was weak
and emotional and a girl and she was giving up.
	"Of course."  She wondered what that look on Skinner's face meant
as he said the words.
	The next words were more difficult for her to say.  "Sir, I..." 
Breathe, Scully.  She was glad of the voice prompting her from within. 
"I'm requesting a leave of absence."
	Skinner smiled. How could he when he knew how hard this was
for her?  "I know," he said.  "I don't want to see you or Mulder until after
the first of the year."  He clapped her on the shoulder, his mood lightened. 
Scully moved away.  Another moment and he would have winked at her.
	What did Mulder have to do with it?  She was halfway home to
another attempt at a warm bath and a soft, solitary bed when she
remembered.  Embarrassment tinged her cheeks at having forgotten.
	She'd really agreed to marry him.  In the middle of a conversation
about something else entirely, he'd actually asked.  It was too strange to
get her mind around, but her body understood.  She felt excitement - and
fear. There was something she had to do before she could even try to
relax.
	Skinner knew about the wedding.  Mulder had to have told him. 
Making good use of his suspension, she thought, uncertain of how that
made her feel.  But she knew one thing.  Her boss shouldn't know before
her family.  Since he did, she would have to rectify the situation.
	Scully tried to think of words to say, to try to explain.  Her brother
would be furious.  He'd never approved of any man she'd ever dated, but
this would be worse.  Her mother might be angry. Then again, her mom
sort of liked Mulder.  Scully sometimes believed it was her whom her
mother hated.
	After a second, she picked up the phone, but her fingers kept
slipping off the keys, just like in a nightmare of frustration where nothing
at all goes right.  When the call connected, she asked for Maggie and only
got a spattering of Korean in reply.  At least she'd probably managed to
dial California's area code, she thought.
	Her knuckles were white holding the phone as she dialed again. 
As it rang on the other end, she asked herself why this was so scary.  She'd
never done this before.  She had hardly ever even brought her boyfriends
home. And they knew about Mulder.  This was more of a surprise to her
than it would be for them.
	She was afraid of them judging her, but uncertain why that should
matter.  She wasn't ambivalent about marrying him.  Like so many other
things in her life, this was not a choice. It just was.
	"Hello?"
	"Mom!" she said, a second before realizing it was Tara.
	"No yours, no," the other woman chuckled, probably looking at her
son.  "Is this Dana?"
	"Yeah.  Hi, Tara."  She didn't want to talk to Tara.
	"Hold on."
	"Dana, what's wrong?"  her mother asked a moment later,
reminding her just how infrequently she called.  Something would have to
be wrong, she thought.
	"No, nothing's wrong."
	There was a pause.  "Then what is it, Dana, because I know you
didn't call just to talk."
	Ouch.  "I'm um, I'm not going to make it out there for Christmas." 
She could feel anger coming through the phone. "Is Bill on the extension
listening?"
	"Dana, this is disappointing, but I can't say I didn't expect it.  What
is happening to this family?"
	"I'm getting married," she said.  "To Mulder."
	"Damn it, Dana, how can you?"  Bill was listening, and he wasn't
too embarrassed about it to yell at her.
	"Bill -" her voice was strained, but she found she had nothing to
say.  'Shut up'?  It wasn't worth it.
	"When?" her mother asked carefully.
	"Christmas."
	"Where?"
	"We...haven't decided."
	"I hope you've thought about this," her mother said, sounded faintly
damning.
	"I thought you were on his side, Mom."
	"I'm not on anybody's side," Maggie said and Scully knew she was
lying. "I just want what's best for you."
	She didn't want to fight.  So she just said, "Okay."
	"Dana, this is stupid!  The man's insane and dangerous -"
	She hung up the phone, not  caring about what Bill thought.  After
a moment's pause, it began to ring, but she was walking away toward the
bathroom to draw another bath.  Her skin was doing to dry out, but she
had to relax, or try to.  It was a good thing she was out of razors.
	She had a wedding to plan.
	Her mother hadn't said she would come.
	At least they knew it wasn't a shotgun wedding.  She lay back in
the water and her stomach growled. It meant nothing to her.  She wasn't
hungry.  She was empty inside.
	A little girl died.
	There was a rusted out Daisy razor on the shelf.  She didn't think a
razor would do much. And it would hurt Mulder.  So she stared at it
awhile, not seriously considering it, but toying with the notion of death
and rubbing her wrist.
	When she looked down at her arm, her skin was red from rubbing. 
But closer...there was a faint mark there.  A coward's line.  She sat up
suddenly, dripping and cold in the hot water.  Where had that line come
from?
	She didn't know. Thin and white.  Another mystery about herself
unsolved.  What else didn't she know?  It would fill a book.
	"Let me go, Mommy."
	"Your sister's been shot."
	"Dana, honey, we lost your father..."
	Mother. Sister. Daughter.
	Lover, wife, partner?
	Doctor.
	Lawyer, Indian chief, she sighed. Did everyone have so many roles
to play in their lives?	
	The mark was still there.
	Patient, victim, survivor.
	She wanted to cut to make the mark go away.  The tattoo above
her hipbone felt itchy.  Branded.  Who had she been that day?  Scully
pretending to be Dana?  Her family wanted her to be Dana, and she
suspected Mulder did too.
	If only she could be Dana again...she closed her eyes and poured
more hot water into the tub.

	She was Scully long before she met Mulder.  Skipping grades
made her the youngest in her medical training program.  Of course  the
others studying forensic pathology were men.  Jennings and Morimoto. 
They called her Scully to dehumanize her.
	She'd had to dehumanize herself to get through it.  She'd cried the
day she shot a snake in the woods with Bill and one of his friends, wanting
to will it back to life. When she learned she couldn't, she chose pathology.
	Jack had called her Scully, too. He was her instructor at the
Academy.  Firearms.  A hard son of a bitch who told her that she couldn't. 
That was what she'd needed, someone to please.  To *show*.  She'd
thought she loved him, but she know now she hadn't.  He'd called her
Scully until it got halfway affectionate.  Told his wife Scully was a male
student who couldn't shoot straight.  It had probably worried his wife more
than if he'd told her the truth.
	They'd had their tender moments.  Jack had been her greatest
champion when she needed one. He'd had to work hard because of his
diabetes, just as she had to overcome her height and her sex.  He was
impotent...sometimes that brought out the better in men.  And he was
older.  An approving father.
	She missed her dad.
	There was a bottle of wine in the cabinet somewhere and she was
going to find it, to stop all these useless memories.  The past never meant
anything to her, she told herself as she stood naked in the kitchen
searching for the bottle.  There was so much of her past she couldn't
remember anyway.  Most of her childhood had been written off as dull. 
The months she'd been gone...if she added them up, how much of herself
was she missing?
	Crazy thoughts.  She drank, and it wasn't so cold anymore.  She
went back to pull the stopper out of the tub and watched the water drain in
its neat little circular vortex.  Some things never, ever changed.  Even
though science said differently.  Atoms detached; metals decayed;
someday the earth's axis would shift and the waterspout would go the
other way.
	People pretended science was reassuring but it wasn't.
	She was so drunk she called Mulder.  "What're you doing?"
	"Scully, you sound drunk."
	"I am, a little." She looked at the bottle in her hand.  How quickly
it was becoming empty.  "Hurry, Mulder, or it'll be gone," she whispered.
	"What?"
	"Your voice sounds better."
	"Did something happen?"
	Did it?  "I'm off the case. Skinner says congrats on the big day." 
She gulped more wine, not tasting it, not wanting to.  "I told my family
about us."
	"Are you okay?"
	"Is Fox there, Mulder? I want to talk to Fox."
	"I'm here."
	"No, Mulder, Fox.  I'll let you talk to Dana."
	Mulder was silent for a long time.
	"Fine," she pouted.
	"Scully, go to sleep."
	"Scully doesn't drink."
	"Okay.  Do you want me to come ov-"
	"No!"
	"Okay," he sighed.  He wasn't going to let her talk to Fox.
	"Bye," she slurred and managed to hang up the phone.  She didn't
feel good.  She felt out of control.  Infused with will, she rose and stomped
over to the sink to pour out the rest of the bottle.  The effort made her lean
on the counter. She didn't like being drunk.
	She thought Scully should go for a drive to sober up.

-4-

	The sun hurt her eyes even before she opened them the next
morning.  she shouldn't have drunk.  But she sat up, getting up anyway. 
She saw the empty bottle in the trash. No wonder she didn't remember
anything.
	She looked terrible, even after she got out of the shower, her
eyelids thin and purple and her sinuses puffy.  She didn't have a damn
thing to do.
	Except plan the wedding.  She wasn't up for it.  She and Mulder
should talk, but the entire thing seemed too bizarre.  Married?  Them? 
She imagined life the same as it was: her in her apartment, him in his.
	Separate boxes.
	There was mud on her good shoes and she didn't know how it had
gotten there.  She didn't remember the rain, even when she went outside
and saw the streets glisten in the morning sun.
	The mud was in the car, too, which had an empty gas tank.  She'd
filled it only the day before.  At least I didn't kill anyone, she thought,
unable to believe she would have driven drunk.  Wondering if Mulder
knew anything about this, but definitely too embarrassed to ask, she
headed for the mall.
	She'd never spent a lot of time shopping.  She'd never had the time
to spend.  Sometimes she ran by to get a new suit or shoes when one had
been damaged or lost, but she'd never given much attention to clothes. 
Her teenage years were spent in the late '70s - and she hadn't seen much
point in fashion then, either.  At least people saw her for who she was and
not what she wore.
	Funny how she'd never left the uniform behind. Catholic school or
college denim to doctor's scrubs to the FBI's uniform.  She bought a small
coffee at Cinnabon and sat down to try to remember the wedding she'd
pictured for herself when she was a little girl.
	Did they even have a name, those folded pieces of paper
guaranteed to tell the future?  She'd never learned to fold them herself, but
she remembered them from 4th grade.  Invariably, she picked the name of
the geek.  The one who had cooties.
	Mulder definitely had cooties.  Although she was pretty sure he
hadn't in grade school.
	The coffee was gone.  She hadn't noticed.  It was time to move on,
to do what she had come to do.
	"May I help you?" a pleasant white haired saleswoman asked in the
better dresses department.
	Scully looked at her blankly. "I, uh, yeah."
	The woman nodded.  Scully imagined she was the perfect
customer, in jeans and a Tshirt.  Scruffy, but name-brand.  She needed
help and she could afford it.
	"Are you shopping for an occasion? A holiday party, perhaps?"
	"A wedding."
	"Oh, that's nice," the woman smiled, touching a flowered dress. 
"Day or evening?"
	"It's my wedding."
	The saleswoman quashed a celebratory look.  The jackpot. "We
have a catalog for special order formal dresses."
	"No," Scully said, stopping the woman from retrieving the catalog
from behind the counter.  "It's not a big deal. I mean, not the whole
wedding thing.  I want something simple."  If she showed up looking like
the foam off someone's drink, Mulder would turn and run in the other
direction, terrified.  "It won't be in a church or anything."  Bill had talked
Tara into a Catholic wedding.  A big affair that had annoyed Scully at
every turn.
	"Okay," replied the saleslady, as though she loved a challenge. 
"White?"
	Scully shrugged.  "I guess."
	The woman put a concerned hand on her arm.  "Are you sure you
want to do this, dear? Marriage is forever, and -"
	"Yes," she said, surprising herself with the fervor of her tone.  "It's
just, sort of, sudden."
	"How long have you known him?"  The woman's tone had turned
gossipy.
	"Five - uh, six years."  Yeah, real sudden, Scully thought.
	"You have no idea what you'd like?"
	"Si -"
	"Simple," the woman laughed. "What's your usual style?"
	"I'm an FBI agent."
	"Oh my."
	"He's my partner."  Is this why women shop, she wondered.  This
silly notion to share way too much information with complete strangers?
	"Oh, dear!" said the woman. "This is lovely."
	"Um," said Scully.  She just didn't know.

	Several hours later, the saleswoman, Midge, was done.  They'd
looked at everything in the store and tried on half of it.  Scully still didn't
know what she wanted.
	"We'll have more dresses in two weeks, for Christmas," Midge
suggested.
	"Let me take your card."  Scully felt bad for monopolizing her
when she probably worked on commission.  "I'm sorry."
	Midge had a comforting pat for her shoulder.  "It's too early to
shop, dear.  You don't know any of the details.  But I do love a wedding."
	Scully headed back to Cinnabon, needing more coffee.  Some
grade school girls were there, stuffing pudgy faces and playing MASH. 
She remembered that game from school, too.  Invariably she ended up
living in a shack with the grossest kid in school.  Missy generally claimed
a teen idol from a selection of many.
	The girls giggled and Scully looked away. Midge was right.  She
needed to talk to Mulder about all this.  She'd left her cell phone at home. 
After a second's debate over heading home, she used the change from her
coffee to call him from a pay phone.
	"Mulder, it's me," she said.  "I need to talk to you."
	"I need to talk to you, too," he agreed, surprising her. As usual, that
was the end of their conversation - how much did they save in phone bills
by never saying goodbye? - but she stood there for several moments with
the phone in her hand.  He needed to talk to her? About what?
	She drove to his apartment, thinking she should be relieved he was
calling the wedding off.  But she wasn't relieved. Not at all.
	"How are you feeling?" he asked when he opened the door. He was
casual, too, in jeans and a softly faded T shirt. His eyes were genuinely
concerned.  Her face flushed.
	"Fine. I - ah - don't remember a lot about last night."
	"I'm not surprised," he smiled gently.  The expression died slowly,
becoming an insincere mask before fading from his face.  "What did you
want to talk to me about?"
	"I think it hinges on what you wanted to say to me," she remarked,
taking a seat on the couch.  "So you go first."
	His eyes sparkled startlingly.  "I knew it!" he cried, sitting on the
coffee table opposite.  His knees stuck out on either end of hers.  She
expected him to solemnly grasp her hands and tell her he'd changed his
mind.  "Something's been troubling me about the case."
	"The case?"
	He nodded and she felt like laughing.  "I think the 'copycat' is the
killer's partner.  The partner of the man I shot."
	"Method's different," she pointed out. "And killers don't work in
pairs.  Especially not killers like this."
	"There are exceptions."  There always were if Mulder wanted there
to be.  "I think Scott Strader did all the killing until I caught him."  And
killed him, was what he didn't say.  "This guy, the copycat, had access to
the girls somehow.  Maybe he just wanted to watch."
	"And liked it so much he had to start killing them after his friend
died because of what they'd been doing?"  It was her duty to knock down
his theories.
	"Compulsion."  His eyes found hers as though to imply they both
knew how strong that could be.
	"It's possible," she admitted and he grinned before she finished,
"but unlikely.  If he was just watching, why wasn't he at the scene when
you caught Strader?"
	"I had him with evidence, not at the scene. He was following me."
Her eyes widened. He hadn't mentioned that before. Her mouth closed in a
firm line and she waited for details.  "People close to Strader who have
access. He's there, Scully, I know he is. But I'm on suspension and you're
only on leave."
	Leave because she couldn't handle this case!  She couldn't say that,
however. Refused to.  "I'll look into it," she agreed. It wouldn't hurt her to
drop in and use the computer.  See if Skinner rented out their office while
they were gone.
	The prospect of looking further into the case turned her stomach
and she couldn't understand why.  A good reason to face it again, she told
herself.
	"What did you need to talk about?" he asked, his eyes excited
again. "You had another thought on the case?"
	She shook her head.  "This...wedding."
	"You say that like it's a bad word."
	Her expression didn't change and he started to look scared, like a
butterfly pinned under glass.  "I looked for a dress this morning," she told
him.
	"Already?"
	"You said Christmas, didn't you?" she pointed out.  "You meant
this year?"  He nodded. "We need to plan -"
	"I don't want to plan.  I just want to do it," he told her. "Here, now.
Have it done. You're a doctor, you can verify the blood tests, we could go
tomorrow."  She must have looked surprised because he stopped.  "You
weren't picturing anything elaborate?"
	"A judge. Justice of the peace.  As you were," she agreed.  "Who's
going to be there?"
	"You said you told your family last night -"
	"I'm not sure they can make it."  She didn't feel compelled to make
excuses for them.
	"Then what is there to plan?" he asked, his eyes searching.  He did
love her, but he wasn't meticulous and she was feeling overwhelmed.  She
jumped when he touched her and felt guilty.  "You don't need a dress.  I'll
marry you in blue jeans."
	She smiled, not wanting to.  "It's a ceremony."
	"So it should be ceremonious?" he smiled.  "It's okay."  He crossed
the gulf between the table and the couch to sit near her.  "It's okay," he
said again, tucking her hair behind her ears and leaving one hand resting
on her head.  She wanted to relax against him, but she couldn't allow
herself to.
	"Where are we going to live?"
	"It doesn't matter." He was staunchly refusing to think this through.
In a few minutes, she was going to be very angry.
	"One answer," she told him.
	"Where do you want to live?" he asked seriously.
	"My apartment," she answered, and couldn't help being stubborn.
	"I want to live here," he told her mildly.  "We'll work it out."
	"How, if you won't discuss it?"
	"We'll live apart."  He wasn't serious. He chuckled at her and
wrapped her in his arms.  "We'll buy a place.  A house."
	She pulled away, heading for the door.  Had enough.  He rose and
took a step after her.  "You're leaving?"  
	She belted her trenchcoat a little too firmly.  "To the office," she
reminded him.  "Your idea."
	"Did we just have our first fight?"  His voice wrapped around her
like silk.  Did he have to do that? she thought, feeling angry. Smug
bastard.
	"We'll talk later." Her tone was barely civil.  He said her name and
she closed the door between them.
	She lost it as soon as she got to the car.  Anger was a safe emotion
in Scully's world; love was not. It all came down to fear.  He would
understand, she told herself, turning the ignition key and preventing
herself from running back to apologize.  He was too confident.  That
angered her even more because he had every reason to be - she would
marry him, no matter what.
	Angry because he was more certain and secure with her love than
she was with his.
	It was late when she reached the office.  She got a terrific parking
space, since most of the other agents were on their way home. The office
was quiet and comforting as she booted up the computer and pulled out
the reports.
	She could identify no one in the crime scene photos or questioned
in the reports as a likely candidate.  She searched endlessly though
Strader's record. He was clean until Mulder killed him. There was
evidence in his residence, but she found something in his work history
worth checking.
	Strader was a delivery driver for a copy service.  But three years
before, he'd driven a school bus.
	It was after 5 pm, and she dialed rapidly, feeling a hurried rush as
though speed in dialing would catch someone just locking up for the day. 
The phone rang only twice before it was answered in a Southern drawl. 
"Standard Services."
	When she identified herself as a federal agent, the gum chewing in
her ear stopped immediately.  "You ain't the one who done it, are ya?" the
woman asked in hushed, awed tones.
	"Done - did - what?"  But she knew, before the woman asked. 
"No."  She hadn't killed Scott Strader.  "You knew Mr. Strader, then?"
	"Yes'm.  Personable boy, that one.  Who knew it'd lead to this.
Lord! No idea, no idea. Never a fathom."
	"Could I get his personnel record faxed to me?"  This woman had
probably never heard of a subpoena, but it could be useful.
	"No'm."
	Scully was surprised.
	"We ain't got no fax machine. We just drive the buses, the U.S.P.S.
is good enough for us. You got an address?"
	Scully told her.  "Is there anything you can tell me about Mr.
Strader?  Any friends he might have, that you remember?"
	"LittleJoe  Wilder.  Poor LittleJoe was so shook up after it
happened.  But he was right back on the job on Monday.  Right like
clockwork. Right as rain."
	Scully jotted a note for herself.  "Is he there now?"
	"Shoot, no. I'm the only one here. Dispatcher, janitor, whatever you
wanna call me," the woman told her.
	"Thank you."  Her gratitude was sincere.
	"You just catch that one, you know?  Parents're keepin' their kids
out of school'n it's only gonna get worse."
	"I will."  She had no idea of the public reaction.  She'd had no idea
there even was a public reaction.  She started a doodle on her notepad
while she dialed a new number.
	"Records."
	"Tammy, this is Scully."
	"Hey!" the other woman sounded pleased.  "Long time, no hear.
You wanna go for drinks? I got a new 'do and I am a man magnet!  You
can have my leftovers."
	She smiled.  "Thanks, but I'm okay. I need an address."  Because
Tammy worked at the DMV and they were old friends, she could help.
	"All work and no play, Dana. Dull girl."
	"I know."
	"You never gonna get you a husband that way.  What's the name?"
	Scully told her and didn't say a word about Mulder.  After she put
down the phone, she stared at the address on her yellow sticky notepad. 
Near where they'd found the live girl, who died.  The used to be alive girl. 
The now dead like the others girl.  She had a feeling about this LittleJoe
Wilder.
	She knocked at Skinner's door on her way out, surprised to see he
was still in.  He rose, smiling. "I didn't expect to see you." He opened the
door and ushered her inside his office.
	"I didn't expect to be in."  She juggled the notepad between her
hands, looking at it for a few moments.  "What's the press coverage been
like?"
	"Pretty awful."
	"And public reaction?" she asked.
	"Even worse," he answered honestly.  "Parents are panicky.  These
crimes are terrible.  And school's about to release for the holidays."
	She nodded.  "Agent Mulder had some ideas."  Out came the
notepad.  "This man worked with Scott Strader driving school busses."  He
looked even more interested, waiting.  "This could be him."
	"Do you want to handle this?" Skinner asked.
	"I'll do the initial interview," she agreed, as though bargaining.
	"You don't have to."
	"I know," she nodded.  "I want to."  She hadn't realized until that
moment.  "He needs to be caught."
	"And Mulder?"
	"He thought it best in light of his situation and what's happened,
that I..."  she stopped.  Skinner was smiling.
	"I meant, when's the big day?"
	She shrugged.  "We haven't entirely decided.  It's going to be a
small ceremony." Did he want to be invited?  She couldn't invite him
without asking Mulder.  Even if she wanted to, and she found she kind of
did.
	"Everyone around here swears you've been secretly been planning
this since the day you met."
	"In some ways, we have," she agreed quietly.  Skinner nodded and
she felt quite caught up and trapped.  "I'll speak to you tomorrow about
Wilder."  She stood from her chair.
	"You're going tonight?" he asked. She met his eyes as she nodded.
It could mean another girl's life. Or death.  Morning was not an option.

-5-

	Joe Wilder's neighborhood was run down.  He didn't live in the
same motel as Whitney Garcia, but it might as well have been.  Dingy,
flaking paint and broken parking lots were characteristic.  An entire group
of kids whose moms didn't know or care ran like wild things between the
parked cars.  She was heartsick before she even knocked on the door.
	"Joe Wilder?"
	This was the moment she always dreaded.  When every word
escaped her.  The moment they said, "Yes?"
	She fumbled for her badge, to explain her presence.  "I'm here
about Scott Strader."
	"He's dead."
	"I know."
	"He didn't do it."
	"How do you know that?" she asked, but LittleJoe was silent. 
Scully had the idea he could remain silent for as long as it suited him, so
she continued, "Did you ever see Mr. Strader hurt a child?"
	"No."
	It hit her like a fist.  He was lying. She knew it. But that wasn't
proof, or even probable cause. She needed something she could take to
Skinner.  "You're not lying to me, Joe?"
	"No."  Stone serious.
	"What route do you drive, Joe?"  Conversationally. Mulder would
just rip the bastard's throat out.
	"High school.  Plus football."
	Not a lie. It could be verified.  Kids too old for their suspect to be
interested in. But she still knew her instincts weren't wrong.  "How long
have you driven that route?"
	"Couple weeks."
	She nodded.  She'd had a bus driver when she went to grade
school. He picked up all the kids from the base who went to Catholic
school.  He'd always seemed so nice.   One time she dropped her
homework and he hurried after her to give it back to her.  He didn't have
to do that.  She would have trusted him implicitly.
	She had no idea what kind of person he had really been.
	"Anything else?"
	She paused just a moment, to intimidate him.  She didn't have
anything she could use.  "Nope."  She put her badge away.  Careful to
show him her gun when she did.  He smelled like a child molester.
	She didn't know how she knew what one smelled like.  It raised
gooseflesh on her arms that was hard to ignore.
	Rather than call Skinner when she got home, she turned on her
computer to email him.  It was easier.  There was a message in her box. 
When was the last time she'd checked?  She had no idea, but its date was
yesterday.  Sailor011561@aol.com.  Bill.
	Scully wrote her email to Skinner first, aware of that message
waiting for her while she typed.
		
		Sir,
	Joe Wilder seems suspicious.
	Call it a hunch.   Investigate
	fully.
		Thanks,
		Scully

	That was it?  She proofread the short note.  Wilder hadn't said or
done anything she could report on.  It *was* a hunch and a weak one at
that.  A part of her wanted to follow up.  To nail him to the wall.  A
greater part of her was happy to leave it to someone else.
	
	PS Keep me informed?

	If she hit send, she'd have to read the message from Bill.
	She hit send.
	To delay, she opened a new message to Mulder.  No salutation
needed.  They emailed like they called each other.

	You may be right.  Former
	coworker - school bus driver.
	Bad feeling about him.  Left
	it to Skinner to follow up.

	She bit her lip. What else to say?  She typed her name and hit send.
	No more stalling. She clicked on Bill's message.  It seemed to
download forever, or was time standing still?
	No salutation or paragraphs.  He was venting.  Damn.

	Do you understand what marriage
	is?  What it entails?  How can you 
	do this? Think about it for once in
	your life for gods sake are you 
	stupid?  The man is trouble.  He's
	crazy and he'll hurt you.  He's not 
	good enough 

	She hit delete and sighed.  A little "!" had appeared in the corner of
the screen and she wondered if it would be part two from Bill.
	But it was from Mulder.

	You check your email b4 your
	ans machine? Call me.  Please
	I love you.

	Her head turned sharply to the machine, which was blinking its
one red light slowly, over and over.  She pressed the button to disconnect
and turned away from the computer.
	"I'm sorry," Mulder-on-her-machine said.  "Call me when you get
in. We do need to talk."
	She couldn't continue to think that he was going to call it off every
time he said that, could she? He was on her speed dial and answered after
half a ring. "Sitting by the phone?"
	"I'm sorry."
	"No, you were right.  It doesn't matter."
	"It does matter," he told her.  "We'll do whatever you want to do.
Your apartment is lovely."  He was trying so hard.
	"Yours is closer," she pointed out.
	"That wasn't our first fight, was it?" he asked.
	"Mulder, our first fight was years ago."
	"Want to go house hunting this weekend?"
	She laughed.
	"You're not changing your mind, are you?"  He was trying to sound
casual, but she realized he was as scared as she was.
	"No," she said quickly.  The truth.  "It'll happen.  I promise."
	"Good."
	She smiled and knew he was smiling too.
	"You saw one of Strader's friends?" Mulder asked.
	Her back stiffened.  "I don't want to talk about it."
	"Did anything happen?"
	"No.  I just...not now."  She could hear the strain in her own voice.
	"Want me to come over?" he offered.
	"No," she said.  "I think I need to go to bed."  Wilder had bothered
her a lot.  She was freezing and she wondered if her down comforter
would be able to fight the chill.
	"Sure you don't want me to come over?"
	That was another thing unresolved between them. This was
anything but a normal courtship.  Maybe they were kidding themselves
that it would be a normal marriage.  "I'm tired," she said.  It was true.  She
had been right to take some time off.  She was too stressed, too tense, too
far past the edge of exhaustion.  She needed to come back.
	"Breakfast?"
	"Sure," she said softly.
	"Goodbye, Scully."  He said it like he loved her.
	"Goodbye, Mulder."  She responded much the same way. It was
something she'd never thought they'd say to each other.  Especially when it
meant, "I love you."
	She turned out the light and crawled into bed.  The blackness was
wonderfully accommodating.

	Dark...damp...she was being smothered.  She fought to suck in air,
finding it humid and rank and thick.  No...something bad...she was being
smothered.
	"Uh!"  She got her hands under her pillow and heaved it to the
floor. Breathing hard, she sat there.  In her bedroom.  In the dark.  Alone. 
Fine. It had just been a dream because her pillow was over her head.
	She lay down again to sleep without it.  But she couldn't,
uncomfortable. Her pillow didn't smell like that. Her sheets didn't smell
like that.  She thrashed for a while, unable to close her eyes.
	Finally she gave in, getting up and grabbing the pillow, holding it
to her nose.  It smelled like detergent and dust, but not the pungent smell
that lingered in her nose.  She put down the pillow but remained sitting,
chilled.
	Joe Wilder smelled like the pillow in her dream.
	Child molesters smelled like basements?  It had to be a
culmination, the sum of several fears, meaning nothing.  So why wasn't
she convinced?

	A soft touch on her face roused her to a brilliantly sunny morning. 
She heard herself groan as she approached wakefulness.  Scents of bacon
and eggs and toast roused her further until her eyes opened.
	"Hey." Mulder sat back on the bed.  There was a tray between
them filled with a breakfast feast.  What a sight to wake up to.
	"What's this?"  she asked, sliding up to sitting and yearning to run
for some Scope and her hairbrush.
	"You said breakfast," he reminded her.
	"I was thinking out."
	"I was thinking in," he said, grinning.  He picked up some bacon
and tried to force feed her. She ended up laughing and taking it from him.
	"You always sleep in your clothes?" he asked.
	"I was tired."
	"You look tired."  His hands were in her hair again.
	"Thanks," she murmured, leaning in to his touch for a second.  She
turned her head and kissed the base of his wrist.  He smiled.  "Eat," she
said, picking up a piece of toast.
	"That's not what I'm hungry for."  He nipped at her fingertips as she
pushed the toast towards his mouth.  She felt a little jolt of sensation and
curled up her toes.
	"Hey, I need those," she said playfully.
	"I need them more." He was licking her fingers now.
	"I don't -"  She didn't get the words out because he kissed her. He
tasted salty and sweet.  She guessed she did want to, after all.  But she put
her hands on his shoulders because she didn't want breakfast in her bed.
	He gave her a questioning look and she shoved some toast into her
mouth as though nothing had happened.  After a second, Mulder dug in as
well.  They ate together in silent companionship.  Is this what it's going to
be like? she asked herself.  Him and her and the quiet everyday for the rest
of her life?  It wasn't so bad. In fact, it was kind of nice...comforting.
	Her stomach was wonderfully full and she sat back, sighing. He
grinned at her.  "Hit the spot," she added.
	"Put some meat on your bones," he leered, pinching a tiny amount
of skin on her arm.  She looked at him, mildly concerned.  Did he think
she was too thin?  What else did he think of her body? Didn't he like the
way she looked?
	"Yours too," she came back, making a grab for him.  He winced as
she encountered a bicep that was solid.  It surprised her. "Working out,"
she said.
	He nodded.  "Nothing else to do."
	"You overdid it," she said and he nodded again. He was starting to
look embarrassed so she ran her fingers lightly over the muscle and
smiled.  "What else have you been doing?"
	He shrugged.  "Reading. Keeping busy.  Go get ready."
	"Ready for what?"
	"Aren't we going to look at houses?" he asked, and gave her a hard
look when she didn't get out of bed immediately.  "Unless you'd rather stay
here."
	"No, no, it's fine," she said. "I just..."
	He looked scared.  Maybe he wasn't as confident about their
relationship as she thought.  "What?"
	"Nothing," she murmured, knowing it was unfair.  The idea was
taking longer to adjust to than she'd realized it would.  "Gonna take a
shower."  She tossed back the covers and got out. It had been warm and
snuggly in bed, comfortable.  The floor was cold.
	The worry didn't lift from his brows as he quipped, "Want some
company?"
	She didn't answer.  It was cold in the shower and she couldn't get
the water hot enough, so she rushed because she wanted to get warm.  A
cold shower in the winter was such a waste of time.  And there was a lot
for them to do...give notice on her apartment, buy a dress, set a date and
time and place for the wedding, get the bloodwork and the license...
	Mulder was washing dishes when she stepped out of the bathroom,
wrapped in a towel.  Her robe was waiting in the hamper to be washed -
she'd spilled coffee down the front.  She paused a moment, listening to the
hum of the running water and the clink-jostle of the dishes. He'd cooked
breakfast for her in her own kitchen.
	He turned her head as she started for the bedroom, keen senses
telling him he was under observation. She stopped, surprised at the way he
looked at her.  Her breath caught oddly and he looked away fast.
	They hadn't discussed sleeping together before the wedding. 
Maybe they should, she thought as she pulled on a fisherman's sweater and
scraped her fingers back through her wet hair.  It fell back in her eyes as
she tied the laces on her boots and she left it alone.
	He looked uncomfortable sitting on the couch but he smiled when
he saw her.  He rose to put on his coat.  Wearing boots instead of her usual
heels, she felt short next to him and the moisture of her hair on her neck
made her feel shivery and vulnerable.  "You should dry your hair," he said.
	She shrugged while shaking her head.  "I'm fine."
	He pulled a knit cap out of his pocket and tugged it down over her
head until it covered her ears.  She hadn't worn such a hat since childhood. 
"Where'd you get that?" she asked, her head warm.
	"Be prepared," he informed her and opened the front door.
	She stopped, stunned by a brilliant sun glinting off feet of
untouched snow. It was beautiful.  "You drove here in a blizzard," she
said.
	"After a blizzard," he corrected.  His car was the only thing not
covered in snow.
	"To see me." Surprise had settled in her tone. He looked pinkly
embarrassed, but she couldn't stop looking at him.
	"I kinda love you, Scully," he reminded her.
	God, he was beautiful and insecure.  "Kinda?" she grinned and he
opened the car door for her, closing it soundly once she got inside.  There
was a folded newspaper lying on the dash and she picked it up.  "Where
are we looking?"
	"Where do you want to look?"
	"What're we looking for?" she countered.
	"So many questions," he teased. They sat as the car warmed up.
	She looked down at the paper.  "Five bed, one bath...oh, that's in
Maryland.  Four bed, two bath, fireplace...they all sound so big."
	"Might as well do it right," he replied.  "House, garage, yard."
	"What do we need bedrooms for?" she whispered.  This was it. She
was probably already a yuppie, but here was the proof.  Childless couples
used to seem selfish to her.  She'd never imagined the heartbreak behind it. 
"Bucars, no dog...a condo would do."
	"We could get a dog," he told her.
	She nodded tightly and they set off. She felt emotionally fragile.
She hadn't thought looking at houses could make her feel like this, bring
back the feeling of failure and the emptiness and the loneliness...she
grabbed his hand.  "Do you want a dog?"  Damn the tears in her voice!
	"Do you want a condo?" he asked and she shook her hand
violently.  She took deep breaths, deciding to be okay.  She had Mulder.
That would be enough.
	They drove around awhile, just looking for signs.  They only found
one, on the lawn of a house both prissy and abandoned.  Mulder looked at
her and she shook her head, but they got out of the car anyway, stretching
and breathing crisp air, sullying the snow with their feet.
	"Well?" he said.
	"No."  She almost laughed, it was so wrong for them.
	He smiled, agreeing.  "Big yard though."  He turned around,
checking it out.
	"What kind of dog do you want?"  There were icicles in her tone.
	"We can have kids, there are ways," he said in his most stubborn
yes-there-is-a-Santa-Claus voice.
	She didn't say anything because she didn't trust her voice.  Couldn't
trust herself not to cry, or be sarcastic and hurtful.  He picked up a
snowball and threw it at the house.  He didn't have much of an arm, she
thought, but baseball had never been her game anyway.
	"Maybe we should try a realtor," she said finally.  Telling him it
was time to go.
	Forty minutes later, she was sweating in a bright, calm realty
office. She still couldn't feel her fingers but the rest of her was hot and she
had hat hair. Mulder whispered it to her as the woman in the sweater vest
showed them pictures of houses.
	"This one has a fireplace," she said, pointing to a small house.
	"It's white," Mulder said.
	"What's wrong with white?" she demanded.
	"This one's in town," he showed her a listing.
	"Urban decay," she reminded him. "Oooh."
	"Too fancy," he said instantly.
	They bickered on until the realtor finally intervened.  "What do
you want?" she demanded.
	"A place that's home," they said at the same time, looking at each
other, surprised.
	"How long have you been married?" asked the realtor.
	"We're getting married this month."
	"Looks like a perfect match."  She meant it, too.
	"Too bad she couldn't find us a place," Scully remarked once they'd
gone back to her apartment.
	"She showed us everything they had," Mulder reminded her.
	Scully leaned back on the couch and put her hands through her
hair. It felt thick and dead against her scalp, icky and still damp in places. 
"Hat hair," Mulder called her again.
	"What are we going to do about a place to live?" she mused, about
to go after his hair.
	"What do you want to do?" he asked diplomatically.
	"We could trade off apartments depending on our mood," she
suggested, joking.
	He wasn't in the mood for levity as it turned out.

-6-

	"Dana," he said, turning to look at her with eyes full of a quietly
burning fire.  It was that voice that made her ache deliciously for him. 
"You're - we're going to sleep together after we're married."
	It wasn't a question, but she answered, "Yes."  Was that relief in
his eyes?  Something locked up in her stomach.  He thought she was an
icy bitch, she thought.  "We -"
	He nodded curtly, squaring his body to hers.  "Because I want you
in my bed every night for the rest of my life," he admitted quietly,
forcefully.
	She nodded, her stomach turning over and over.
	"This means forever to me, Scully," he said honestly.  Did he think
she would disappoint him?
	"I know."  Her mouth was so dry. She felt so scared and didn't
know why.
	"I meant what I said about kids," he added.
	He was determined to have a conversation and all she could say
was, "I know."
	"There are ways."
	He was wheedling now, or close to it, too reassuring.  She snapped
at him.  "Please, Mulder, leave it alone.  It's not meant to be.  If you want
children, marry someone who can have them."  He grabbed her before she
could make it off the couch, his fingers digging painfully into her waist as
she struggled for escape.  Her kicking foot connected with his knee and he
threw her down on the couch with an angry cry of pain.
	His eyes were angry and he was breathing hard.  So was she.  She
raised her head to nip a kiss from his lips but he pushed her back. 
"Okay?" he demanded.
	"Okay?" he said again louder.  This was making him hard.  She
could feel him against her.  She wanted him to drag her off to her
bedroom and fuck her and end this mindnumbing tension once and for all. 
She pushed him off her and he didn't grab her, but she wasn't going far.
	"Don't -"  He groaned as she began to undo the buttons on his fly. 
She'd seen him without clothes, but not like this.  "D -"  Whether he was
going to call her Dana or tell her,  "Don't," he seemed to forget.  His hands
went from pushing her away to pulling her in closer.
	He came fast. Just like the boys behind St. Christian's.  She sat
back on her heels, wondering what to do now, looking at his sated, kitten-
closed eyes.
	She was nervous.  Suddenly.  When he sighed and sat up, she
couldn't meet his eyes.  "Scully -" he said, half embarrassed.  His cheeks
were pink. She'd never seen that before.
	He was embarrassed for her.  There was a new look in his eyes. 
He had to be wondering where she'd learned that and why she'd done it
and why she hadn't done it before.
	Why the hell they were waiting for a piece of paper to define their
relationship?
	"Scully -" he tried again, reaching for her this time, but she moved
back, her arms crossed.  She didn't want him to touch her.  She didn't want
him to return the favor.
	"It's okay," she said.
	"Thank you," he said and she found it odd.  She couldn't watch him
fasten his jeans back up, so she turned away, searching for somewhere
else to look.
	A light touch on her shoulder as she stood in the dim kitchen made
her jump.  "It's been a long day," he said as she turned to face him.  A way
of explaining why he was leaving.
	"Friday," she said.
	"Okay," he replied.
	She didn't turn,  but she knew what he was gone.  Alone, she could
let her knees shake and she could gnaw on a fingernail.  Dana wouldn't
have done that.  Now Mulder knew about her.
	He knew about her.
	She was bad.
	She still wished she could go back in time and be Dana again.
	She wasn't sure how long she remained in the dark, so when the
phone rang, it roused her as though from sleep.  Her eyes focused and she
looked sharply around.  "Scully."  She noticed something strange when she
answered the phone - her nails were bitten all the way down.
	"This is Walter. Walter Skinner."
	"Hi," she said, distracted.  She was staring at her fingernails. She'd
chewed the nails off both hands. Without noticing.
	"How are you?"
	"Fine, sir, and you?"
	"Good."
	The silence was terrible. "Mulder and I decided on Friday," she
offered because she had nothing else to say.
	"That's good news."
	"You have bad news." Scully picked up on it instantly.
	"Another killing." Skinner said.
	"Oh God," she cried before she could stop the words.
	"You asked to be kept informed," Skinner reminded her.
	"Thank you," she said.   "No leads?"
	"Just yours."
	"It's a tenuous one," Scully said.
	"Do  you believe the bus driver is the one?" Skinner asked.
	"I have a feeling," she admitted. "I couldn't say for certain."
	"This girl is older. Twelve or thirteen."
	Scully winced.  She wanted this conversation over with.  She
couldn't listen to any more.  "Thanks for..."  Where had her voice gone? 
She had to try again.  "Thanks for, um, telling me."
	"Scully?"  Skinner sounded concerned.
	"I'm okay." Tears rolled down her cheeks.  They were cold as they
dried on her face and she left them alone.
	"Friday?" he asked.
	"Yes, sir."
	"Get some rest, Scully."  Skinner hung up quickly and she put the 
phone down, still horrified over the torture and death of a twelve year old
girl. Another one.
	She jumped when the phone rang again.
	"Dana, it's your mom."
	"Mom, what's wrong?" She remembered the first time she had
answered the phone "Scully."  How angry her mother had been with her.
	"I can't get a flight."  Her mother sounded pissed.  Matthew wailed
loudly in the background.
	"It's okay."  She comforted her mother automatically.  They'd
switched roles in the last year or so.  Since the cancer.
	"Can't you and Fox wait?"
	"No, Mom, I don't think we can."  Scully responded strongly,
although if she'd been pressed for reasons, she couldn't have supplied any.
	"You haven't...?"
	"Not yet, no."
	There was a long pause before Mrs. Scully said, "I guess it's time
for us to have that mother-daughter chat."
	It was a joke, but  Scully didn't laugh.  "Look, I should go."
	"Is he there?"
	"No, I'm just tired."
	"Is that her?"  She heard Bill ask her mother near the phone.
	"Dana?"  Bill must have grabbed the phone.  "Don't do this to
yourself."
	Why did he care? she wondered, gently depressing the disconnect
button.  Bill wanted to tell everyone how to live.  She went into the
bedroom and lay down, mentally touring the houses she and Mulder had
walked through that day. None of them were right. None of them had that
elusive quality called "home."
	When she was twelve, she spent a lot of time alone.  The girls were
boy crazy and she wasn't and the boys were suddenly less tolerant of her. 
She'd been the only one of her close friends to get cramps because all her
other friends were boys.  Such were the problems of a tomboy.  Boys were
lucky, she thought, and stopped being friends with them as much as they
stopped being friends with her.
	Had the girl who died today been like her?  Or poor and stupid and
a little scared?  On drugs or hooking...or just an innocent little girl?
	The killer was escalating.
	She felt like she was being watched.  It made her sick, and she
stumbled out of bed, walking unevenly, staggering from side to side.  The
light in the bathroom was too bright as she unscrewed the cap from the
bottle of cold medicine.  It made her gag.  It always did.  When she stuck
out her tongue in the mirror, it was green.  But she didn't care.  She was
going to sleep.

	Scully slept late the next morning, the sleep of the drugged or the
damned.   The murder was all over the news when she turned on the
television for company.  Parents feared for their children, newly released
on winter holiday from school.
	The girl had been discovered in a shopping mall parking lot.  The
killings were taking a visible toll - it was Christmas and Scully had no
trouble finding a parking space when she went to the mall later that day. 
A deadline had been set.  She had to make some purchases.
	It could have been one of the girls playing MASH while she drank
her coffee the other day.  She shivered.
	She didn't find a dress.  There are none, she thought, dismayed
because she didn't want to go to a bridal shop.  Nor did she want to be
married in her two year old white suit.  It doesn't matter, she told herself
as she walked into Victoria's Secret.
	This doesn't matter either, she tried to tell herself as she walked
through, looking at the overpriced silk scraps and slutty, frilly garments. 
Her nose was filled with cloying perfume.  Then she saw it on a rack in
the back. Steel gray silk, it was meant to be a nightgown, but it flowed like
an evening dress from spaghetti straps.  When she slid it over her head in
the dressing room, she loved the way it felt against her skin.  It didn't look
like a nightgown. It looked beautiful.
	And for one moment in her life, Dana Scully turned this way and
that, holding her hair up on her head, elegantly posing for the mirror.
	She still felt like she was being watched.  Even in a sealed, ultra-
private dressing room with the door locked.
	Scully allowed the saleswoman to talk her into stockings and
scented lotion and a matching pair of panties.  She didn't care.  She was
only getting married once.  When she walked out of the store, she felt
she'd won some sort of victory and wanted to call Mulder to celebrate. 
But she didn't.
	She would surprise him.
	She still felt odd about the way she'd surprised him the night
before.
	It felt like someone was watching her.  There was a weight, almost
a presence, between her shoulder blades.  She couldn't be imagining it.
	She turned and walked into the beauty supply store, where she
found some tiny silk flowers she could weave into her hair.  A softly
shaded lipstick.  She was going to be a blushing bride.
	She had to buy Mulder a ring.  The mall had an endless supply of
jewelry stores and gold bands, but she didn't know what he would like. 
She had never seen him wear jewelry of any sort.   Her feet and head were
starting to ache and she wanted desperately to run from the shopper's
palace, but she had to finish this.  The antique store drew her in.
	The perfect ring was there under glass.  It twinkled in the display
light, winking at her. I've been waiting for you, it said.
	The word "LOVE" was engraved on the inside of the circle.  Scully
bought it without a second's hesitation, feeling her Visa card bending
under the weight of the purchase.  The clerk had a kind smile and put the
ring in a box, but Scully was afraid it might get lost somehow, so she
slipped it on her finger to keep it near.
	Love.
	It had gotten dark outside, and the mall was even more deserted. 
A couple of girls in bright polyester and paper hats waited sullenly near
the door for rides home after their shift and Scully wanted to warn them to
be careful.
	She even turned once and looked behind her, but she saw nothing. 
It didn't calm her nerves and she didn't pause to put her packages in the
trunk, feeling too vulnerable and threatened.  She tossed them into the
passenger seat instead.
	She was out of gas.
	She swore she'd just filled the tank.
	She had to go back out to use the pay phone to get some assistance. 
She didn't have any cash on her, though she had thought there was another
$20 in her purse. It was gone now.
	It was dark and cold  outside. She didn't want to return to the mall.
	She couldn't stay where she was.
	Coward, taunted that voice in her head. When had she started to be
afraid?
	Scully pushed on the door handle and started for the mall.  The
creepy feeling didn't leave her as she trekked back.  The fast food mall
employees were gone.  Lucky them.  She didn't see a phone, either.  They
must have used the ones at their job to call for their rides home.
	Missy and Bill had both had jobs in high school.  Getting good
grades and studying four hours a night had exempted her from her dad's
requirement.  It would have exempted them, too.  While she knew she
would have hated working in fast food like Bill or a department store as
Missy had, she also knew they would have hated studying.
	"Phone?" she asked of the first mall employee she saw.
	"By the restroom," the girl told her.  Scully's look must have been
blank because she added,  "Upstairs.  Food court."
	"Thanks."  She headed back through, glancing at employees who
stared, bored, back at her.  Where are all the customers?  Waiting for
Christmas Eve, when they would have traveled to someplace safer than
the nation's capital, where young girls were brutalized and murdered?
	The restrooms and a bank of phones were down a long hallway off
the food court, deep in the bowels of the mall.  The floor was tiled as far
as the doors to the restrooms.  Beyond that, it was cement and unpainted
and dirty looking. The prickly feeling in the back of her neck hadn't
abated.
	She should have brought her cell phone with her.
	Screams began to resonate from inside the women's' bathroom. 
The happy sounds of toilet training, she thought with an evil smirk.   Why
was it that little kids hated the transition so much?  She was sure Mulder
would have a psychological answer, but she found it patently bizarre.
	He wasn't home.  "Mulder, it's me. I'm at the River Point Mall and
my car's out of gas in the parking lot.  Can you bring me a can of gas?
Please?  I'll wait for you in the mall, outside Sears.  It's a little after six
now."
	She hung up, looking at her watch, wondering where he was.  He
probably didn't have his cell phone with him. He never did.  She dialed the
number anyway and listened to it ring.
	She was going to have to buy a book to read while she waited. 
And get her car inspected.  She hadn't seen a puddle, but a hole in the gas
tank was the only explanation.
	The nature of the screaming changed.  She froze, feeling ice down
her back.  It was no stubborn toddler, it was someone in pain and horror. 
The sound also wasn't coming from the restroom, but from down the
hallway.
	She didn't have her gun.  She was off duty.  She couldn't not help.
	"Who's there?" she yelled, walking quickly but carefully, scanning
the names of stores stenciled onto plain doors. "Ring bell for service." 
Locked doors. Music blared from the back of Contempo Casuals.  There
was no one to offer to help.
	"Federal Officer! Stop at once!"  She didn't have her badge either.
	The only thing more terrible than the screaming was when it
stopped.  She broke into a run, stopping when she saw the blood.  Scully
didn't pause or crouch.  It was obvious the girl was dead.  One of the two
who had been waiting for a ride.  Had her friend gotten away safely?
	Would she get away safely?  This killer was become desperate. 
The girls were getting older.  The need to kill was growing stronger than
the desire for children.
	A door swung closed at the end of the hall under the green glow of
the EXIT sign.  Scully ran for it, catching it before it latched, pushing on
it.  "Stop!" she screamed.
	The door swung in and thwacked her in the face.  She tasted blood
as her vision wavered, then turned to a black cloud that washed over her
eyelids.

-7-
	
	She came to in pain.  It radiated from the center of her forehead,
she thought.  The pain was too intense for her to be sure.
	A bright light in her eye was blinding her as a hand - not her own -
pulled at her eyelids.  Not gentle.  She tried to protest, but the light was
too bright and painful.
	That smell....
	"Concussion.  No skull fracture."
	"Mulder?"  The spots dancing before her eyes were growing
transparent now that the light had been taken away.
	"I'm here."  His hand closed over hers.  Reassuring.  She felt better
already.
	She was sitting on a cement floor surrounded by garbage.  She
could taste blood - old blood.  Paramedics milled around and a camera
flash kept firing.  Crime scene.  "What happened?"
	"I was hoping you'd tell me," Mulder answered, looking grim.
	It was all blank.
	"What's the last thing you remember?" he prodded gently.
	"My car...wouldn't start."
	"You called me more than an hour ago."
	"I was unconscious for an hour?"  Her tone betrayed her alarm.
	"You were lucky," he told her.  She discovered it hurt like hell to
try to raise her eyebrows at him.  She lifted her hand and felt a knot
thickening on her forehead.  It was sticky, too, with blood.  Ouch.  This
was lucky?
	"There's a girl dead up the hallway."
	"What?" she cried.
	"She worked in the mall. It's our killer," Mulder told her.  "You
must have found him."
	"Why didn't he kill me?"
	Mulder shook his head.
	"I hit my head and he just walked away?" Scully demanded, her
voice rising.
	"There's blood on both sides of the door.  We suspect he hit you
with it."  Mulder reported.
	Feeling wild and more than a little sick, she got to her feet.  Her
knees were really weak.  "Why didn't he..." she began again.  Her shirt was
stiff with blood and she noticed a large circle of it on the floor where she
had been lying.  "He thought I was dead," she realized.
	"You lost a lot of blood."  When had Mulder taken her hand again? 
It was like watching a very strange movie, she was missing every other
frame, the action jumping ahead in fits and starts.
	"I saw him and don't remember."
	"He saw you," Mulder agreed.
	"I felt like someone was watching me," she remembered.
	"Damn it!" Mulder cried and she looked at him.  "This wasn't
coincidence.  He's been trailing you, like Strader followed me.  Waiting
and watching."
	"No," she said, but at the same time, she believed him.  His arm
was around her shoulders, possessive and protective.  She didn't like it. 
Pulling away, she walked over to the paramedics.  "Am I done?" she
asked, and they nodded, still staring down at the dead girl.
	She'd been strangled.  The killer was improvising.  No blunt
objects or obvious sexual trauma, either.  Scully looked away.
	"Do you have the gas for my car?" she asked  Mulder.
	"You're coming home with me."
	"I'm fine.  He thinks I'm dead.  I can defend myself.  I'm an FBI
agent," she informed him.
	"He surprised you once."
	"Only once."  She could see Mulder growing angry with her, but
she couldn't help that.
	"I need to question you," Mulder tried.
	"You're off the case!" she reminded him.
	"Not anymore."  He shook his head.
	She didn't want to argue.  She didn't want him to be like this, even
though Mulder was always like this and it was one of the things she liked
about him.  "I'm going home," she informed him, walking away.  And this
time he let her go.
	The first thing she did when she got in the car was look in the
rearview mirror.  With the blood washed away, the bump on her head
wouldn't look bad at all.  A little swelling and a bit of bruising.  She was
fine.  She thought she was fine.
	If he'd touched her...
	She didn't think he had.
	Why hadn't he?
	The bags in the front seat jerked her memory.  The dress she'd
bought.  The ring...
	It wasn't on her finger.  Why had she ever thought to put it there,
she thought.  Frantically, she checked the box and her pockets.  No ring. 
The murder and the pain in her head weren't enough to make her cry, but
this was.  Maybe the paramedics had picked it up. Or Mulder.  Her tears
gave way to fury.  Her head hurt and she wanted to go to work. She
wanted to get this bastard.  Murder him.
	Mulder had put gas in her tank and she went home to sit and not
sleep.  Concussion.  She knew better than to sleep.  Although she
supposed she could set her alarm to wake her every two hours, but then
who would take her to the hospital if she didn't wake up?
	Part of her didn't care if she died.  That part bothered the rest of
her a lot.  She saw down with a mug of coffee and debated whether it
would make her head feel better.
	It would if she drank it with aspirin.  In the bathroom, she
discovered there was still a Tylenol-4 in the prescription bottle.  She'd
written it for Mulder.  Somehow the bottle had ended up back in her
possession.  She'd probably taken it away from him at one time or another.
	She swallowed the pill as the phone began to ring.  "Yeah?"  She
picked it up.
	"Scully?"  Mulder sounded shocked by her lack of formality. 
"How's your head?"
	"Okay.  I just took a pain killer."
	"Do you remember anything else?  About the man who attacked
you?" he questioned.
	"It's gone.  The memories are not there.  That happens sometimes
with head injuries."
	"Memories don't just disappear," he told her.
	"No," she said instantly, answering the question she knew he was
about to ask.
	"Scully, we can catch this guy."
	"No!"
	He talked right over her protest.  "And we know that you're
susceptible to hypnosis."
	"It doesn't work!" she cried.  "It's an unproven, unreliable method!"
	"Don't you want him caught?"  Was it his voice that seductive or
the words?  She did want him caught, so badly she could feel the anger
bubbling up inside her.  "Don't you want him in prison where he'll get
what's coming to him?"  They both knew what happened to child
molesters and child murderers in prison.
	She didn't say anything, but her silence was agreement enough. 
"I'll pick you up in thirty minutes."
	"Tonight?" she cried.
	"Skinner arranged it," Mulder said before he hung up.  Mulder and
Skinner had discussed her?  She didn't like it.  But she washed her face
again and straightened her hair anyway. Mulder was a steamroller when
he had an idea.
	She didn't want to be hypnotized.  The two times she had been
before, she was left more unsettled than before the hypnosis.  People
shouldn't be forced to remember things they aren't ready for, she thought. 
She wasn't feeling emotionally well even with the medicine she'd taken
making her head feel physically better.  She sat, tense, in front of the TV
watching a newsmagazine until the knock came at the door.
	No one was standing there.  A blast of cold wind hit her hard.  This
wasn't Mulder playing a joke on her.  The wind howled through the barren
trees as she stared out, willing herself to see something in the dark.
	Nothing.
	Except the glint that caught her eye as she turned to go back in.
Gold.  Scully stooped down to look closer at the snow and found the ring
she'd purchased to give to Mulder.  It burned her hand with cold and evil
intent.  Someone had knocked on her door and dropped it on the step,
hurrying away.
	He knew where she lived.
	They had to catch him.  All the same, she went back inside and
bolted the door,  putting on her holster and checking her gun.  Its weight in
her hand made her feel safe.  She'd never depended on a weapon to make
her feel safe before.  The jacket she slid on to hide the gun warmed her. 
This time, she was ready for the knock at the door.
	"Who is it?"
	"Mulder."
	She opened the door.  "He knows where I live," she said.
	"He was here?  You saw him?"  Mulder was furious.
	She shook her head.  "I dropped something at the mall, when he
knocked me out. It was just left on my doorstep."  Her tone gave nothing
away, but the set of her mouth was hard. "Let's do this."
	If he was surprised by the change in her attitude, he didn't say so.

	The office was small and decorated in dark colors that made it
look even smaller.  It wouldn't be bright in there even at noon. "Hi."  Wade
Tomlinson was a certified hypnotist the Bureau used occasionally to
improve or verify testimony.  He had a wide-open face and white teeth. 
His hand was warm when he shook hers.
	She hated this.  It came from giving up control, she knew, and at
that moment her control was waning badly enough even without
entrusting herself to someone else.  She felt vulnerable, ugly and
uncomfortable as she put up her feet and closed her eyes under Mulder's
watchful gaze.
	Tomlinson began to walk her through the relaxation process.  She
concentrated on her breathing and her inner mind, but she felt like she did
on nights when she couldn't sleep.  Her mind wouldn't let go.
	"This isn't -"  She didn't even get the words out to say she didn't
think it was working before her mind detached.
	It was dark. She was confined in a small space.  All she was aware
of was her mind.  Trapped.  She didn't like it, but they wouldn't let her out.
	Sunlight.  She blinked in the brightness after the dark. It hurt her
eyes.  She was upset but felt a new calm.  Blood stained a homespun
uniform.  The smell of death was upon her.
	His death.
	His eyes were different.  Blue.  But always the same.  She knew
him with her soul. Except it was too late.  Those eyes were unseeing now. 
A musket ball had ripped a hole in his chest.  The heart he hadn't loved her
with was exposed, stopped. Forever.
	Sarah was crying like an idiot, sobbing uncontrollably as though it
would bring him back, as though she were the younger sister.
	Other men needed them more than he did.  Men who were still
alive, who would stay alive if the two nurses got to work.  If they
remained calm and saved their grief for another, more private time.  She
walked away, leaving Sarah to her hysteria.  Sarah was like that.  People
who got what they wanted could be.
	She never let what she felt show.  Especially not when she came to
the front to work and fell in love with her sister's fiance.  Who was dead
now on this field in Apison, Tennessee.
	Dirty jeans.  Dirty shirt.  Flannel, red and black.  Quilted lining. 
Oil underneath his fingernails.  Smells like excitement and sweat.  An evil
glint in his eyes.  Blood on white canvas tennis shoes.  No lines in his
forty year old face.  A hint of curl in blond hair.
	Yes, it was Joe Wilder and yes he had shoved a door into her face. 
Funny how it didn't hurt now, remembering it.
	A scratch on his face.  From the sharp edge of her bitten down
fingernails.  A faint line from eyebrow to hairline.
	Dana wanted to come out, but they wouldn't let her. A bump on the
head told the darkness to come, and it did.

	Her eyes opened.  "I told you it wouldn't work," she said, except
she didn't feel relaxed.  Her stomach was wrenched, sick and upset from
emotion or its suppression.
	"What?" she asked. Mulder had the weirdest look on his face. 
Bemused and unhappy.  She had gone under.  "What did I say?"
	"You identified him.  The school bus driver," Mulder answered,
still staring hard at her face.  She could feel her skin flushing under his
scrutiny.  What could she have said to make him look that way?
	"Is it enough to go on?"
	"You don't remember," he said, "even now?"
	Tomlinson intervened.  "These are memories Dana has tried hard
to forget."
	She wished he wouldn't call her Dana.
	It was a second before Mulder answered her question.  He said,
"You scratched him.  It's probable cause.  We'll find evidence when we
search his house. It's over."
	The way he got up and walked out of the room, she wondered if
they were over, too.
	"What did I say?" she asked Tomlinson. Her nerves were fluttery
because she didn't know. How could her unconscious mind know things
that she didn't?  And now these men knew more about her than she did.
	"Fascinating," said Tomlinson, handing her one of the two
identical cassettes he'd recorded the session on. She accepted it, wanting
him to tell her.
	Mulder still looked freaked out. He was pacing up and down the
hall.  His expression didn't change when he saw her.  "What did I say?"
she asked. He shook his head.  "Did I say something about us?"
	"Sort of," he admitted uncomfortably.
	"Mulder, I love you," she said, because she thought he needed to
hear it.  He nodded uneasily.  What had she done?  "Are we still getting
married?"  Her voice came out worried.
	"Yes," he replied immediately, pouring a world of passion into his
tone.  She nodded solemnly.  He looked like he wanted to touch her, but
he didn't.  His denial only made her worry more.
	The drive back to her place was silent and cold.  She was
beginning to feel the thwack on her head again and the lateness of the
hour.  "Call me after you've listened to the tape," Mulder said.  He didn't
offer to come in and he didn't kiss her goodnight.
	She didn't want to listen to the tape.  It felt cold and alien in her
hand.  It even looked weird as she stared at it.  She didn't want to, but she
had to.
	She put it into the cassette player and pressed play, sitting down
before her voice flooded from the speakers.
	She hated the sound of her voice on tape.  Too high, too flat and
did she really breathe that loudly and slur her S's so badly?
	"It's dark and it's cold. I'm trapped.  It's just me and they won't let
me out. I can't....do...anything about it.  I'm powerless against them..."
	She had to turn it off.  Her breathing had become so rapid she
couldn't pull in any oxygen.  Pure, supreme terror, the nerves that had
plagued her magnified millions of times.
	Her abduction? she thought, but it wasn't like the other half
memories she'd gained previously. Those were like hospitals, with an
antiseptic odor and bright lights.
	She had to listen to the rest.  But what if it was more like this? 
The darkness and the fear?  No wonder Mulder had wanted to get away
from her.
	She couldn't bear it.  Her head was throbbing and sleep had never
seemed to inviting.  She set her alarm and turned out the light.

	They didn't discuss the tape.  Scully saw Wilder's apprehension on
the news.  It was just the right amount of distance, she thought.  He wasn't
going to hurt anyone else.  Unfortunately, she knew there hundreds of men
out there just like him, who didn't kill but fed on the terror and innocence
of their students, their daughters, their sisters.
	They didn't discuss much.  Thursday morning they went to get the
license.   A judge Mulder knew agreed to perform the ceremony for them
on Friday. Skinner had asked to attend, as had the Lone Gunmen.  Scully
hadn't realized those guys actually liked her.
	"Frohike wanted to give you a bridal shower," Mulder offered, and
she'd laughed.  It felt good to smile.
	She had to give Mulder the license to hold because she couldn't
stop staring at it.  Her name and his name joined in fancy type on a piece
of paper for as long as paper lasted.
	"I'll see you tomorrow," he said with a light in his eyes.
	"I love you," she replied, wanting to cling.
	He nodded and hugged her quickly.  She smiled and hugged him
back.
	"Sweet dreams tonight." He kissed her on the forehead where
makeup covered her fading bruise, and she watched him walk away, hail a
cab, and then he was gone.
	Instantly she felt alone.  But it was the last time she would be
alone.  She turned and walked the other way, heading home to perform her
rituals.  Her lonely-life rituals.
	The bath with rose scented bath oil.
	The shaving and plucking and trimming.  She was too chicken to
trim her hair, though, and her nails were ragged, but she painted them with
pale pink.  Her toenails matched.  She doubted Mulder would notice.
	She eyed herself critically in the mirror both nude and in the dress. 
She still loved the dress.
	She went to bed early for a full night of sleep.  No puffy eyes or
dark circles for one day of her life.  The bruise on her forehead was easily
covered.  She managed to shut off her thoughts and sleep.
	She would be a different person before she slept again.

	When she woke up, she realized she had a thousand things to do,
all of them mundane.  She realized they hadn't even discussed a
honeymoon, although it was probably impossible to get away on short
notice with the holiday looming over them.
	She washed dishes and changed the sheets.  They hadn't even
discussed whose apartment they were going to afterward.  They had
chosen a cozy restaurant instead of a champagne reception.
	She decided the white sheets were ugly and changed the bed again,
trying to decide if she had time to purchase a new set of sheets.  She knew
in her heart she was worrying about nothing.
	A new problem set in: her hair.  It wouldn't go up, and when it did
go up, it wouldn't stay up and when it did stay, she thought the bruise on
her forehead showed too much.  The flowers looked pretty, though, and
she put on her makeup.
	That left her with an entire hour to kill, in her pajamas since she
didn't want to wrinkle her dress.  She was going to go mad with an hour to
fill, sitting and thinking about the thing she was about to do.  Anticipation
was a killer.
	The door bell rang.  She frowned slightly, walking to the door. 
"Mulder?"
	"No," came a flat male voice.  She pulled the door open.  A
delivery man stood there with a bouquet.  It was understated and beautiful. 
She hurried to get the man a tip, reassured that she was doing the right
thing. Mulder was sending her flowers on their wedding day.
	Closing the door, she sat down on the couch to smell them. 
Springtime, she thought happily.  It seemed like such a long time since
spring.  There was a card tucked into the bouquet and she savored the
moment, wondering what words Mulder would've for her.
	"Don't ruin your life."
	The flowers weren't from Mulder.  They dropped from her hand,
tumbling onto the floor.  The phone began to ring and she grabbed it,
feeling trapped in a horrible movie that couldn't possibly be her life.
	"Scully," she said, pulling herself back together.
	"Dana, please don't do this."
	"Bill, you asshole! You sent the flowers, didn't you!"  Furious, she
picked them up and hurled them against the wall.  "How could you do
this?  How could you!" she screamed.
	"How can you do this, Dana?"  Bill demanded.
	"I love him.  He loves me.   Why..."  She felt bereft.  Why couldn't
he just leave her alone?
	"He killed our sister!  He tried to kill you! He is the reason you
can't have kids, Dana," Bill listed.
	"What's that got to do with you?" she snapped.
	"I care about you," Bill whispered.  "You're my family.  You're my
sister."  His voice fell into a soothing note and she felt the same panic
she'd felt in the basement.
	She'd hidden the rabbit because she was mad at Bill.
	"Don't tell. I'll hurt the bunny if you tell, Dana."
	If he'd kill the bunny, he might kill her.  Wasn't that what he was
really saying?
	Tell what?
	"Bill, what  - how did I get locked in the basement when I was
little?" she asked.
	"You didn't." He was lying.
	"You were going to kill the bunny if I told."
	"*You* killed the bunny, Dana!" Bill shouted at her, as though she
were being unreasonable.
	"What was I going to tell, Bill?  Why are you still scared?"
	"Don't marry him, Dana."
	"You can't tell me what to do," she said, feeling sick.  Her head
ached and she let the phone slide into the cradle.  She pressed both hands
against the pain in her head, trying to make it stop, then picked up the
bouquet and dropped it into the trash.  She thoroughly pounded it with the
broom until the delicate flowers were in shreds.  She didn't feel rage.  She
felt a little sad, but mostly she felt nothing.
	Things she didn't want to remember, said the hypnotist.
	Trapped.  _Was_ it her abduction?
	She had to start over with her hair and makeup. It didn't take long
and turned out perfectly this time.  All but the empty, longing look in her
eyes.
	Scully was nothing but a cold and empty vessel.  Mulder wouldn't
want to marry her. He wanted Dana. Dana who was warm and loving and
gone so far away.
	Had she ever been Dana?
	The dress slid over her head and she stared into the mirror.  Her
last moments as a single woman.  She smiled.  She would smile for
Mulder.
	She vacuumed up the flower petals and picked one up.  She didn't
need flowers to get married.
	She didn't need Bill's approval.
	She was going to get married and live happily ever after.
	So why couldn't she get it out of her mind?  The cab ride was
strange, sitting in the back of well beaten car, overdressed for it.  The
driver wasn't making much conversation.  Or if he was, she didn't notice.
The cab smelled like bananas.
	The images of the dead girls were floating through her mind, with
their blue lips and unseeing eyes.  The blood, the mortis and the lividity. 
Their butchered parts.
	"Here we are, lady."
	She was beginning to hear screams in her head.  Whose screams? 
She didn't know. Had she witnessed the murder of the victim in the mall? 
Had she stood by, listening to her scream as she was being tortured?
	Or were they someone else's screams?
	Her own?
	She was scared.  Down into the core of her being, she was scared.
Mulder was waiting for her in the hallway outside the judges' chambers
with a brilliant grin and an entourage.  He kissed her cheek and she
couldn't say anything, just grin happily back. He filled her with happiness
and warmth and courage.
	Frohike also kissed her on the cheek.  He was wearing his weird
'60s style tuxedo.  She suspected he had Kevlar on under it.  Was he
scared of her, or did he always wear it?  Byers shook her hand and
managed to smile.  He'd also, apparently, managed to lend a suit to
Langly, who looked like he was waiting for a flood.
	Mulder was still staring at her with an enraptured expression.  She
was too shy to look at him, and too nervous.  A movement caught the
corner of her eye and she turned her head.  Skinner.  She smiled and he
took her hands. "Congratulations."  She'd never seen him smile like that.
	"Thank you, sir," she said, turning to Mulder. He nodded, and then
they all went into the judge's office.
	The tile floor seemed cold and the wooden chairs forbidding, but
for a second it was the most beautiful place she'd ever been. It would be a
new life.  Her thoughts wouldn't slow down, and at the same time, they
seemed to stop.  She shed her coat and Frohike took it like a dutiful
bridesmaid.
	The air was cool on her bare arms.  They weren't marrying in the
tropics, or a church.  His mother should have come.  Her sister should
have seen her married.  She should have signed Charlie out to attend.  Her
mother should have tried harder.
	There was much sadness on this day of new beginnings.
	Mulder held her hand as the judge spoke.  His eyes were earnest on
hers as he repeated the traditional vows.  Would he really obey her, she
wondered.
	Her voice sounded strong as she repeated the same words, but it
didn't seem to come from her.  Did everyone have this strangely
disembodied feeling when important things happened to them?
	She felt like she was hiding from something she'd already realized
and didn't want to acknowledge.  She was losing control of herself, giving
it to someone else.  Was that what marriage was about?
	Or another self? He called her Dana. "I, Fox, take you, Dana..." 
Was this what being Dana felt like?  Was this how she had longed to feel?
	"I now pronounce you man and wife."
	The kiss was celebratory.  They'd snapped the tape at the end of
the race. Her head tipped back and Mulder kissed her.  It was the first time
he'd kissed her in public.  They were going to be lovers very, very soon.
	A delicious ache started in her belly as she saw the ring on his
finger.   The grin on her face felt wonderfully, freely ridiculous.  The ring
on her own finger was beautiful.
	"Let's party!" Langly cried, pulling loose his tie and shaking free
his ponytail.
	"I'll drink to that!" Frohike agreed and even Skinner smiled.  The
judge waved good bye as they trooped out the door.
	Mulder's friends were kinder than her family.
	Rain had began to fall outside and everything smelled damp as the
snow had begun to melt.  A dead flower petal fell from the folds of her
coat and she paused for a second.
	It was from the bouquet Bill sent to her.
	The pale pink petal was caught on a stream of water rushing
against the curb to the gutter.  Washing away, washing away.
	Like innocence.
	She knew she should grab it, but only stared as the whirlpool
snagged it and finally, the petal disappeared.
	She knew what happened in the basement.
	Everything faded dreadfully away.