Please see part one for disclaimer/warnings.

Anamorphosis
by Megan Reilly
eponine@prodigy.net

-22-

	The house was dark and cold. We have to get the power turned on,
she thought, wandering through pitch black rooms.  Her eyes slowly
adjusted and she began to envision what her life would be like when she
lived in this house with Mulder.
	The floor was dirty.  Maybe we can take the weekend and clean it,
she thought.  Or paint.  She'd never lived anywhere that didn't have
regulation white walls.  As a kid she hadn't even been allowed to use tape
or nails on the walls.
	Paint, she thought happily.  But damn it was cold.  She pressed the
button to light up her watch.  It was getting late and she had to be at the
safehouse early in the morning.
	She couldn't sleep in the house, that much was clear.  Not without
heat or light.  But she did not want to go home. She had a terrible feeling
something would happen if she went home.
	Mulder's apartment.  The idea blossomed in her mind and she
jumped up to go.

	Mulder was sleeping fitfully when the motel phone began to ring. 
For a second, he thought he was at home and reached for his alarm clock,
picking it up.  When it didn't stop after several hits to the snooze bar, he
fumbled for the phone.
	"Yeah," he sighed, sitting up. It was beginning to occur to him that
this could be The Call.  The we've locked her up in the looney bin or we
regret to inform you call.
	"Mulder."
	It was her.  He didn't know how to feel, relieved or joyous or
irritated at having worried.  "I was waiting for you to call.  What
happened?"  he sat back against the headboard.
	"My mother..."  she stopped herself.  He didn't need to know her
mother wanted her to leave him.  She was never going to do so.  "I'm at
your place.  I thought you should know."
	"Why?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
	"I didn't feel safe there.  At home."
	"Are you okay now?"
	"Uh-huh." There was a long silence.  She didn't know what else to
say.  "I just wanted you to know in case you called me."
	"Thanks."  He didn't need to tell her he'd already tried to call,
already worried far too much.  "I miss you."
	"I miss you too," she said and slid the phone back into its cradle.

	He went to Traci's in the morning.  She looked thin and sick. It was
clear to him that she hadn't slept.  "How are you faring?" he asked kindly,
and then reached over to touch her.  He stopped himself instantly,
remembering Scully.
	Traci shrugged.
	No hope, he thought.
	"I'm going to get this resolved. I'm going to catch this guy and put
him away," Mulder said, trying to give her hope.
	An odd light brightened in her eyes and her lips curled into a sick
smile. "You're going to arrest the devil?"  She sounded almost giggly.
Hysterical.
	Well, it wasn't like he hadn't tried to do it before, he thought. 
"Traci, I honestly believe it was a person who did this to you. I know it's a
horrifying crime -"
	She shook her head.  "What could you possibly know?" she said
with more fire than he'd ever seen from her.  Maybe a little life was not
such a bad thing.  "What do you know about evil?"
	"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Turner," he said honestly.  He knew a lot
about evil.  He'd looked it in the eyes, and how it lived in his house and
slept in his bed.  He knew.  "Where is your husband?"
	"Working," she mumbled.
	"He didn't come home? To be with you?"  Mulder stared at her. 
The Turners were practically newlyweds, as he was.
	"Would you?" she asked sourly.  "Would you drop my case and run
home if your wife said come?"  She glanced at his still-shiny ring.
	"Yes I would," he said.  He knew that.  He hated being away from
her.  If she needed him, he would be there. Without question or hesitation.
	"'n get fired?" she continued to challenge.
	Mulder stopped and thought.  He was committed to his job.  That
was a commitment he'd proven and renewed.  He needed to work on the X
files even when the cases were stupid and lame and not what he would
have chosen.  He knew they were in trouble - in danger of being fired. 
You only get so many strikes before you're out of the game.
	"See," Traci said and when he looked at her, her eyes were dead. 
Completely flat and hollow.  The way Scully's would be if she needed his
help and he wasn't there.
	That was the other thing about his wife.  She would never ask for
help.
	Had Traci ever been that strong?
	"Where did the attack take place?" Mulder asked.
	"In my bed."
	He nodded.  A common place to find a woman vulnerable and
alone at night.  Her husband would have a key.  He wasn't sure he could
picture the priest breaking in, though.
	"What're you thinking about when you look like that?" Traci asked.
	Mulder blinked.  He hadn't realized he'd spaced out. "May I see?"
he asked.
	Traci shrugged and led him back.  An old, underfilled waterbed
dominated the room.  He wondered how hard a woman would have to
fight in order to puncture it.
	"I changed the sheets if that's what you're thinking.  Washed 'em,"
Traci offered.
	Mulder nodded.  "May I have your husband's phone number?" he
asked.
	She gave it to him.  "I have to go to church now," she said.
	"Do you go every day?" he asked her.
	"I do now. I don't want to Devil's seed to take hold," she said it like
it was so normal, so common.  Traci picked up her acid-washed denim
jacket and escorted him out.

	"Where's Whitaker?" Scully asked Agents Jones and Donnelly the
next morning in the cabin as they made their way out.
	"Not coming," Jones answered with a smug looking smile.
	She stopped where she stood, blocking their path so they couldn't
leave. "Why not?" she demanded.
	"He's sick," Donnelly told her with a kind crinkling of his eyes.
	"Who's his replacement?" she asked.
	Jones shrugged. Donnelly shrugged.  Scully glared at them as they
walked away.  Two pairs of agents, she wanted to shout at them as they
got into their cars and drove away.
	She did not want to be alone with Irving.  She pulled out her
cellphone and was dialing as Irving threw open the door to the safehouse
and grinned at her. "Come on in!"
	She put her finger in her ear and requested Skinner from the FBI
operator.  She could barely hear - it must be all the VA trees blocking her
phone. "Where's my backup?" she demanded.
	"We've had a big case break open, and we don't have anyone
available," Skinner said, sounding apologetic and also practiced.  He'd
been waiting for her call.
	"Tell Jones or Donnelly to turn around and come back," she
ordered.
	"I can't do that."
	"I don't care if they sleep, I can't be here alone," she said, lowering
her voice to try to keep Irving from hearing her.
	"Scully -"
	"Then get down here yourself, sir. Protocol dictates -"
	Skinner interrupted her angry tirade by laughing.  He was laughing
at her!  "When have you ever followed protocol?" he asked.
	She glared.
	"I can't do it. I'm sorry."  A burst of static almost drown him out. 
"I'm losing you," Skinner said.  The perfect excuse.  Then he hung up.
	Her back stiff and straight with anger, she walked into the house. 
"What's wrong?" Irving purred from the couch.  He was sprawled on his
back and grinning like a cat.  "Afraid to be alone with me?"
	"I'm an FBI agent," she informed him.  "I've faced killers and
honest to God monsters.  You don't scare me."  Her voice was tough to
cover the fact that she felt weak.
	"Good," he said.  "Did you bring your cards?"
	She flung the package at his head.  "Play solitaire."  She'd already
decided that if someone came to kill him, she'd allow them to.  She might
even help.
	"Sex is a great cure for PMS," he called to her as he picked up the
cards from where they'd fallen.
	"No wonder they took away your license," she replied, opening the
novel she'd brought with her to read.
	"Hubby not up for it?" he asked.  "Oh, that's right, he's out of
town."  His words had become menacing.  "Leave you lonely?"
	She kept her jaw locked and closed and looked at her watch.  Only
11 hours and 45 minutes to go.

	Mulder went back to the motel to call the number Traci had given
him. Damien Turned worked in the financial industry.  Mulder didn't
understand why they seemed to have so little money.  Their small home
was filled with shabby things.
	"This is Agent Mulder.  I'm with the FBI. I'm calling about your
wife -" he began.
	"Oh god, what's happened now?" Damien asked with a put-upon
groan. It wasn't the reaction Mulder had expected.
	"I was wondering where you were at the time of the incident and if
there were -" Mulder asked.
	"Buddy, you still lost me, what incident?"  Damien had an
annoyingly flat Chicago accent. Mulder found himself wondering how 
Traci and her husband had come to be together.
	"The rape..."  He didn't even want to say the word.  There was only
silence on Damien's end of the line. "You didn't know?" he asked.
	"No. I didn't know."
	Something in his voice told Mulder not to believe him.  "She didn't
tell you."
	"No, she just started talking about all that church crap and I, kinda,
turned out, you know?" Damien said.  "She's gotten worse since we got
married."
	"Worse how?" Mulder asked, hoping to get anything at all he could
use.
	"More into that crap, you know.  The devil and god and all that."
Damien said. "Is she okay?"
	It had taken his way too long to think of that, Mulder thought. He'd
also been way too quick to point out his wife's religious tendencies. 
Calling her crazy and blaming it on the devil was easy.
	Mulder still thought it was the husband.  "Where were you on the
afternoon and evening of..."
	Damien laughed. "I was working."
	"I don't even have to give you the date for you to know that,"
Mulder said curiously.
	"I'm always working."
	"Convenient."
	"What are you trying to imply?" Damien demanded.
	"Nothing," Mulder said quickly. "You were working.  Okay."
	"You sound like you don't believe me," Damien accused.
	"Why wouldn't I believe you," Mulder said, making it clear that he
didn't.
	"Look, I got to get back to my work." Damien said and hung up. 
Mulder looked at the phone in his hand and finally replaced it. He wasn't
going to get any answers out of Damien.
	No evidence, he thought.  Damn it.

	"Why don't you come over here?" Irving wheedled.
	"I warned you once already," Scully informed him.  She turned the
page in her book even though she had no idea what had happened.  She
couldn't concentrate.  She was angry with Skinner. He was supposed to
look after the agents in his care.
	But you're not a little girl any more, Scully, she reminded herself. 
You can defend yourself now. No one is going to hurt you again.
	Good thing, she thought as Irving moved to occupy the chair
opposite hers, drawing it in close.  Almost touching her.  The proximity
made her incredibly uncomfortable and she worried that it showed in her
face. If he knew, he'd get off on it, she knew. She also knew she didn't
really need that.
	"You're so uptight," he said in an oilslicked tone she imagined he
found seductive.  Then he reached for her.
	She punched him square in the jaw.  He recoiled, his eyes full of
hated.  "Ooo roke eye raw!" he said, a thin dribble of blood trailing down
his chin.
	"You feel," she said, ice cold.  She got up from her chair and
walked away, claiming the couch.
	"Oo really roke by raw!" he cried, even more alarmed.  She felt a
twinge that she hated.  Men had hurt women for centuries.
	Stooping to their level makes you as bad as they are.
	You swore to first do no harm, that voice in her head said.  It was
quickly joined by other voices, offering her commandments and her own
memory to make her guilty.
	Mulder would be ashamed of her.
	"Awen't ooo oing to _do_ romething?"  She glanced at him, feeling
sick.  His blood was bright and freely flowing.  She couldn't leave him
broken and in agony for hours.
	She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

	"There's nothing I can do here," Mulder told Skinner on the phone. 
"Mrs. Turner won't press any charges since it's the devil."
	"Mulder -"  He could picture the glare on Skinner's face.  He knew
that tone of frustration.
	"I tried.  She believes it was the devil.  She laughs when I mention
charges. Even if she admitted it had been her husband, I doubt she would
do anything about it."
	"You think it's the husband," Skinner said.
	"Yes," Mulder answered and prepared to defend his opinion.
	"I agree, sir," Mulder said.  There was a tiny click on the line and
Mulder flinched. It had been a long time since he'd given any thought to
wiretaps.  Who would be interested?
	"I have another call," Skinner said. "But I recommend you give it
another day." Mulder groaned and Skinner heard it.  "I know you want to
be home with your wife, Mulder, but give this case your best regardless of
that."
	"Yes sir," Mulder said. Skinner disconnected their call and Mulder
muttered, "Damn."   He hated wasting his time when there was nothing
more he could do.

	"Sir?"  Scully was Skinner's other call.
	"What is it now?" Skinner growled.
	"The prisoner requires medical attention," she reported, glancing
over at Irving.  He looked harmless and helpless, now.  She knew she
should not have hit him.
	"He's not a prisoner," Skinner reminded her.  "And you're a
doctor."
	"His jaw's broken."
	"How did this happen?  Was there an attempt?" Skinner cried,
concerned.
	"I hit him," she said softly.  Irving tried to smile at her admission
and instantly yelped in pain.  Her stomach turned.
	"You what?" Skinner demanded.  "You'd better have a damned
good reason."
	"He's a rapist and I'm alone with him and he was about to touch
me," Scully informed him in a flat, unemotional tone.
	"I will send someone," Skinner informed her. "Do you feel safe
there until they arrive?"
	"Do NOT patronize me," she snapped.
	"We'll talk later," Skinner said. It was not an invitation for a
meeting.  The phone disconnected and she forced herself to put it away
calmly.  She didn't want Irving to know. He was smug enough already.
	"In trouble?" Irving asked, his eyes lit with hope.
	She wasn't speaking to him.
	"I'm gonna sue you!" he slurred.
	She had no doubt. Once again fear began to wind through her
stomach.  She was going to lose her career.  They were going to find out
and her abuser was going to have the final say in her life.
	And she damn well wasn't going to cry.

	"You again," Traci opened the door, but didn't step back, not
allowing him into the house.
	"Are you sure about what happened."  He couldn't keep the sigh
out of his voice.
	Her face twisted.  "I am so sick of you and your disbelief," she
snarled. "I know what happened!  I was lying in bed and someone held me
down. Someone I couldn't see. And I couldn't move and they _violated_
me."  Her mascara began to run as she started to cry.
	Once again he wanted to touch her to comfort her, but he knew he
couldn't.  Shouldn't.  He could see Scully there in her pain.
	But her story was different. It sounded almost like an alien
abduction.  Sans abduction and mostly sans aliens.  He didn't need Scully
there to know what she would say.
	Dream paralysis while not asleep. It happened to a small fraction
of the population. At the conference he'd attended almost a year ago, a so-
called expert had attributed all abduction phenomena to dream paralysis.
	Mulder knew not all abductions occurred while lying in bed.  And
it didn't explain Traci's doctor-verified rape in this case.
	But it could explain the presence of the devil.
	"I wish you would let me help you," Mulder said, studying her
eyes.
	"I wish it would happen to you so you'd know," she offered cruelly.
	It has, he thought of Scully.  "I'll call again tomorrow before I'm
scheduled to leave," he said.  She closed the door and he headed for the
motel.
	Feeling sad.
	Feeling he'd failed.

	Skinner sent Donnelly and an ambulance. "Thanks, bitch,"
Donnelly sneered as he walked past her.
	Scully didn't react.  She was used to male agents treating her with
acid disrespect.  The man had worked 12 hours and had to return because
she wasn't doing her job. She'd be angry too.
	"You're through," Donnelly informed her. Telling her to leave.  He
turned to  Irving and for a second she thought the two men were about to
high-five each other.  She was horrified and left quickly.
	Skinner was a man.  He wouldn't understand either.  What would
her punishment be for striking a witness?  When guarding the witness had
already been meant as a punishment.
	Maybe she should quit.  It had crossed her mind so many times
over the years.   She wasn't a quitter.  She'd had something to prove and
now that times had grown hard she should only work harder.  Except it
was so hard.
	The only other reason she had was Mulder and they were married
now.  He wouldn't feel abandoned.  He wouldn't feel she'd left him
because she wouldn't be leaving him.
	She didn't want to.
	She knew it was a steep uphill climb but she didn't want to quit. 
Unless it was no longer her decision to make.  She sighed. Mulder was
going to be disappointed in her.

	Mulder was still sad when he reached the motel.  He had nothing
to do except wait for morning to come so he could ask Traci again.  She
would say no, again, and he could go home.
	He wanted to go home.  Even though right now things were hard
and painful.  Scully was there.   She was what he needed for strength.
	He had no passion for this work without her.  Mulder spread out on
the bed and turned on the TV.  Maybe he could sleep the time away.

-23-

	She sat silent and demur in  Skinner's office, aware of his utter
anger.  She couldn't look at him and she hoped that didn't make her look
guilty. Guiltier.  She was already guilty.
	"Why did you hit him?"
	"I told you," she said quietly.  Absolutely determined to remain
calm.
	"If you were unable to handle the assignment -" Skinner began. 
Sounding pissed off and condescending.
	"I called you and expressed my concerns, which you did not listen
to," she stated.  She l lifted her head and they stared at each other.
	"What did he do?"
	"I told -"
	"Tell me again," Skinner said.  She hesitated, recognizing a
common interrogation technique - repeating the story until it changed or
fell apart.  He continued, "I don't want to put you in front of the OPR
twice in the same week."
	"He was scum. Sir," she added the last absurdly.  "He spent twelve
hours sneering and leering and bragging about what he did.  What he did
that the Bureau is condoning by letting him go free.  So today when he sat
down inches from me and reached out, I reacted."
	Skinner didn't move.  There was no change in his facial
expression.  "You hit him."
	"Yes, sir."
	"How close was he?" Skinner asked after a short pause.
	She just looked at him. He nodded, waiting for an answer.  "You've
got to be kidding!" she cried, rising from her chair.
	"It's your word against his. I need to know you reacted to actual
physical danger," Skinner told her.  Sometimes she saw him fight to hide
emotion, so she knew he had them.  He'd even had a wife; he was a man. 
But as a boss....
	His marine training made him cold and unattached.
	"A woman is always at fault for unwanted attention," she railed.
"How short is my skirt?"  She knew it covered her knees.  "Maybe I
invited him. So I could tease him. Forget that I'm _married_. Just being
female is an invitation. Women always want it, isn't that right sir?" she
asked, making her sarcasm tantalize as she moved closer to his chair.  His
eyes followed her with interest.  "If he'd thrown me on the floor and did to
me what he's so proud of doing to those other women, I should have -"  her
voice broke because her emotions were rising in her chest.  The tears in
her eyes wouldn't put her voice above a whisper.  "I should have sat back
and enjoyed it," she finished coldly.
	"That wouldn't have happened," Skinner told her.  He had to lean
all the way back to see her face because she was standing so close to him.
	"No, because I punched him in the jaw," she said, a touch of
smugness tainting her voice.  She was overtly aware of how close she was
standing.  She could smell the Zest soap he'd used in the shower that
morning.  His splayed thighs were almost touching hers.  She leaned in,
putting her face near his.  "And this is how close he was to me," she told
him, holding her position before stepping away.  Her blood still boiled
with anger.  She watched Skinner to see what he would say.
	Finally, he spoke.  "I think there are some autopsies awaiting you
at Quantico," he said.
	"Thank you, sir."  Her knees were shaking as she walked out of his
office.  He was bound to notice.

	When Mulder woke, he was disoriented.  It was dark and he didn't
know where he was.  After a moment, he remembered the motel,
Michigan, the case.
	He'd been dreaming about  his father.  The man who taught him to
fish and track and told him he was stupid.  The man who smoked three
packs a day and drank after dinner and knocked him out once for
swearing.
	It had not been idyllic.  But back then, parents spanked their kids.
Mulder hadn't thought anything of it.  He'd known he was to blame for
losing his sister, the way he was to blame for everything.  He knew it as
surely as he knew his own name.
	He'd accepted it, and that had influenced him to use gentle touches
and study psychology that told him no one was to blame.
	How had her experiences made Scully who she was?  Strong and
proud... Was getting smacked the same, but different, from what Scully
and Traci and so many others felt?  It had to be, he thought, so maybe he
never would understand.
	Everyone is abused as a child, he thought and sighed.  Even though
it was late, he picked up the phone to call Scully, to tell her that he would
be home sometime soon.  He wanted to tell her how much he wanted to
see her.
	He dialed his apartment and then hers and there was no answer in
either place.  He worried, and what had he to do?  What could he do?  He
worried.

	The phone stopped ringing in the instant she pushed the door open. 
Exhausted, she ran for it, hoping she could catch Mulder leaving a
message on her answering machine.
	She stopped short.  She hadn't turned the machine on before she
left.  Her shoulders sagged.  She'd wanted to hear his voice.  She'd
autopsied five victims that day.  Two of them she'd done before an
audience of trainees.  She needed to feel some confirmation of life now,
after spending her day with death.  The beating of her own heart was no
longer enough to remind her.
	She couldn't call him because it was late and what if it hadn't been
him on the phone?
	Once Irving gave his testimony, he'd be free.  And he struck her as
the type who might try to take revenge.
	Unlike Joe Wilder, who had been smart and disappeared after his
release.  After thinking such thoughts, she found the silence and the
darkness threatening and in spite of her exhaustion, sleep was hard to
come by.

	The ringing phone interrupted her sleep.  She was still tired and the
light burned her eyes and turned her stomach as she squinted against it.
"Yeah," she mumbled through the hair that had somehow come to cover
her face.
	"I'll need to see you in my office at eight thirty," Skinner said.
	"Okay," she managed and fumbled the phone back to its home,
thinking only of sleep.  She fell back against her pillow.
	She was in trouble again.  Again, or still?  She forced her eyes
open.  It was seven thirty by her clock.   She could hardly believe it.  With
traffic, she was already late.

	Mulder sat in the chair in his motel room, tapping his foot, the TV
off, not eating, not reading or sleeping. Just tapping and waiting to ask
Traci Turner again what she wanted to do.
	If she changed her mind, he wouldn't be able to catch his plane at
noon.
	He'd never longed for home as much as he did at that moment. 
Because home was no longer a place for him - it was a person.  Scully.
	Marriage gave him ground and roots in a way he had never
imagined.  He had never imagined that he would like it so much.
	The phone rang and he smiled.  He was thinking of his wife and
she was thinking of him.  Sometimes he thought she was the tiniest bit
psychic.  She'd deny it if he said it to her, of course.
	"Hey honey," he said playfully when he picked up the phone.
	"Mulder?"
	He almost dropped the phone when he heard Skinner's voice. He
wasn't psychic.  "I'm sorry -" he began.
	"I need you back here on the first flight," Skinner ordered.
	"What about the case?"
	"We can't prosecute the devil, you said it yourself," Skinner said
wryly.  It almost resembled a sense of humor. "We need you back here."
	"What happened?" he asked, afraid something had happened to
Scully.
	"We've got another dead kid," Skinner informed him.
	"I'll be there as soon as I can," Mulder said and hung up, dialing
the local bureau to assist him in making new, rush travel arrangements.
	
	The radio assaulted her from the moment she got in the car.  "A
killer released by the FBI due to lack of evidence has struck again..."
	Oh no, she thought.  She was definitely in trouble.  It would
somehow be her fault that Wilder was out to kill again, because she was a
bad risk to the Bureau.  Another little girl was dead.  For a second she
couldn't breathe because it hurt so badly.  The radio didn't give any details,
but she knew them well enough from the previous killings.
	She remembered her own pain and fear and confusion at what had
been done to her when she was a child.  She could still feel the skin
stretching until it ripped.  She shuddered, barely seeing where she was
driving, knowing that Wilder had done that to another little girl, but he'd
used a knife instead of his finger or a broomstick or his adult penis.
	A horn blared and she jerked the wheel.  She didn't know where
she was for the moment before she recognized the turn to the parking lot
at work.  She'd lost the entire drive to her dark and ugly thoughts.
	Or had she lost the drive to one of the others?  The one who left
fear trembling in her stomach, who could drive while she thought.  What
if one of them came out while she met with Skinner?  It hadn't happened
yet, but it could.
	But thirty years had passed without her noticing them at all.
	She was scared.
	Fear was the one thing she could not handle.
	Dana parked the car and went upstairs to Skinner's office.  Things
had seemed to change since she'd last been there.  She didn't know how or
why, but it was different.
	Dana was afraid Joe Wilder would be there.  He was a mild
mannered school bus driver - how could he have killed those children?
	"I should probably wait to speak to you until Mulder gets here,"
Skinner told her before she even sat down.  So she didn't sit, eager to
please him and afraid to disappoint him.  Dana always wanted people to
be pleased with her.
	"The Bureau wants both of your badges for this. If you'd gone by
the book before, this kid wouldn't be dead," Skinner looked over his
glasses at her.  "Sit down."
	Scully crossed her legs after she sat down, and Dana uncrossed
them.  "It isn't our fault he went free.  We identified and arrested the
killer," Scully argued.
	Dana was afraid to let her break through even though she was also
afraid to stay in the meeting.  She had been filled with fear since her
abduction.  It overwhelmed her and made her completely unable to work. 
She was more gentle now, although she had always been kinder and softer
than Scully.
	Even Scully knew that Dana didn't belong at work.  She only knew
she was not in control, and control was what she needed at that moment in
order to save her job.
	Her job and Mulder's.
	"Maybe you're right," Scully heard herself say.  She looked just as
shocked as she felt.  "I feel terrible about this," Dana added softly.
	"I don't think there was anything you could have done differently,"
Skinner admitted.  "And I will say as much on your behalf."
	She nodded.  "Did you get him this time?" Dana asked timidly.
	"Yeah."
	Scully didn't see what the problem was if she and Mulder had
identified the right man.  If the Bureau wasn't so desperately out to get
them, this murder would not have happened.
	"This sucks," DK declared.
	Dana was incredibly embarrassed.
	Scully struggled to silence them all, worried Skinner would notice
she was completely insane.
	To her surprise, he merely nodded.  "Keep a low profile until
Mulder gets back," he advised.
	"Mulder's coming back?" Dana and Scully said at the same time.  It
surprised Scully and it made Dana pull back.  What did it mean if she and
Scully felt the same way about Mulder?
	Skinner nodded.  "This afternoon.  We'll talk later."
	Scully nodded.  Dana was wondering who was really married to
Mulder. She was pretty sure it was her.  She'd loved him longer than
Scully had.  Dana walked downstairs slowly, almost dreamily, thinking
about her husband.
	Afraid the time away had made him realize that he didn't need her
or love her.
	She didn't like the fear or the doubt, so she let Scully do the
expense report so she wouldn't have to think about it any more.
	After a cup of coffee and about an hour of working with the
calculator, Scully felt like herself again.  It must have been the shock, but
it was too easy to blame that.  She needed to learn to deal at whatever life
came up with and be able to stay in control.  Because numbers were
straightforward, she returned to the expense report.

	Mulder walked in hours later, practically dragging his suitcase
along on the floor.  The plane ride had been long and his transfer had been
even longer. He was pleased to be back, even if he was due to be in
trouble.  His office felt like home, especially when he saw Scully sitting at
the desk, a pencil stuck behind her ear and another in her hand.  For a
second, he felt normal and carefree and fought the urge to rush at her and
hug her tight.
	"Hey," he said instead, hanging back.
	She turned and grinned. "You're back.  How was it?"
	"I'm a failure without you," he told her.  "What's going on?"
	"There's been another murder.  They got Joe Wilder on it, but they
want to get us for screwing it up in the first place," she said.
	"They just want to get us," Mulder commented.
	She pursed her lips and regarded him.  "My being completely
psycho doesn't really help," she added.
	"What does that mean?" he demanded, studying her.  "You didn't
sound too good last night."
	She shook her head.  She hadn't been too good.  "I punched the
witness I was guarding," she admitted, watching him to see how he would
react.
	It took him a second, but then he said carefully, "I'm sure you had a
good reason."
	She smiled.  He was a great guy.  That was why she didn't want to
tell him she'd felt very tenuous this morning.  She had managed to pull
herself together and the expense report had gotten finished in the process,
another bonus.  "We should go see Skinner."
	"Do you want to?" he asked her.
	"Of course not," she said.
	"Was he very upset?" Mulder asked her.
	"I think he's on our side," she told him. "For what that's worth. 
One of these days he won't be."
	"Do you really think so?" he asked, moving closer to her. He'd
been dying to touch her since the moment he'd left.
	"We've got to be such a pain in his ass," she said.  "If you look at it
from his point of view."
	"You ever think about moving out of the field?" he asked her,
meeting her eyes.
	She could stare into his gaze for days, but she had to be honest
when she did.  "All the time now," she admitted
	"I hate being out there without you," he said.  Her head was tipped
back to look at him and he finally dug his fingers into her hair at the
temples.  "I hate it."
	"What happened to my independent partner?" she asked, her lips
twisting in a tiny smile to know he'd missed her and he'd needed her.
	"I kept telling myself all the things you would have said." With his
hands still in her hair, he leaned down to kiss her. Finally.  "This woman
believed so strongly in the devil..."
	"What did you think I'd have said?" she asked, her lips still feeling
the pressure of his. Her heart was still in her stomach.  She wanted him.
	"That she couldn't accept the evil in other people so she attributed
it to the devil."  He watched her face. "Is that what you would have said?"
	"Probably."
	"Why did you hit someone?" he asked her.
	She shrugged.  A tight shrug like she was ashamed and didn't want
to talk about it. What had she gotten into while he was away?  But he
knew that wasn't what she wanted him to think.
	"Was it you?" he asked.
	"Yes," she said, mildly irritated.  She pulled her face away from his
hands.  Instantly her expression tempered. "I'm not sure if that's better or
worse. It would be easier to deal with if it was one of the others, in some
ways."
	"Are they staying away?" he asked.
	She looked away.  "I've been struggling," she said, her eyes focused
on his poster hanging on the opposite wall.  "We should go." She got to
her feet and walked past him, pausing by the door to wait for him.
	"I'm so looking forward to this," Mulder remarked dryly.  They
both fell into silence as they walked up, thinking.  They'd received their
disliked assignments in punishment for their previous offenses - what
would their punishment be now?
	Scully reached to squeeze his hand before they went into Skinner's
office. To assure herself as much as to assure him. He turned and smiled
at her.  Glad of the support and the strength of their partnership.
	Skinner looked even more pissed than usual, an imposing figure
behind his desk as the slid silently into the facing chairs like kids in the
principal's office.  Oh no,  Scully thought and saw Mulder turn his head
out of the corner of her eye as though he'd been able to hear her.
	"Joe Wilder confessed," Skinner said. "Everything.  Working with
Strader, his assault on you."  His eyes found Scully.  "You two are off the
hook."
	"Good," said Mulder, and the word was too weak.
	"Thank you sir," Scully replied, finding her voice.  She didn't feel
vindicated at all for being right, just moderately relieved.
	"Is the expense report finished?" Skinner turned his glare to
Mulder.
	"Yes. I'll get it to you later this afternoon," Scully answered for
him.
	The three of them looked at each other.  "Mulder, you look tired. 
Did you solve the case?" Skinner asked.  Mulder shook his head.  "Your
solve rate is really getting bad," Skinner went on, looking from Mulder to
Scully and back again.  "Any problems?"
	He was asking about their marriage again?  "Everything's fine,"
Mulder said.
	Skinner nodded.  "Scully, if I could have a word with you?"
	Her eyes widened.  "Certainly," she said. Mulder looked at her as
he got to his feet and headed out of the office, his eyes lingering on her. 
She nodded as though to tell him it was okay.  The door closed and she
was alone with her boss.
	"Is everything all right?" he asked her.
	"Fine, sir," she said, yet again.
	"Honestly," he suggested.  "You seem different, since you and
Mulder were married.  Is everything okay between you two?"
	"I love him and he loves me. We've bought a house.  We are going
to have a  happy life together," she said.
	"Then is it something else that's bothering you?" Skinner asked, his
eyes searching hers. "I would appreciate your honesty here.  In light of
what happened this morning. Your reaction was not like you, and you
know that."
	She took a deep breath.  She had to tell him. It was the only right
thing to do, but how to say it?  Why did this feel like it was going to be
harder than telling her family had been?  "I...recently remembered
incidents of abuse that occurred during my childhood."  She forced herself
to meet his eyes.
	"I'm sorry," he said.  He wasn't shocked.  "Do you want me to refer
you to the counselor?"
	She shook her head.  "I'm okay," she told him.
	"If it becomes too much for you to deal with..." Skinner offered.
	She shook her head.  "I'm getting better.  Mulder's helping. It just
takes time." Listen to me, she thought, I sound like I mean it.  Like it's
really going to happen.
	And he's not going to penalize me or fire me or say anything.  She
actually felt lighter inside and smiled.  He didn't smile back, but she felt
like she was on better terms.
	She felt safe.
	"Thank you," she told him before leaving his office. That changed
the look on his face.  His eyebrows went up and his expression changed,
becoming more open. He'd helped her, just by asking, and now he knew it.

-24-

	She slipped out and went back down to the basement office. 
Mulder was looking over the expense report. "Looks good," he told her,
raising his eyes to her face.
	"I can't believe you're doing that," she said.
	"Needed to be done. I can't believe you did this whole thing."
	"I needed something else to think about," she told him.  
	He nodded, his eyes clear and focused on her.  "What did Skinner
want to see you about?"
	"I told him," she said.
	"How did that feel?"
	"Good.  I thought it would be harder. I thought there would be
repercussions. But I guess this kind of thing happens to everyone."
	"I was having that same thought," he said.
	She tilted her head and put her chin in her hand, staring at him. 
"Were you?"
	"Not like you were," he said.  She saw a slight flex to his
shoulders.  He was uncomfortable.  He shouldn't be uncomfortable telling
her this.  Did he feel like she'd invalidated his feelings?  Was she totally
and completely selfish?  "Not sexually."
	"Tell me," she urged.
	One shoulder went up and then back down but she wanted to hear
him answer.  "No, Mulder, honestly. We have spent what feels like weeks
just talking about me. I want to hear about you."  He continued to hesitate. 
"I do."
	"It was okay to hit kids back then. You know," he said.  "Mostly it
was my dad, mostly when he was drinking, but I never thought of it as
_abuse_."
	She nodded.  "You know you're not to blame for them taking your
sister."
	He nodded.  "I know that in here."  He tapped his head.  "And I
remind myself. But when we found those files...it was supposed to be me. 
I could have saved her from whatever pain they've caused her. I wish I
could have saved her from that."
	"I know," she said.  "I wonder if he hurt Melissa too, or maybe I
kept him from..."  She closed her eyes on the tears, then forced them open
again.  "I wish she was here so I could ask her."
	"It's okay."
	"I know. And now I've turned his around to make it about me
again."  She pushed a smile onto her face.  "I want to paint our house. This
weekend.  I went the other night and I want to move in."
	"Of course we're going to move in," he said, but he was glad.  He
was tired of commuting and never feeling like he was home in her
apartment.  He wanted them to have a home that was theirs, both of them
together. "What color do you want to paint it?  Should we find someone to
do it?"
	"I want to do it all ourselves.  Together, and make it ours," she
said.
	"Why do I have such a hard time picturing you with a paintbrush in
your hand?" he asked her.
	"I don't know - why do you?" she asked in return.  She knew she
radiated an air of perfection - she worked at it - but he knew she was not
perfect.  He'd seen her at her absolute worse, crying and destroyed.
	"You just don't seem the type," he offered lamely.
	"Sometimes I think we don't know each other very well," Scully
told him, her mouth turning down unhappily.
	He pulled a quick breath but couldn't let it out, couldn't relax. 
"What does that mean?"
	Now he was going to make a big issue out of it, she thought. Had
she intended to start an argument?  Unconsciously.  " We have a whole
lifetime," she told him.
	"Are you happy?" he asked.
	What could she say?
	He turned away, scraping his hands down over his face.  "We have
a whole lifetime," he muttered, repeating her answer.
	"Are you?" she asked.
	He nodded vigorously.
	"There are moments that make me happy," she told him. "But right
now I'm living in anticipation of happiness.  Our house will make me
happy.  Getting over all this will make me happy."
	"This isn't something you get over, Scully," he told her.  From
experience.  "This is something you live with."
	She nodded, but he could see that she didn't believe him.  She
would learn, he thought, and he didn't want her to learn.  He wanted her to
be as happy as he felt about simple things - as simple as the knowledge
that he was married to her.  But now he knew nothing he did could make
her feel that way.
	Maybe he would have to learn to live without it.
	"Let's go to the paint store," he sighed and got to his feet.
	"Now? Aren't you tired?  Don't you want to go home and change?" 
Her eyes flicked over his rumpled suit.
	"Not really," he said. He didn't care how he looked. If the house
was what would make her happy, fixing up the house was what they
would do.  He only hoped she knew she couldn't move away from her
problems. He'd tried that when he went away to college in England,
running as far from his pain as he could get.  It had been good for a while,
but he'd trusted the wrong people and it had all crumbled in the end.
	He always trusted the wrong people.  And with that thought he
couldn't help wondering, because he trusted her with his work, what made
him believe that he could trust her with his heart?  It had all happened so
suddenly.
	They walked out, stopping to drop the expense report off in
Skinner's office, then got in the car to go and look at paint.  "Why did you
marry me?" Mulder asked.
	"Having regrets?"  There was no surprise in her eyes or her tone,
and he didn't know how he felt about that.
	"No," he murmured and it was a few seconds before he realized
she'd deflected his question without answering it.
	"You're the only one," she replied several moments later.  He
glanced at her because it wasn't really a compliment.  But she meant it.  It
was the only thing she could say - it defined their relationship so
completely for her.  He was the only person she could see herself being
with.

	"What color?" Mulder asked, standing in front of a rack with
thousands of paper cards bearing every shade and nuance of the rainbow. 
He picked one up. Marigold, it said in tiny letters.  "Yellow?"  He offered
it to her.
	"It's yellow now," she said, her fingers flicking over the numerous
shades.   Her nails were still so ugly, torn and bitten down.  She frowned
at them.
	"Who could tell?" Mulder asked flippantly, selecting butter,
buttercup and buttercream.  Softer shades of yellow.
	"It is run down," she admitted, picking up a foresty green.
	"I like this one," he offered her 'Yield,' a traffic-stopping shade of
yellow.
	"Who wants to live in a yellow house?"  Her nose wrinkled,
drawing his attention to her freckles.  He wanted to touch those tawny
flecks in her skin.
	"Yellow houses sell better because they make people happy. 
Everyone wants to live in a big yellow house," he told her, picking out a
faintly yellow white.
	"Not me."   She was stubborn.
	He leaned against the rack, knowing he'd lost.  "So what color
were you thinking?"  Since she obviously already had her mind made up.
	She plucked a brown, a green, a peach - offering them to him.  Her
eyes were wide and waiting.  He slid the peach from her fingers.  It was
orangey, but still too close to pink.  The brown was too dark.  That left
green.  He lifted his eyebrows.
	"Green," she said.  "Oh, here's more."  She started flipping through
a newly discovered segment of colors.
	Mulder was extremely bored.  He titled his head and began to look
at the reds, ranging from purple to pink.  Then he lowered his eyes to
orange.  With a smile, he picked one out and held it up, closing one eye to
compare it with Scully's hair.  His smile deepened as he found the right
one, turning to blue to find her eyes.
	"What're you doing?"   She turned and caught him in his squinty
comparison.  She could tell from his smile that he was up to something.
	He offered her the orange card.  "It matches your hair."
	A crazy laugh of a grin crossed her face.   He watched her slide the
card into her pocket and recompose her face into a semblance of
seriousness.  "Blue?" she asked, taking the pale teal from his hand.  "Did
you like this?"
	"I was trying to match your eyes."
	"It's a nice color."  She leaned past him to pluck a watery
confederate gray card from the selection.  "Your eyes," she said.
	"They are not that color!" he cried.
	She nodded saucily.  He grabbed the card.  "You're the one who
thinks my hair is tangerine," she pointed out.
	"Better than chartreuse."  He threw a green card at her.
	"Can I help you?"  An older man with an orange apron and paint
under his fingernails approached them to ask.  The card Scully was about
to hurl slipped to the floor.  The man just looked at them.  "Paint?" he
reminded.
	"We're painting out house.  Any suggestions?" Scully asked
brightly.
	"Yella's nice," he suggested.
	Scully sighed.  But it was the kind of sigh that matched Mulder's
efforts not to laugh.

	"I'm so tired," Mulder declared as he dropped the gallon cans he
was carrying and flopped down on Scully's living room couch, tossing his
head back and closing his eyes
	Scully walked over the check her answering machine. No
messages.  A good sign.  She joined Mulder in the living room, bending
down to inspect their choices.  Ice blue. Mulder had convinced her of
yellow trim.  There was a whole collection of brushes and rollers in a
giant plastic bag, new and just waiting to be used.  She couldn't wait to get
started.  "I want to go now," she declared.
	Mulder groaned, not lifting his head.  She looked at him, surprised. 
Was this what he did?  Was this the way he spent his evenings, deposited
dead on the sofa, TV on or off?
	He was entertaining similarly dark thoughts about her workaholic
tendencies.  Not that he wasn't a workaholic himself, but he wanted her to
curl up next to him, put her head on his shoulder and settle in for a movie
on cable.
	She picked up a book and plopped into the chair. Mulder changed
channels on the TV at random.  They sighed in unison out of boredom.
	"Going to read in bed," she told him, meaning it to be an invitation. 
He'd been gone for two days and she'd missed him.  Not just his presence
or his arms around her at night, but as a lover.
	They'd had a lot of problems, but she still marveled at how quickly
that change in their relationship had come to be an important part of her
life.  She felt stronger than she had in many nights. Maybe it was the
resolution of the Wilder case, or the decisions they'd made about the
house, or maybe it was just finally time.
	She wanted him.
	So she was supremely disappointed, lying in her queen sized bed
that she'd come to think of as theirs.  Did she have to be more specific or
more obvious when she said she was going to bed?  She closed the book
and tossed it aside, stretching out under the covers, her irritation growing.
	Just when she was ready to jump up and yell at him, she heard the
TV turn off.  Here he comes, she thought with a little pulse of excitement. 
The sheets made a whispery sound against her skin s she shifted to turn
toward him, propping herself on one elbow.
	He shed his dress shirt, dropping it, as he moved in toward the bed,
falling onto it like a dead man.  He moved his arms and legs to get
comfortable, burrowing his face into the pillow.
	She frowned and moved closer to him.  "Mmm, Scully," he
mumbled, welcoming her presence.
	He's tired, leave him alone, the voice in her head advised.  But
Scully had the feeling that he was avoiding her.  Even in the same
apartment, it was possible for him to do that - by waiting until she'd fallen
asleep.  He didn't want her because she'd been such a freak and she wasn't
going to be a freak tonight, not any more.
	She had to prove it to herself as much as to him.  "Mulder," she
said.
	"Yeah."  He turned his head and cracked his eyes open.
	She wet her lips, suddenly nervous. "I want us to make love
tonight," she said softly, moving closer to him, holding his eyes with hers
until she kissed him gently.
	He responded and his hand slipped under the covers to find that
she'd forgone pajamas.  He gave a tiny chuckle the sound of which she
could feel deep into her belly.  She let out the barest sound as she felt the
pleasure - actual pleasure! - of him touching her skin.
	But when she reached to unfasten his trousers, he pushed her away. 
"Mulder?"  She sat up, not bothering to grab the sheet to cover herself.
	"Scully, we shouldn't -"
	"I want to," she interrupted, reaching for his neck so she could kiss
him again.
	"Scully, I'm really tired," he repeated, his voice firm and growing 
loud.
	He didn't want her.
	That hurt.
	"But it's okay," she whispered, trying to convince him and explain
all the things she'd decided.  She'd decided to prove she could beat this
and prove to him she loved him and prove to them both -
	"I'm _really_tired_," he said again.
	"But Mulder -"  She heard the girlish whine and hated herself for
it.  She ran her hands along the sides of his torso, working her way down.
	"Stop it, Scully, I can't," he told her bluntly.
	She stopped and stared at him.
	"And don't stare at me."  His voice was rough with anger and self-
loathing.  "It happens."
	Now she understood the meaning of "really tired" in Mulder-speak.
	"I'm sorry," he added in a sigh that told her he wasn't, really.  He
turned over and put his face back into the pillow.  She lay on her back
with one arm over her head, feeling the cool air on her exposed skin. 
Listening to the voices in her mind laugh at her.
	DK wanted to come out and get his attention. Scully was not going
to let her, but sort of wanted to take DK's advice herself.  She could feel
her stomach rise and fall too quickly, upset.  Mulder we should talk about
this, she said.
	He groaned.   This only made her feel worse.
	"I guess we could talk in the morning," she tempered her statement
and he sighed, thrashing around to face her.
	"What do we need to talk about?" he asked her.
	"You're avoiding me."
	"_I'm_tired_."
	"Any excuse," she murmured.
	He sighed again, very loudly.  Now he was annoyed too.  They
were both completely annoyed.  "It's been a really long day.  I do have off
days, Scully, just like you.  With as many as you've had, I would think
you'd understand how I feel."
	She closed her mouth.  What could she say to that?  He had been
wonderfully undemanding - and she had to respect that from him as well. 
"I'm sorry," she said finally, chastised.
	He mumbled a response that wasn't meant to be understood.
	She lay back, still convinced that he'd decided that he didn't want
her.  Even if he said he did, his body had decided she wasn't worth
bothering about.
	"Is it okay if I -?"  she said after a second.
	He said "Yes," before she finished, so she wrapped her arms
around him like he was a pillow and she put her head against his shoulder. 
Listening to his beating heat, she was asleep quickly.
	Mulder lay awake for a long time after.  Maybe he had reached the
point of being so tired he couldn't sleep; he didn't know.  He was thinking
about them.  Her rush to throw her arms around him had seemed almost
desperate...all of her behavior had seemed almost desperate.  Finally she'd
been ready to make love, and all he could think about was the last time,
when her other personality who thought she was a nun  had dragged him
off to church.
	This had never happened to him before, his inability to perform. 
But he was thirty-seven years old, well past his prime, and it had only
been a matter of time and opportunity.
	She might have had another negative response anyway, even
though she'd been eager.
	He needed to tell her about her other personality, but he didn't
want to.  The hole in the stomach sick kind of didn't want to.  After what
had happened in the church, he'd wanted to believe she'd been cured. By
god or by some miracle...he didn't really believe in such things and he
knew it was too much to hope for.
	As he lay there beating himself up over his body's betrayal - the
only time, it had to be with Scully?  Why not with someone he didn't love? 
He let his hand drift down into his pants, his fingers daring the flesh there
to respond.
	It didn't.
	He only felt worse and considered to rub the tender skin, his
frustration mounting until he was on the verge of screaming tears because
nothing happened.
	"Fuck," he said and Scully stirred.  He could feel her breath
coming moist through open lips.  Closing his eyes and thinking about
something else, he finally managed to fall asleep.
	He dreamed that he was fucking her, savagely and angrily from
behind, with his arm around her neck so she could barely breathe well
enough to cry.  She was crying and that didn't stop him.
	The dream burst into wakefulness, but he was afraid to open his
eyes, afraid he'd hurt her in his sleep.  Finally, he opened them.
	He'd been thrusting his hips against the mattress.
	Wake up, darling, I'm ready, he thought with a sarcastic smile even
as his body turned limp.
	He made himself sick.
	He slid out of bed.  The sun was coming up, so he might as well be
up too, he thought, even though he didn't feel rested at all.   He'd just
opened her cabinet full of food that he didn't want to eat [he was having a
real craving for strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts] when his cell phone rang
from somewhere in the living room.
	He scrambled for it, not wanting it's shrill scream to wake her. 
"Yeah.  Hello.  Mulder."  He grabbed it.
	"You haven't returned my calls," a woman said.
	"Who is this?" he demanded.
	"Lucy.  You left some pictures with me..."
	The pictures.  He'd completely forgotten.  His stomach clenched.
"Good.  Are you in the office now?" he asked.
	"Yeah."
	"I'll be right there."  Breakfast forgotten in his rush to gain
knowledge about the mysterious photographs, he put on his shoes and
slipped into the bedroom for a clean shirt.  Scully was still asleep and he
felt a pull at his heart for leaving her.  Carefully, he pressed a dry kiss
against her cheek before he dashed out of the apartment.

-25-

	The sound in the dream was off. It got louder and quieter with no
scheme or warning and there was a painful pressure inside her ears, like
she was underwater.  She could feel the pressure inside her nose too.  She
felt like she was drowning.  There was a bright light shining down on her
like when she was eight and had her tonsils taken out.  Her body felt dead
like anesthetic too, but if she was under anesthetic, why was she awake?
	Except she was dreaming and maybe that explained it.
	Then it was another woman on the table and she stood over her in
a pristine white lab coat.  It was weird, because when she performed
autopsies, she usually didn't wear a lab coat.  But the woman's belly was
open and she thrust her hands inside, digging.
	She couldn't hear anything. Not even the hum of the overhead
lights or the squelch of fat and muscle and organ or the smack of the damp
blood against her gloves.
	She realized she woman wasn't dead because her eyes opened,
pleading with her.  She jumped back, seeing the woman's lips move, but
everything was silent and still.  Her heart was racing.
	She looked down and there was an alien looking fetus dying and
turning blue in her hand.  She stared at it, dangling from her fingers, and
after a second it began to scream.  Its thin lips didn't move and that was
why she could hear its horrifying death howl - it was inside her mind,
bouncing off the painful walls of her skull and she wanted to die.
	She forced herself to wake up from the nightmare and realized the
scream was her alarm clock bleating good morning at her.  She slapped it
off and sat tense in the bed.  Listening. Cataloguing the sounds she heard,
and there were sounds - her breath, traffic, kids on the way to school, a
plane somewhere far away, the tap in the bathroom dripping, her
heartbeat.  Reassuring sounds.
	Mulder was gone.  "Damn it," she whispered.  Now he wouldn't
even face her.
	Her skin prickled  as she thought about the dream.  She wasn't
entirely convinced it had been a dream.  Her heart rate picked up and she
stumbled into the show, rejoicing at the hot, hot water on her chilled skin,
telling herself it couldn't have been a memory because it had been too
weird and utterly symbolic.
	The part when she'd been lying on the table with the sound
screwed up - she'd remembered that before about her abduction.  "The
procedures" was what Penny Northern had called them.
	She rinsed shampoo from her face and lathered her body,
inspecting it.  Nothing had changed.  There were no incision scars, none of
the scars that would have to remain if she had been subjected to what she
had performed on the woman in her dream.  There were no marks on her
smooth stomach at all.
	Why did she think she had performed the procedures?  She'd been
a _victim_, not one of the perpetrators.
	She slipped as she stepped out of the shower, barely catching
herself before she felt.  She couldn't get the feeling of guts off her fingers.
It had all been so real, so horribly detailed.  The woman had asked her for
her help, begged her for mercy.
	Had she herself begged her captors for mercy?
	She couldn't shake the feeling that she had been one of them, that
she had been involved, but she didn't know how to prove to herself that
she had not been.  She dressed quickly, wondering where Mulder had
disappeared to.  She couldn't face breakfast.
	Ask the others, Dana told her.
	What about you? she demanded.  Dana had been the one who had
been there for the abduction.  She was the one who now lived in fear of
seeing Duane Barry's face at the window again.  In order to get through the
day, Scully had to believe she would have reached her gun first or
overpowered him with a kick.  She had to believe that she could have
stopped him.
	In the way she hadn't, as a little girl, been able to overpower her
brother and say no.
	She needed to remember.  If she didn't, she really was going to
break down into a thousand tiny psychotic pieces.  She thought again of
Mulder's ketamine and electric shock experiment and felt the desperation
he must have felt. Finally she understood.
	Go to work and find him, she ordered herself.  Before anything
happens. Unconsciously, her fingers rose to the bony vertebra above the
clasp of her necklace, touching the skin under the small metal chip that
held all the answers, but also held the power to kill her.

	Mulder hesitated before knocking on the door to the lab. He'd
completely forgotten about the pictures - or blocked them out because he
didn't want to deal with them or what they could mean.
	Can't deny the truth.  He knocked and Lucy unlatched the door. 
"Early.  Precautions," she apologized for the lock with a shrug.  Mulder
nodded and stepped inside.  It was warm.  Lucy pulled off her white lab
coat to reveal a camisole and damp skin.  Her arms crossed as she leaned
against the counter and looked at him.  "Why didn't you call?"
	"I was away.  On a case.  Got in last night, didn't get my
messages," he replied.
	She nodded.  "You're married to Agent Scully," she said, looking
down at his ring.  "Did you tell her about these?"  She pulled out the
envelope he'd given her a few days earlier.
	"Not yet."
	She nodded, agreeing matter of factly.  Stalling, she put a strand of
chestnut hair behind her ear and then her clear hazel eyes fixed on his. 
"Fingerprints were easy," she said.  "They were the clue that unraveled the
rest."  Lucy turned over the envelope to show him the gray powder.
	He waited for her to tell him.
	"Your old friend Alex Krycek," she said.
	His chest deflated.
	"Want to hear the rest?"
	He only nodded.  Trying to prepare himself for whatever she was
going to say.  She slid the pictures out of the envelope and pulled out the
one he knew was old.  "This was taken with an older model surveillance
camera.  One of the tiny ones, that's why it blew up so grainy.  The Bureau
was using this model in late 1994 - about the time Krycek was your
partner."
	Mulder nodded.  She was good.  She'd checked out his personnel
file and everything.
	"He was never officially assigned such a camera, however."
	"Officially," Mulder highlighted.
	"Officially," Lucy agreed, whipping out a magnifying glass.  Her
hip bumped his as she stood next to him, holding the lens over the photo. 
"That scratch was made after the fact on the negative.  The paper was
manufactured recently.  This is a reprint, just for you," she concludted.
	"No fingerprints?"
	She shook her head and pulled one of the other photos.  "This was
taken much more recently."
	He could tell that from his wife's appearance in the picture.
	"With a spy camera that isn't supposed to exist.  I'd say it's
communist, probably from China.  Maybe Hong Kong after its transfer
from the British.  It's nice," she concluded.  "Clean, totally clean.  Without
getting into the stuff you can get from the picture itself," she went on, 
"there's this."
	She moved the magnifying glass.
	"I don't see anything," Mulder said.
	"It's a residual fingerprint.  Our photographer touched the lens of
his high tech camera," she said.  "The same print is on all three photos." 
She moved the magnifier from photo to photo.
	"So you know who took the pictures."
	She nodded.  "Alex Krycek."
	"Good thing he used his right hand," Mulder muttered. Lucy
looked at him blankly and he shook his head never mind.
	"I'd say you need to talk to Krycek," Lucy advised.
	"Know where I can find him?" Mulder demanded sarcastically.
	"Nope, but you owe me a meal."
	He gave in and smiled.  He did owe her, big time.  And having
breakfast with her would put off having to think about the findings for
another hour or so.  "Where to?" he asked her.
	"It gotta finish one thing," she told him.  "Give me fifteen."
	"I'll be in my office," Mulder told her, thinking of a book he
wanted to look something up in, and it only took her ten.

	Scully got to their office and instantly sensed Mulder had just been
there.  There was a warmth, an essence, that she could feel in the room.
	Believing in auras now, Scully? she asked herself ironically,
sinking into Mulder's leather desk chair. It was warm.  He had just gone.
	Where?  She reached for the phone, half tempted to call Kim to
ask if he'd gone into a meeting with Skinner, but she knew she couldn't do
that.  She scanned his desk, trying to recreate his thoughts before he got up
from the chair.
	The book open on the desk was a good place to start and she
pulled it toward her.  It was a book about Nazi experiments.  She turned it
over and began to read - he'd left it open to a chapter on prisoner
physicians.
	She frowned and began to read in earnest.  She knew about
Mengele's work, of course, and various reports from sketchy sources that
Nazi genetic scientists had continued their work here in the US under the
guise of Operation Paperclip and the ominous 'Project.'
	It didn't make sense to her that the xenophobic Nazis would want
to work with alien DNA.  But they wanted their super race...
	Her eyes scanned down the page and she turned to the next one. 
Jewish doctors and nurses, imprisoned in concentration camps, had been
enlisted to help in the experiments carried out there.  They had turned
against their own people to assure their own survival.
	"Oh God," she whispered.
	She felt a sick kinship, an understanding of their dilemmas.  She
knew now the dream she'd had was real.  Perhaps warped a little by her
psyche, but real.
	She had done to those women what had been done to her.  Why?
she asked herself, but here were no answers inside, only emptiness.
	Penny Northern.  Her friend.  And the other women who'd died,
she'd killed them.  Had she been so stupid as to trust the men who
operated the Project, had she really believed she would not also become
their victim?
	There were similar stories in the book and she hurled it across the
room with all the strength she had in her arm.  It broke the glass on the
curiosities cabinet with a tinkling crash.
	The crash of glass as Duane Barry launched through the window
into her apartment, intending to kill her.  She'd kicked as she clawed for
the phone, screaming for help.
	"They" told him to hurt her.  The voices in his damaged brain that
he attributed to alien implants.  She'd done what she had to in order to
survive.
	Afraid he would come back for her.
	Aware of the evil inside the men he delivered her to.  The
memories were unclear, but she knew that was how it must have
happened.  Duane  Barry had told Mulder the truth - he'd traded her in his
own place.
	Just as she'd traded the pain of those women for her own
temporary safety.  She was a doctor and they had been able to use her
skills for their own goals.
	Putting her head into her trembling hands, she focused on the
woman from her dream and the terrible, dying alien child.
	Pain shot like fire through her neck, turning the nerves in her legs
to jelly.  She gasped and tried to stand, clutching at the desk for a moment,
then hurried from the office.
	Go home.  It was the only thought in her head.  She felt like a slave
to the notion and knew in the still conscious part of her mind that the idea
radiated from the red hot piece of metal next to her spine.
	She got into her car and drove.  On the expressway, she found the
implant telling her that home was in West Virginia, but she forced the car
on toward her apartment in Georgetown, her muscles tight and wiry in her
arms, straining to control the vehicle, to make it go where she wanted it
to, not where they wanted.
	If she could just get home, she thought, she would be safe.

	Mulder was worried Lucy was going to hit on him.  He didn't know
why, but the feeling had been mounting ever since she shed her heavy
white coat in the overheated lab to reveal a lovely full figure encased in a
lacy tank top and stretchy black skirt.  Mulder usually preferred thin
women, but  Lucy had the lush curves of an Old West prostitute.  He
would have just enjoyed the view except she kept glancing at him and
then looking away quickly.
	"What?" he asked finally, dropping his fork back into a decimated
plate of strawberry crepes.  Not the perfection of Pop Tarts, but damn
good.
	"I don't know if you know this," Lucy began and Mulder fought the
urge to stop her words.  But she surprised him.  "I used to work with
Darren.  Pendrell," she specified.
	Mulder only stared.
	"He told me a lot about the cases you and Scully came to him with.
Weird crap."  She doused another pancake with syrup and paused to look
at him.  "Once he asked me advice on neural nets.  Some kind of
microchip?"
	Mulder nodded, not sure what she was getting at.  She looked at
him.  "What was that about?" she asked directly.
	He knew she was thinking of the photographs she'd analyzed for
him.
	His cell phone rang.  Her eyes slid away to give him some
semblance of privacy as he answered.  "Mulder," he said, watching her
shovel away another whole pancake and sausage. 
	His eyes drifted down just for a second to her firm cleavage but
bounced back up when Skinner demanded, "Do you know where Agent
Scully is?"
	"I left her in bed," Mulder admitted, filled instantly with alarm.   
He tried to swallow and almost choked.  "Why?"  Lucy was staring at him
again.
	"Several cars pulled off the road to West Virginia just off the
expressway," Skinner said.
	"And?"
	"And now there are unidentifiable charred remains and a witness
with rag doll stitching on her orifices," Skinner told him in a pissy tone
that only betrayed his worry.
	"In broad daylight?" Mulder demanded.
	"It just happened."
	"I'll meet you at the scene," Mulder said and hung up.  Lucy's eyes
followed him as it took three tries to get his arm through the sleeve of his
overcoat.
	"What's happened?" she asked, getting to her feet and calmly
untwisting his coat for him.  He loved scientists.  It was January, why
wasn't she cold? he wondered, staring at her for several moments.
"Mulder?"
	"I have to go," he said, renewed in his urgency.  He dropped money
on the table to cover their meal.  "Thank you."  Hers weren't the only eyes
on his back as he sprinted to his car, praying that Scully hadn't been here.
	He dialed her cell phone but it only rang and rang and rang.

	Home, home.  The thought pushed her to drive faster, absorbing
her entire mind.  She had the feeling she'd left a holocaust behind her. 
Shivering, she found herself in front of her apartment without much
memory of the drive.
	She felt the rush of flame up into   her head and squeezed her eyes
closed, curling into a ball on her living room couch, putting her arms up
over her head, trying to shut it out.
	She couldn't. 
	The memory unfurled like silent movie in her mind.  She felt like
someone else in her own body. Bruised.  She moved gingerly, like she
expected to feel pain even when none came.  She wasn't herself, but she
was.
	Another self.  A recovered memory she couldn't stop, didn't want. 
An impossible room with women on tables, looking pregnant.  Not
pregnant, though.  Test subjects.  Her patients.
	Her own belly was mercifully flat as her hand drifted down.  She
couldn't hear the even beeping heart monitors.  Couldn't hear anything. 
Why couldn't she hear anything?  A flashing red light grabbed her
attention.  She hurried to the woman's side, reading the monitor.
	There was no time.  Like in her dream, she sliced the woman open
and plunged her gloved hands in, digging through tissue and gore.  She
held the child up.
	It looked perfectly normal.  Pale, with its skin turning blue.  The
red light flashed more vigorously.
	They were both dead.
	She lifted her head.  It had happened.  The memory continued to
reel through her mind, unstoppable.  That had happened, she'd been there,
she'd been a part of it.  She was so sad.  It filled her like dirty water spilled
onto a painting.
	She'd done that.  During the three months she was missing, she'd
violated every principle she believed in and every vow she'd ever taken. 
How could she have possibly done that?
	But she had.
	And she was so sad.  All of her was sad.  Dana especially.  And
scared. Dana was always afraid of something - the darkness, other people,
herself.  DK was just angry.
	Anger, overwhelming sadness and self-hatred.  She dragged herself
up from the couch, her movements lethargic.
	Then they'd turned around and done it to her.
	Her stomach hurt.  Burned.
	She was supposed to die, too.
	How could she have done it?
	How?
	To try to save herself?  She wasn't worth it.
	She couldn't even cry.  All that sadness and she couldn't even cry.
She turned on the taps on the bathtub, running it full of hot water. 
Sighing.

	"Where is she?" Mulder demanded, tearing out of his car when he
arrived on the crime scene.  Skinner was there in his trenchcoat, looking
grim.  The stench of burned flesh choked Mulder.  This was not clean. 
The paramedics looked shocked, and Mulder had never seen that before.
	Skinner shook his head.  What did that mean?  Mulder panicked. 
He'd know it if she was dead, wouldn't he?  He'd be able to feel it.
	And he hadn't even been able to make love to her the night before. 
He wanted to smack himself in the head, knock some sense into his stupid
brain.  Treasure every moment of possibly happiness because when you
blink, it will be gone. He knew that.
	"I don't think she's here."
	The magic words.  "I tried to call but she didn't answer," Mulder
said.
	"We need to get her here," Skinner said. "These incidents are
escalating.  They can not continue."
	Three in one year. Mulder turned and looked again at the bodies of
what had been people.  Even one incident was too many.  "Where's the
witness?" Mulder asked.
	Skinner nodded sadly.  "With the medics. I don't know how much
she'll be able to tell us."  He led the way and Mulder followed. Teams of
police photographers were clicking through rolls of film.  The press was
starting to gather on the side of the yellow tape.  They wound through the
crowd to the ambulance.
	It was horrific.  A young girl, her face bruised and bloody.  Thick
black twine served in Frankenstienian stitches.  She was completely
unresponsive.  One of the medics was hanging an IV, but it wouldn't do
much good. If she survived the inevitable infection...
	Mulder's stomach was churning. Gingerly one of the medics
moved to snip the stitches out. "Wait," he said, stepping forward.  The girl
twitched.  The medic's hands hovered above her, as though threatening
with the scissors.
	Mulder looked closer and saw tiny threads moving under the girl's
skin.  He took a stepback.  "This girl needs to be quarantined."  They all
stared at him.  Were they stupid?  He knew Skinner wasn't stupid. "Now!"
he ordered.
	"Do it!" Skinner added his voice and authority to Mulder's
command.  The medics began to move.
	"She's not going to make it," Mulder said.  "Do we have IDs on any
of the victims?"  Skinner shook his head.  "We have to get Scully out
here."  He began to walk back through, looking at cars, making himself
look at the bodies.  "She's the only one who can help here."  Mulder pulled
out his phone.
	"Not the only one."  Skinner's tone made him look up. Following
the other man's gaze, he saw a familiar figure on the other side of the
crime scene tape.
	"Let the bastard through," Mulder hollered, attracting the police's
attention.  He motioned with his arm.  "Let him in."
	Krycek scurried over like the rat he was. Dressed as usual in black
jeans an a black leather jacket.  "Don't you ever change your clothes?"
Mulder remarked, itching to hit him.
	"Nice to see you too," Krycek replied, looking around.  There was
genuine pain in his eyes at the carnage surrounding them.
	"What do you know about this?" Mulder demanded.
	"Nothing.  I swear, I just heard about it."
	"And thought you would come down to offer your help," Mulder
stated. "I know you're working for the other side, so spill it your scum
sucking gutbag."
	"We've had a falling out," Krycek said. "I've always been on the
side of right and you know that."
	"This is great, boys, but it's not helping us," Skinner pointed out.
	"He can go in with the witness." Mulder grabbed Krycek by the
collar of his jacket and saw how frayed it was.  The seller of secrets had
fallen onto hard times. Maybe he was telling the truth.
	"I'm immune to the oil." Krycek jerked away, his false arm
swinging awkwardly.  He headed for the paramedic truck on his own
accord.
	"One of these days, you're going to have to explain all this to me,"
Skinner told Mulder without looking at him.
	"When I get more facts," Mulder replied.  His hands were already
enjoying the ache they would have after he beat Krycek bloody for the
answers he had.  Not just about the oil.
	He stayed outside the ambulance, dialing Scully again.  There was
still no answer.  Damn it.  He pulled himself up into the van.
	"She's dead," Skinner said, sounding angry.
	"Where's Scully?" Krycek asked.
	It was too much for Mulder.  The last straw.  He threw Krycek
against the wall, wreaking havoc in the tightly packed van.  "What do you
know about my wife?" he hollered.
	"Not in here," Skinner suggested, approving of Mulder's desire to
kill Krycek, just not his choice of location.
	"We need to talk," Krycek said, his body tense and ready to defend
himself.  He didn't swipe at the trickle of blood from his nose that was
pooling at his lip.
	"No fucking kidding," Mulder said.
	"She needs to hear it too," Krycek said. Determined.  He wasn't
going to talk.
	"What do you know about this massacre?" Skinner demanded.
	"There's only a handful of people who could have done that to the
girl," Krycek said.
	"The smoking fucker?  His friends?  *Your* friends? I want their
names this time," Mulder could feel himself completely overreacting, but
he was so incredibly angry.
	"Marita," Krycek said.
	Skinner surprised Mulder by saying, "We were told she was
dead."	
	"Nobody dies," Krycek said.  "She escaped.  Learned the truth. 
The hard way."  His glance at Mulder spoke volumes.
	"Like I've had it easy?" Mulder demanded.
	"You said it, not me," Krycek pointed out.
	"Save it for recess, boys," Skinner ordered.  "We've got to get
Agent Scully down here. Maybe an autopsy on the witness will give us a
clue."  He looked from Krycek to Mulder. "Scully's immune to this
black...crap, right?"
	They both nodded silently.  Then Mulder looked at Krycek,
wanting to know what he knew about it.  "I'm going to get her," Mulder
said, worried about who he might find waiting when he got home if she
heard about the massacre.  "You're coming with me."  He grabbed 
Krycek's arm.
	"Will you quit touching me?" Krycek demanded, throwing him off.
	Skinner pulled Mulder aside for just a second.  "I don't have to
worry about any killer bees, do I, Agent Mulder?"
	"Who the hell knows any more," Mulder remarked.  "Arrange to
have to body shipped to  Quantico with the highest precautions available." 
Skinner nodded.  "I'll call when  I know anything." He moved to rejoin
Krycek.
	"Don't kill him, Mulder," Skinner suggested. "He's our most
valuable informant."
	Mulder nodded, hoping he wouldn't have to kill the other man, but
willing to do whatever was necessary.

-26-
	
	Scully heard the phone ring but it barely registered through the fog
of her sadness.  She looked at her naked body in the mirror, seeing the
body of a murderer and a liar.  A traitor.
	She was the embodiment of all that she detested, all that had
caused her pain and fear.
	She could not live with that.
	Raising her wrist, she looked at the faint white marks there, the
ones she hadn't remembered making.  Now she knew.  Death had been her
only escape from herself and the things she had willingly done under the
guise of the Project.  But she hadn't died.
	She didn't want Mulder to know and she knew she would have to
tell him.  She didn't want to see the betrayal in his eyes, more painful than
if she had given her body to another man.  She had given her soul to the
devil.  Was his sister one of the woman she'd hurt?
	She had to silence the only witness.  There were others who might
try to use this against him, but if she was gone, so would their power be. 
She had to protect him.
	Dana was scared but told her she should do it.  Other voices she
recognized confirmed that this was the only way.
	She remembered the blood dripping painlessly onto white tile.
	The bathwater was getting cold.
	She split her thumb on the razor that Mulder used to shave with in
the mornings.  It stung and she immediately put her thumb in her mouth,
the pain zapping her sadness for a second as her survival instinct was
activated.
	She sucked at her own blood, feeling the cut skin with her tongue. 
She was a coward.  She trembled, sucking harder.  This was not the way. 
She couldn't let Mulder find her lifeless and bloody.
	Memory brought the image of Mrs. Sim, dead in her bathtub.
	Mulder would think it was murder.
	She put on her bathrobe.  Blood brushed onto the old white
terrycloth sleeve.  She could still feel activity singing through the implant
in her neck, like electricity.  She raised her eyes to a God who would not
love her if she took the life he'd given her.
	The awful screwed up painful completed fucked life where the
only thing she had to live for was Mulder and he hated her, or would hate
her.  She did not ever want to see hatred in his eyes.
	If only he would come, she thought desperately, crouching  on the
floor and dipping her right hand into the now-tepid water in the tub.  A
thin curl of blood spun from her thumb and then stopped.

	"Slow down," Krycek snapped from the passenger seat.
	Mulder only pushed his foot harder onto the gas pedal.  Something
was wrong, he could feel it.  "Got the photos you sent," he told Krycek
bitterly. Off the surprise on the other man's face, he chuckled.  "Yeah, I
know you were behind them.  Tell me where they were taken.  Where she
was when you brought her home to me a month ago?  Abducted, stolen
from our bed?"
	"Your wife is very sick," Krycek said gravely.
	Mulder stopped, his body humming like a plucked hard string.  He
couldn't say anything.
	"Dissociative fugue is what it's called.  I did some reading." 
Krycek was talking fast.  For his life, maybe, or just to save Mulder the
long exposition.  "Duane Barry was supposed to kill her."
	Mulder's fingers clutched white on the wheel.  Krycek wasn't blind
to how upset he was.  "Can we pull over?" he suggested.
	"No!" Mulder barked.
	"Look, I know you love her -"
	"You don't know anything!"
	"This is going to be hard for you to hear," Krycek said quietly.
	"I'm ready," Mulder informed him.
	With his eyes fixed on the orange speedometer needle hovering
close to 100 miles per hour, Krycek began to tell Mulder everything he
knew.

	Mulder wasn't coming back.  She'd convinced herself.  He hadn't
left her a note.  He must already feel disgust for her and not know why. 
He would know soon enough. She had to spare him...
	No, suicide was selfish.  The only person she would be sparing was
herself.  She'd decided to die before, losing hope in a hospital bed,
knowing she had nothing to live for.  Mulder had been her only tether and
now she would definitely lose him.
	End it, the voices advised gently.  DK concurred with "Fuck them
all." Starbuck whimpered.  They were in agreement.
	The bottle of sleeping pills seemed heavy in her hand.  I'm scared,
Dana said, I don't want to.  But Dana was too scared to live, either, so 
Scully gave no weight to her opinion.
	Such sadness.
	She left the bathroom and lay down on the bed, already weary. 
She knew she should leave a note, some words for Mulder, but she could
see him carrying them with him forever.  Blaming himself when she
wanted him to forget.
	She tried not to think of her mother and brothers.  If here was
something beyond this life, she could be with her father, her sister.  She
could be free.
	She wanted to be free.
	Tears burned in her eyes and she thought if only she could cry, she
wouldn't have to do this.
	The first pill was so easy.  She closed her eyes and swallowed a
second, hoping it would all be so easy.

	Mulder listened in stone silence.  Robotic.  Frozen. Not thinking. 
He absorbed like a sponge but he could not let himself think about what
he was hearing.  It couldn't be true, he kept telling himself.  Like Scully
would.  There was no evidence but a liar's word and some ambiguous
photos.
	He didn't wait for Krycek as he jammed the car into an ill fitting
parking space and ran to the door.  The damn key wouldn't work. Krycek
took it from him and held the door.
	"Scully!" Mulder yelled, tearing into the apartment.
	
	She picked up her head.  It was so heavy and she'd  only swallowed
two of the pills.  Maybe three, but she thought it was two.  And now she
thought she heard Mulder's voice.
	"Scully!"  He burst into the bedroom.  
	His face changed when he saw her and her face crumpled with
shame.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I'm sorry."
	"There's water in the bathtub," Krycek dashed in to report.  The
bottle slipped from her fingers when she saw him. Pills rattled across the
floor.
	Mulder stared at her, his eyes blazing and confused.  "What are
you doing?" he demanded.
	"I remembered something.  Terrible."  Her eyes dipped closed and
she struggled to open them again.
	"Stay with me," Mulder took her hand and bent to look into her
eyes.  "How many did you take?"  He couldn't believe this. It had to be one
of the others, not Scully.  Scully was the strong one, she wouldn't do this. 
He needed her.
	"Two.  Three.  Two."  She decided on two.  "Tired."  She put her
head down against her arm.  She had to tell him what she'd remembered. 
"I hurt them," she said, "When I was gone, I -"
	"I know," he said, his voice like sandpaper.
	"Who -?"  When she raised her head, she saw Krycek.  His eyes
locked with hers and he made a little gesture with his hand.  Adrenaline
raced through her sluggish body.  He knew.  He turned and walked out of
the room.  He had known all this time.
	"He told me. It's not that bad."  Mulder was petting her hair with
his hands.  "Nothing's that bad.  It was one of the others, not you."
	"It was me."  She felt sick.  Mulder sat down on the bed next to her
and she leaned against him.  "I'm tired," she said.
	"You're cold."  He put his arm around her.
	"Tired."  She closed her eyes and snuggled down into his arms.  He
loved her.  He said he knew  but he must not, if he still loved her.
	"Scully."  He jostled her, but she was asleep.  "Scully," he said
again, shaking her.  Her eyes opened a crack.  "I think you need to throw
up what you took. Just in case."  He lifted her and walked her into the
bathroom.  She was heavy and limp against his side.  
	The tub was full.  There was blood in the water.   His razor was on
the sink, not where he'd left it.  The realization that she had planned on
cutting her wrists terrified him.  He would not have been there in time.
	She sagged against the wall as he dug through her medicine
cabinet, finding a bottle of ipecac.  She glared at him angrily as she was
sick.  "Get you for this," she mumbled.
	She'd sleep it off.  He wiped her face with a washcloth and put her
to bed.  How could she look so peaceful? he marveled.  He checked on her
twice before leaving her alone to sleep.
	Krycek had fled.
	Of course.
	He didn't really care.  He was more worried about Scully and how
to help her.  She wasn't like him, she wasn't one to give into momentary
impulses.  He had been there with the gun to his head, smelling the
powder that he wanted to end his sorry fucking life.  He'd been there
before.  Because he thought he'd lost her.
	No hope.  He remembered Traci Turner with her absent husband
and empty life.
	Would this ever get better?  Would any of this ever really end? 
He'd accepted that he would never know the truth - could Scully accept
that too?
	The phone began to ring and he swore as he tripped over paint
cans in his rush to answer it.  "Mulder," he said and realized it could be
anyone on the other end of the line.
	"Where's Scully?" Skinner demanded.
	"Sleeping," Mulder said.  "I was just going to call you.  She's gonna
be asleep for a while.  She took something.  Keep the body on ice for her."
	"Done," Skinner promised.  "Is she okay?"
	"I think so." Mulder didn't sound so certain.
	"Where's Krycek?"
	"I lost him," Mulder admitted.
	"Figures," Skinner muttered and hung up. Mulder sighed and stared
down at the cans of paint, feeling the utter stillness in the house.  The
paint cans symbolized their hope for the future: a happy marriage, a house,
a life together.  Without all these stupid specters and ghosts.
	He knew in his depressed pessimistic heart that they would never
be free.

	She woke from a sick, dreamless sleep with a headache and a dry
mouth.  Mulder was lying next to her, dressed, on top of the covers.  She
looked at his face and felt her skin flame with the memory of the stupid
thing she'd done.
	Maybe he didn't know.  She got up and went into the bathroom to
get a drink of water and saw that the room had been cleaned.  Damn it. He
knew.
	She felt so stupid.
	"Are you okay?" he asked, standing behind her.  She hadn't
realized he was awake.  He hadn't announced his presence with a touch
and she hadn't even realized he was there.
	"Embarrassed," she admitted, turning to face him.  "I don't know
what possessed me."
	"I do."   He tapped the back of her neck and she jumped as he
connected with the implant.  She reached up under her hair to finger it and
looked at him.  "A dozen men and women were burned to death earlier
today, in broad daylight.  Like on the bridge in Pennsylvania almost a year
ago."
	"They were after me," she said.
	"Maybe," he said.  "A witness was mutilated at the scene and
exposed to the black oil.  The body is waiting for you.  When you're
ready."
	She nodded and went to get dressed.  It was easy for them both to
hide behind their work.  Mulder took a deep breath and followed her,
stopping at the bedroom door.  "We need to talk about this," he said with
some effort.
	Her shoulder blades stiffened and froze.  Her fingers completed the
task of clasping her bra and she turned to face him.  "You said you knew,"
she said and he nodded.  Was he encouraging her or agreeing with her? 
She unlocked her jaw and forced herself to speak.  "I remembered
working for them.  On the other side.  On their experiments. I killed all
those women...and they turned around and did it to me."  Her confession. 
She couldn't breathe.
	"Because you had a conscience. Unlike them," he said. "You didn't
know what you were doing."
	"I did," she said. "It was me."
	"It was an alter.  Named Diana."
	"They're all me," she informed him.  "I knew you'd hate me and
that's why..."  She trailed off, not intending to speak of that afternoon's
incident.  She _was_ stronger than that.  That was why she'd managed to
stop herself after only taking two pills.  She'd overcome the need to die.
	He made a small sound in the back of his throat when he sighed
and enfolded her in his arms.  He held on like he would never let her go. 
And that was exactly what she needed.
	"You've changed," he said when he pulled back.
	"Is that a good thing?" she asked, trying to keep her face still but it
kept contorting to try to hold back both smiles and tears.
	"I think so," he whispered, his eyes warm.  "Stronger."
	She nodded.  She believed him.

	She dressed and they went to the Bureau.  Skinner met them there,
his eyes checking Scully over.  "Are you okay?" he asked her, unable to
cover the concern over his usually rough demeanor.  She was on to him.
	"I'm good," she said.  "What happened this afternoon...I think I was
supposed to be there."  As long as they were talking business, she would
be all right.
	Skinner nodded.  Mulder's hand lying against her back heated her
entire body.  "I don't know what to tell you -" Skinner's eyes went down to
her shoulders.
	"I know," she said.
	"The body is missing," Skinner informed them.  "It never arrived. 
We're checking with the crew that was at the scene, verifying their
identities and credentials.  But with Krycek gone -"
	"We won't get any answers," Mulder finished for him angrily.  He
was the one who had let Krycek go, again.
	"The burned bodies are being identified.  All of them had
implants."  Skinner paused.  Scully felt a quiet, unsettling sorrow.  "One of
them was Cassandra Spender."
	"Oh no," she gasped, surprising herself with the pain that filled her. 
Mulder's hand moved reflexively, comfortingly, against her back.  "Damn
it!"  She broke away from Mulder and took several steps toward the door.
	"Scully, wait, there's nothing you can do," Mulder called after her.
	"I have to talk to him," she said, meeting her husband's eyes.
	"Scully -"
	"I _have_ to," she added and walked away.
	
	Her eyes searched the cubicles.  She didn't exactly remember the
way, peeking around corners.  What the hell was she going to say?
	She found Jeffrey Spender sitting at his desk, palms up, staring at
the blank wall.  He already knew.  "I'm sorry," she said softly.
	His shoulders slumped and curled in toward his chest.
	Being sorry wasn't enough.  This was on her now, she was the one
who'd wanted to come down here and talk to him. She moved in closer
and knelt next to his chair, putting her hand up on his shoulder.  "I know
how you must feel," she said.
	She looked up and saw his throat working.  "I tried to prepare
myself. I tried to tell myself..."  His voice broke and he shook his head,
trying to hold the tears back, "I tried to tell myself she wasn't coming back
but I never really thought..."  He stopped, fighting.
	This could be Mulder she was talking to and her eyes were damp. 
It had been such a terrible day.  "Time can make anything better.  You
have to believe that. No matter how much this hurts, you have to go on." 
She patted his shoulder. He looked at her and she waited for him to tell
her to fuck off.  She looked at his face and saw that this "punk kid" was
probably as old as Mulder was.  "I know. Such things..."  His eyes had
found hers and she felt the first of her tears fall.  "You know.  You lost
your father, too."
	His gaze hardened.  Several seconds passed before he said, "Thank
you."  It was a real struggle for him to force the words out.
	She nodded and got to her feet, feeling old and wise.  "Call me.  If
you need to talk."  He nodded and she knew he wouldn't call.  "Any time,"
she added.
	"Maybe I will," he said quietly, when she'd almost reached the hall. 
She turned.  She hoped that he would.
	Mulder was waiting for her and effortlessly slipped his arm
through hers, searching her face.  She nodded and blinked back the
residual tears.  "Byers has some papers for us to sign about the house
tomorrow," he said.
	"What about tonight?"
	"It's been a long day.  And there are still bodies from earlier -"  he
stopped short.  Acting like he thought she was too fragile to handle it.
	She put on her best determined face.  "I need to work," she told
him.  "I can't sit around. I can't live with this eating me inside."
	It was easy to decide that everything was going to be okay from
now on, but it was still damned hard, especially with Mulder's eyes
following every move she made.  The bodies were horrifying when she
looked at them down in the morgue and she remembered how strong the
call had been for her to join them.  She had almost been one of them, and
not for the first time.
	Poor Mrs. Spender.  Where had she been all the time she was
missing?  Touring the universe with alien guides?  Scully still wasn't
certain she believed in such things.  Everything she had remembered
supported her belief in a shadowy government substructure.  She pushed it
all from her mind and turned back to face the bodies.  There were tests to
be conducted, burn patterns and accelerants to look for. "I'm going to be a
while," she told Mulder.  "If you want to go home and get some rest. 
You've also had one hell of a day."
	He hesitated, but then picked up his coat.  Trusting her.  She had
convinced him that she could handle this and it made her feel proud.  "I'll
see you at home," he said.
	She nodded and only caught a glimpse of his face as he turned to
leave. His odd, closed up expression made her stare after him. What was
going on in his head?  She wondered.  But she didn't know - couldn't know
- and turned to focus on the death in front of her.

	Hours later, her neck and shoulders were screaming with protest
and her eyelids were heavy.  She noticed her feet dragging but couldn't
seem to do anything about it.  A glance at the clock told her it was after
two o'clock in the morning.
	She hoped Mulder hadn't waited up.
	Sighing, she forced her eyes open, worried about her capability to
drive home.  She thought for a second about calling Mulder to pick her up,
but she knew he was asleep in her living room with the TV on.  She didn't
want to disturb him.  She'd head over to the McDonalds across the street
for some coffee and something to eat before she got into the car.
	It was cold at two in the morning- damp, foggy and incredibly
dark. The night could be breathtakingly beautiful.  She shoved her hands
deep down into her coat pockets and put her head down to walk across the
street as the light changed in her favor.
	Someone fell into step with her. She picked up her pace and the
person matcher her.  She cleared the curb and turned down the sidewalk. 
The person continued to keep in stride with her.  She turned her head to
look and stopped.
	Krycek.
	Feelings she couldn't understand welled up in his and she frowned. 
"What're you doing?" she asked, aware in one part of her mind that she
was standing on a deserted street in a bad neighborhood with a completely
untrustworthy man.  But she could only stand there. Not arresting him, just
watching him.
	"We should talk," he told her intensely.
	Her stomach felt odd but she nodded.  "I was going to get some
coffee."  She raised her hand toward the lighted restaurant.
	He opened the door for her and she found herself staring at his
arm.  She had to pull her eyes away.  "Sorry," she mumbled.
	"I'm used to it."  He didn't touch her as they walked together to the
counter.  It was strange to have a man standing as close to her as Mulder
did but not touching her.  He also didn't consult her before ordering fries
and two cups of orange juice, then walking away to select a booth.
	"I told your husband today about your abduction," he said, not
looking at her, focused on the application of ketchup to the small selection
of fries he'd claimed as his own.
	"Why now?"  Her voice was devoid of the emotion sweeping
through her.  "It's been, what, four years?  Why wait? Why tell?"
	He didn't say anything. He'd started this.  She said his name so
sharply he jumped and a greasy fry leapt to the sticky floor.  He stared
silently, his eyes fiery on her face, deciding what he should say.  It took
him a long time and her heart began to race from being stared at.
	"Call it therapy," he said finally in such a soft, uncertain voice she
could barely believe it came from the man she knew him to be.
	"Fuck you, Krycek," she said. That was what she thought of his
answer.  He was an assassin and she was suppose to care how he _felt_?
	He had so much sadness in his eyes. "I used to care a lot about you. 
But you've married him now and I have to let the past go."  He shrugged,
aware that it sounded stupid.  "How much do you remember?"
	"Too much. Not enough."  It was her turn to avert her gaze, to
focus on unwrapping the straw to insert into her juice.
	"You weren't yourself. Not really, not you. I did some reading
later, it's something called a dissociative fugue."   He watched her face to
make sure she was following him. "Sometimes, some people block out
their entire lives and create a new one.  When  I knew you, you were an
amnesiac named Diana."
	Her mouth curled as she felt her self-hate growing again. "And I
hurt all those women."
	"Everyone who works on the Project believes what they are doing
is right.   That's what you and Mulder are too short-sighted to see." He
stopped, aware she was not going to listen to him.  He took a deep breath.
	"When I was a boy, I knew a girl who was deaf.  She was beautiful,
not just on the outside, but her soul.  I really loved her.  I've been thinking
about her a lot, since this."  His arm clunked against the table as he flexed
his shoulder toward her.  "The way she didn't care about her handicap.  It
made her a beautiful person."
	He looked at her frankly.  "You were like that.  Are like that."
	Her mouth opened.  "Why are you doing this?" Damned tears were
in her eyes again.  She didn't want him to see them but she couldn't hide
any more.
	"You needed to know."  He got up from the table and her chin rose
as her eyes followed him.  He walked over so he was standing next to her
and paused for a second. Oh no, she thought, unable to do anything up
look at him in silent alarm.  His eyes were too gentle.  He lowered his
mouth to hers in the chastest of kisses she had ever known.
	She waited for the attack, but it never came.  A whisper soft, moist
touch and he was gone.
	Leaving her alone and confused in an empty early morning
restaurant with a cold mound of french fries.  It was a long time before she
headed home, having decided not to tell Mulder anything about it.

-27-

	He was leaning back on the couch but opened his eyes when she
walked into the TV-lit living room.  "You must be exhausted," he said.
	She shook her head, keeping her lips closed. Needing him.
	"What's wrong?"  He started to sit up and she went to him, burying
herself in his arms.  He hugged her and pressed his cheek against her hair,
waiting.
	"Did you sleep here?" she asked.
	"Not sleep."
	"You shouldn't have waited up."
	"I didn't mean to," he said.
	She looked at his face.  His beautiful, ugly face that she loved so
much.  "I know it's late, but could we - I mean, if you want to -"  She
couldn't get the words out.
	He nodded with a faint curl of a smile.  "I think that could be
arranged," he said.  She stood and he joined her, their fingers entwining as
they walked together into the bedroom.
	He reached for the light automatically, but she stopped his hand. 
"There's enough light," she told him. It was almost dawn and already
bright streaks were beginning to wash the walls.  He nodded, watching her
as though for a cue.
	She felt like this was their true wedding night.  She put her hands
over his large ones and placed them against the buttons on her blouse.  He
slid the buttons from their holes slowly, following with his mouth until her
skin was hot.
	"You look like man in love," she murmured, looking into his eyes.
	"I am." Greedily, he claimed her mouth and she met him, their
desire becoming more urgent with the battle they fought with lips and
teeth and tongues.  She put her teeth playfully into his lower lip and his
hips surged against hers, startling her at first to feel the depth of sensitivity
of her own body.
	Still, he moved hestitantly, like first time lover or a man carrying a
soap bubble, afraid the slightest pressure would burst it.  It turned his
caresses soft.  Too soft.  "I want to feel it when you touch me," she told
him, putting her hand over his again to show him.  She didn't know where
her boldness had come from.  She'd never made an effort before to get
what she'd wanted.  She'd never known what she wanted.
	"I don't want to hurt you."
	"Hurt can feel good and I'm stronger than you think," she breathed,
using her fingernails to try to show him.  She hadn't realized they were
sharp until he winced.
	"Not everyone was initiated into pain," he told her, withdrawing
from her.  "It's not normal."
	"It's normal for me," she protested.  What was he telling her?  That
she was tainted and dirty and should be ashamed of herself?  That it was
his way or no way?
	"You don't know what normal is," he said, trying to make his
words gentle.  He started to suck on her neck but she pushed him away.
	"Do you really want to do this now?" she asked, pulling the blanket
over her body.  The sun was up.
	"Do what?"
	"The sexual history conversation.  You can't treat me like I'm
broken and something you can fix, and you can't treat me like a virgin
who's never been properly loved.  I'm a thirty five year old woman and I
know how my body responds."
	"All I hear is you asking me to hurt you. Like you want to relive
your past so you can hate me too."
	"I'm not."
	"Then maybe we should have this conversation," he said and
waited.  "Like two people just beginning a relationship."
	"That's what we are," she said.
	"Six weeks into marriage.  When I've loved you for six years."
	"Don't you want to make this work?" she asked. "I want a real
marriage.  I don't want the rest of my life to be a perfect, platonic
partnership."
	"Neither do I.  Checkmate.  We both have a lot to learn."  He
sighed, looking at her hard jaw and the blanket that had crept up to her
neck.  He jumped out of bed and jacked the thermostat from a sensible 65
up to a tropical 80.  The heat vent began to blast hot, dry air.  "Who
starts?" he asked her.  Since she didn't start talking, he figured it was his
turn.  He wanted to forget the past, since they were the present and the
future.
	"Age seven.  Fox Mulder kisses a classmate after school.  She slaps
him so hard he doesn't try again until high school.  When he takes a
summer romance at sixteen to the next level and she cries and never
speaks to him again."
	Scully just watched him.
	"She wanted to try it, but changed her mind after, not realizing
what it would be like. College, lived with Phoebe for three years.  Fucked
a lot, even though it should have been making love since I loved her. 
Should have had a clue when she started bringing home curable diseases. 
Is this necessary?"
	She shrugged.  He went on. "Fell in love with Diana after the
academy.  Then she left.  I'll admit I don't want to mess this up."  His eyes
turned to her.  "No diseases or infections or strange proclivities.  Just love.
Your turn."
	She was slow to find her voice.  "When I was kid, I went through a
phase when I was a complete slut.  I was fourteen and Charlie had just
been born and I'd started high school and I was confused and angry. I
never let them touch me and it made me feel powerful."
	DK had been telling the truth.
	"Then  I made friends and got over it.  I had a huge crush on my
friend Marcus in 12th grade but I don't think he ever knew it.  We went to
prom and there was one moment when he looked at me...like he loved
me...but then it was like he remembered who I was."  The sound of her
voice was plaintive.  He'd never seen her regretful before.  "He never even
kissed me.
	"In college, men were the adversary.  Competition.  I didn't even
have time to sleep.  Every once in a while, I'd find someone, but it was
temporary."
	He wanted to ask her how often once in a while was, but couldn't. 
"In the academy, I met Jack and he wasn't scared off by me.  He was
married and I learned a lot from him about  being an FBI agent.  He
couldn't...he was impotent but that was fine. If you go long enough
without it, you start to forget why it ever mattered.  For a year all I could
think about was how much I wanted you to kiss me, like you were a high
school crush, but then it didn't matter any more because there were other
things to do."
	He wanted to know when that had been.  "Did telling me that make
you feel what you needed to feel?" he asked.
	"No."  Honesty.  Scary.  She looked at him and he looked back.
	"What do we do now?" he asked.
	She didn't know.
	"Show me what you mean by hard.  And rough. Show me what
'normal' feels like," he told her.  She stared at him.  He held out his hand
and met her eyes.  She wrapped her fingers around his hand.  "We'll learn
together."
	She let the sheet fall to her waist and hesitated.  Her skin was pink
from the heat.  She put his hand on her breast and he waited.  She rubbed
his hand futilely, then stopped.  "This isn't working."
	"Like this?"  He feathered his fingers over her skin, watching her
face.  Her eyes looked up at the ceiling like this was something she had to
endure.  "Say when," he teased, manipulating and squeezing and rolling
until she had to breathe through her mouth.  He let himself be drawn into
her sexuality, listening intently to her breathing, focusing completely. This
was intense.
	"Uhhh..."  Her jagged sound of irritation made his hand fall away.
	"Too rough?"
	"Too much."
	"Moving on?"
	Reluctantly she took his hand again, surprising him with the force
she used to press against her own skin.  It was pliable - she was right, she
wasn't going to break.  His fingers ached under the pressure of hers.  Her 
breath quickened as she used his fingers to massage herself.
	"Now," she told him, glancing into his eyes when she was slick and
ready for him to enter her.
	"When do I get my turn?" he asked her, molding his fingers around
hers and dusting them over his skin.
	"God it's hot in here," she murmured.  They were both sweating,
sitting on the winter-made bed, facing each other like study partners. 
"This is too much like a formula, no spontaneity," she complained.
	"Tell me about it," he told her and their eyes held a significant
gaze.
	"Okay," she said. "I get it."
	"So do I," he told her.
	The tension grew exponentially as they sat there. "So do it already,
Mulder," she ordered.
	"Do what?" he challenged.
	He was such a pain.  A completely irritating annoyance when he
was trying to teach her a lesson.  "Please."
	"Make love to you?" he asked, kissing her sweetly.  "This is love,"
he told her as she lay down for him.  This time when he started touching
her skin, she felt arousal and wondered how their lovemaking would be.
	"Is love always this gentle?" she asked like a novice.
	"No."
	"What makes you the expert?"
	"I'm not.  But there a lot of different climaxes," he told her.  "Hard
and soft and perfunctory and angry and helpless and urgent."
	"I have come before," she informed him, bordering on sarcasm.
	"I know," he reminded her.
	"Is this another lesson?  What're we going for today?"  The sarcasm
was getting worse.  It didn't belong in the bedroom...or did it?
	"Surprise me," he said against her mouth as he slammed into her,
hard enough to make her gasp.  He felt tentative convulsions begin to suck
against his body.  "Like that?" he asked her.
	"Yeah," she breathed, wrapping her legs around him, trying to pull
him in harder and faster, but he didn't let her.  Changing his tactic because
he really was teaching her a lesson.  He was determined to teach his
beautiful, strangely insecure, hurt and inexperienced wife every last thing
he knew.
	"See how it starts to hurt in a delicious way?" he asked her, barely
able to support his body on trembling arms.  Her body was rigid with the
strain of not letting herself go.
	He raised a hand to massage her face and she snarled at him. 
"Relax and let it happen."
	"No," she said, forcing her body against his, pushing herself too
far.  She always had to fight, he thought.  He didn't move, determined not
to even though the moment seemed neverending before she stopped,
frustrated and tight and tense and confused.  	"Take a second to enjoy it,"
he suggested.
	"I want..."  It was all she could manage.
	"You do?"
	"I'm gonna kill you," she told him.
	"But you love me."  He kissed her, feeling his own twitches of
oncoming orgasm.  He wasn't going to be able to do this.  He could barely
breathe when he released her lips, but he'd be damned if she outlasted
him.
	They were duelling. This had become a battle of wills.
	He put his hand between them and began to stroke her clitoris.
	"Mulder..."  He'd certainly never heard her say his name like that. 
Her entire body reacted with the force of her climax, shaking and jerking. 
Her toes curled against his thighs.
	He let out a low rolling moan as he came.
	She was still shaking when he opened his eyes.  "Mulder -" she
began and stopped.  He got the idea it was meant to be a reprimand but
she couldn't follow through.
	"Yes, my love?"  He wasn't really joking.
	"I - never - "  She couldn't even talk.
	He kissed her cheeks and held her close, his ego swelling.  "Don't
ever try to kill yourself again," he ordered and she shivered in the too-hot
room.
	"Those people," she said into his chest, barely audible.  He felt like
a bully.  Would he really make her cry every time they made love?
	"It's morning," she said, raising her head and he saw that she wasn't
crying after all.
	"The house can wait."
	"The house."  She grinned, still feeling warm wiggles of sensation
in her belly and lower.  "You're amazing."
	"You're amazing," he countered, then hugged her and closed his
eyes.  She was already mostly asleep, having found the most profound
relaxation she'd ever known.

	"I have never slept that well," she announced when he emerged
from her bedroom well after noon.  Her eyes were bright and she looked
free and happy and in love.
	"You've never been loved that well," he pointed out with pride.  He
needed coffee to get started.  
	She rolled her eyes the way she did whenever he proclaimed a
bizarre theory.  "We get a fresh start with every relationship," she said.
	"This is forever."
	She nodded, seriously.  "So, painting," she said, pulling her hair up 
into the sloppiest ponytail he'd ever seen.  She grinned, knowing it was
ridiculous. He'd put that grin on her face.  It made him grin himself.
	Two hours later, there was more paint on the two of them than
there was on the house.  "We're not getting anywhere," Scully lamented,
looking at the huge expanse of dingy yellow that still had to be covered.
	"It's going to need two coats," Mulder told her and she groaned,
sitting down on the porch and putting her chin into her hands.  Only two
seconds too late did she realize there was paint on her hand, which she'd
transferred to her face.  "I hope this is water based," she commented,
wiping at the sticky blue liquid and only smearing it more.
	"Me too, since it's in your hair," he said, leaning against the door. 
"All this painting requires beer," he remarked.  The sun was warm on their
faces and they weren't wearing coats.
	"What do you know about it, Tom Sawyer?" she snapped.  "You
have no paint on you at all."
	"That doesn't mean I haven't been working," he informed her.
	"My arm is _broken_," she complained, making him start to laugh
madly.  "It is!"   She tried to raise it and stopped with a twinge.
	"You're weak," he told her.
	"Just wait'll you're sore tomorrow," she warned.  "You'll get no
sympathy from me. None."
	"We'll just have to stay in bed tomorrow then," he grinned.
	"In your dreams.  We have a house to paint."  She stopped and
stepped back to look at it. "It's going to be beautiful."
	"It already is."  He leaned down and kissed her, recoiling a
moment later.  "Augh! You only did that to get paint on me!"
	She laughed gleefully and he couldn't remember the last time she'd
laughed.  She flicked the excess paint from her brush in his face .  He
stepped back to grab his roller.  "Oh, no!"  Scully yelled, running.  He
chased her around the house twice before she fell onto the grass and he
rollered over her legs.  She sat up and laughed more.
	"Scully, are those my grey sweatpants?" he asked a moment later
and she gasped, clutching her stomach which ached from laughing.
	"Oh, that hurts!" she moaned.
	"How the hell are those staying on you?" he demanded, peeking up
under her sweatshirt to see the waistband she'd rolled low on her hips.  He
could see the lavender band of her panties and wanted to touch.
	"Mulder, don't."  She rolled away and got to her feet.  "We have
work to do," she added to cover the fact that he'd unnerved her.  Last night
had unnerved her, because she had completely given up her control over
her body.  The body that had betrayed her when she was a child by
responding to the pain of her abuse.
	A few moments later, Mulder joined her and they returned to the
toil of painting.  She enjoyed the physical activity and fresh air and that it
was something they could do together.  He  began to whistle - thin and
tunelessly, completely pathetic.
	So she started to sing at the top of her lungs.  The look he gave her
made her laugh again and they fell into a grinning silence as they painted.
	"Do you want to get a dog?" he asked her.  She stopped moving,
remembering their previous conversation.
	"I had a dog and it died," she said.  I also had a daughter and she
died.  "Do you want children?" she asked.
	"Only if they're yours," he said and she flinched.  "I never thought
about it before you found out you couldn't have any and I saw how strong
your desire for them was," he told her.  "I don't trust the world enough to
put children into it.  More people I care about that they could hurt."
	She nodded, toying with her brush.
	"You said you thought they were wrong," he reminded her,
questioning.
	"Like you said before, Mulder.  It's nice to believe things even if
they're not true."  She sighed.  "It doesn't hurt as much as it did. Maybe
someday..."
	"It won't stop completely, not ever," he said.
	"I know," she breathed.  "We can still have our perfect life in our
perfect home."
	"Perfect is so boring," he told her.  "It's the flaws that you love."
	She watched him go back to painting, amazed by the wisdom he
had sometimes.  He amazed her. Life amazed her.  She thought about the
way his left eye didn't react to light and his nose and his crooked teeth and
how much she loved them all.  Less than perfect.  Like having a kidnapped
sister and a belief in UFOs.
	Like having a dark past and a slightly splintered personality.  No,
she wouldn't stop striving for perfection in herself.
	"I hate painting," he informed her.
	"I love it. You can stop," she offered.
	"I'm looking forward to cleaning up too much," he admitted.
	"Mulder, why do we only talk about sex?"
	"Do we?" he asked her.
	"We didn't used to."
	"You'll have to develop an interest in the Knicks," he suggested.
	"You'll have to read a book," she retorted.
	"You'll have to get hooked on documentary TV," he continued.
"Ever see 'The Civil War'?"
	"No."
	Obviously he missed the distaste in her tone because he continued,
"You're in for a real treat. I've got it on video. You have to watch it. 
There's this one part with this letter -"
	"Mulder, the Civil War makes me gag.  My dad was a Civil War
buff and as much as I loved him..."  She shook her head.  "I think that's
why he retired to Virginia."
	"He was?  That's cool," Mulder said.
	"He was a cool guy," she said, feeling warm inside.
	"I'm sorry I never got to meet him."  His voice turned quiet.
	"I don't know if you'd have liked each other. I hope so," she said. 
A second later, a new spray of paint thwacked against her back.  She
turned and glared at him.  "What the hell was that for?"
	"We need to make some happy memories," he said.  "Why're you
looking at me like that?"  Her grin was completely evil and before he
could blink, he had half a bucket of paint on his head.
	"Ooops, look what I did," she said.
	"Bitch," he teased.  "What time is it?"
	She had to wipe the paint off the face of her watch to read it. 
"Four-thirty."  Wow, time really did fly, she thought
	"We were supposed to meet Byers at 4:30 to sign the rest of the
papers," Mulder said. He pulled out his cell phone and Scully startd
closing up the paint cans.  Their day of fun seemed to be over.

	Mulder drove so they made it to the office in 15 minutes.  Byers'
eyes bulged when he saw them.  "What the hell?" he said.
	"We were painting," Scully said.
	"Really."  Byers was incredibly sarcastic. She'd always hated his
disapproval.  She'd never understood why he treated her the way he did. 
The door swung open and a petite blonde stepped out. Her smile froze in
place when she saw Mulder and Scully.  "This is my sister, Emily," Byers
said.
	Scully's heart sank and Mulder's hand found hers.  Lots of people
had that name, she reminded herself.  Even pretty blondes with big blue
eyes.  "We were painting," Mulder said, subdued.
	"I see," she said casually.  "John has told me you're very excited
about the house."
	"We are."  Scully squeezed Mulder's hand and he squeezed back. 
So she squeezed harder and soon her hand was about to fall off.
	"We just got married," Mulder said happily.
	"John told me.  Let me get the papers and bring them out here,"
Emily offered.
	"She won't let us in her office," Scully said. She caught Byers'
frown on her way to catch Mulder's eyes.
	"You're completely irresponsible," Byers said to  Mulder. It
sounded almost affectionate.
	Mulder shrugged carelessly.  "Call the guys. We'll have
cheesesteaks tonight," he offered.
	"Aren't you going to clean up first?" Byers' eyebrows were almost
in his hair.
	"We'll go to our house," Mulder suggested.  "Call the guys. Ask
Emily too."
	"Ask me what?"  she asked, presenting them with a contract. 
Scully accepted it and began to read.
	"We're having a new house party tonight.  To celebrate.  Want to
come?" Mulder invited.
	"Sure, why not?"  Emily smiled and looked at her brother.
"Sourpuss," she told him.
	"Am not!" Byers cried, stuffily tugging down his jacket.  "I'm
gonna go call the guys."  He disappeared into the real estate ofice.
	"You look so happy," Emily told them with a radiant smile.  "How
long have you known each other?"
	"Six years," Scully said.
	"We work together." Mulder took the contract from her hands
while she was distracted and signed it with a flourish before she could
finish reading it.  Scully gave him a dark look and added her signature.
	The house was theirs.
	"Congratulations," Emily said, taking the contract from them.
"You now have a mortgage."
	"The guys are on their way," Byers reported.
	"Party time," Mulder said in his usual deadpan, understated way.

-28-

	It turned into much more than cheesesteaks by firelight. Langly
brought a boombox and Frohike brought the booze.  It was a real
celebration.
	"Who'd have imagined your friends could actually be fun?"  Scully
whispered to her husband as they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching
Byers boogie to the music, a bottle in one hand and a paintbrush in the
other.
	It had become an all night painting party and god only knew what
the place would look like when the sun came up.
	"They love you, Scully," Mulder told her, utterly serious.
	She nodded.  "I'm very lucky."
	"Want to?" Frohike approached to ask her, nodding to the stereo.
	"She's married, ya doof," Langly reminded him.
	"So?" asked Frohike.
	"So leave her alone!" Langly suggested.
	"Shut up, you hippie *girl*."
	"Munchkin!"
	"Boys," Mulder warned and they wandered away.
	"I never thought I would have such a wonderful housewarming,"
Scully admitted.  She'd never imagined she would have such an interesting
husband, either.
	"I'll be you never imagined a lot of this," Mulder told her, nailing
her thoughts and sounding as insecure as ever.  She shook her head,
agreeing with him.
	"Dance with me?"  Mulder stretched out his hand to her.  Someone
had nudged the radio over to a soft rock ballad station.  She smiled and
took his hand, allowing him to wind her in close to his body.  "Look," he
whispered and in four steps, turned her around so she could see Langly
slow dancing with Emily Byers.
	She turned her head.  "Byers isn't happy," she noticed, seeing his
angry scowl.  "Maybe we should go -"
	"No," Mulder said, bouncing her closer to him.  "This is our time."
	"It's all our time now," she murmured, closing her eyes and moving
her feet.  They had danced together before this, out on cases, casually
flirting around the attraction that pulled between them.
	It had all happened so fast.
	Six years was not fast.
	But the way her arguments had fallen away was fast.  She
wondered why they'd waited so long.  Maybe they were waiting until they
truly needed each other.
	"You're tired," he said, looking down at her.
	"Mmm hmm."  She yawned delicately, not even trying to cover it
up.
	He put her hair back behind her ears and she shook her head until
the strands fell free again.  "We're still covered with paint," she
remembered.
	"I still can't wait to clean up," he told her.
	"Is this how it's supposed to be?"
	"I think so."
	She accepted that quietly.  "What happens when we're not like this
anymore?" she asked suddenly.  He looked at her curiously.  "When we're
old like our parents got and don't have kids to stay together for the sake
of?"
	"We'll just wait for that day to come," he told her, putting his hands
on her hips and staring down at her.
	A clinking sound filled the air.  They both raised their heads to
look and saw Langly and Frohike beating beer bottles with ballpoint pens,
like at a wedding reception. The boys grinned, waiting for them to kiss.
	Mulder gave Scully a big, sloppy kiss, which she returned
enthusiastically.
	"We're going home," Mulder said and Scully jerked as he pulled
her up off her feet into his arms. She would have struggled but she was too
surprised and didn't want him to drop her.
	"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.  His look was
innocent, but he let her down onto her feet.  "I am not some submissive,
subservient woman for you to marry and dominate."
	"Scully, it's traditional," he said.  "It was a whim."
	"It's traditional like men raping their brides is traditional!"
	"Scully -"  He didn't know what to say to her when she got like
this. "I didn't mean it that way."
	"I know," she admitted.  They got into the car and he flipped on the
lights. "You don't know what it's like to be small and have people move
you if they want to."
	"No, I don't," he admitted.  "I'm sorry I made you feel like your will
and your feelings weren't important."
	"God, you're a great apologizer," she said with passion.
	"Practice," he told her and put the car into gear, heading down the
dark road to his apartment.
	"What're we doing here?" she asked.
	"Cleaning up."
	"Why not my apartment?" she asked.
	"Why your apartment?" he countered.
	"Mulder, I think we're going to argue again."
	"Why?"  He patted her shoulder. "Go with it, Scully."
	She hated it when he said that.  "Why do you get to make the
decisions?"
	"Why do you?  We've been living in your apartment."
	"That's why we bought the house," she said.  He looked at her and
she gave in. "I don't want to fight with you tonight."  She opened the door
and got out, listening to his footsteps following her.
	"First shower," she called, running her hand through her stiff paint
coated hair.  Mulder bit his tongue on an offer to share.  She saw him and
said, "What?"
	"Don't you think it'd be fun to share?" he asked, trying to make it
sound like he didn't really care if she rejected him.
	She hesitated.  Their mutual decisions never seemed to be terribly
mutual.  It shouldn't be up to her to say yes or no.  If only Mulder wasn't so
ever-ready...but he loved her and he was trying to show it.
	She went into the bathroom without saying anything, leaving it up
to him. She began to strip off her clothes and the door opened a crack. 
"Scully?" he asked.  She yanked on the hand that rested on the doorknob
and he fell against her.  "You have  paint under your clothes," he said.  She
nodded and started the hot water running.  "Scully, are you talking to me?"
he asked, frowning until she peeled off the last of her clothes.
	He joined her under the spray ten seconds later.  She blinked water
out of her eyes and looked at his lean body as it grew damp.  He was
looking at her the same way. His mouth fastened on hers, pushing her
head back until she felt like she was drowning.  She pushed on his
shoulders and he let her go, looking at her with unfocused eyes.
	"Water," she said.
	He nodded and poured shampoo into his hand, rubbing it into the
crown of her hair with careful fingers.  He leaned over her, intent on his
work.  Then he turned her around and stood her under the water, petting
her hair to rinse the suds away.
	Suddenly she felt vulnerable.  Only he was just as naked and wet
as she was.  She picked up his cake of soap and lathered it in her hands. 
He watched her, probably just as she'd watched him.  Her fingers were
tentative as she reached for him.  But she enjoyed having him under her
hands.  He enjoyed it, too.
	He began washing the paint that had soaked through her clothes. 
She could tell by his body that he wanted to take her there.  He pulled at
her hips but she knew one of them would get hurt if they tried it in the
slippery shower stall.  "Not here," she said and fumbled for the water taps
as he began kissing her.
	He was in a hurry and stumbled trying to get out of the tub.  He
tripped but managed to clear the tub.  They fell together onto the
bathroom floor as much by accident as by design.  As soon as he could lift
her hips, he entered her.  She surprised herself by crying out at the force of
his thrust.  She kept her eyes open, focused on his face as he strained for
release.
	This is Mulder, it's safe, let go.  She knew she was thinking more
than she should, so she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on what
she was feeling, letting a breath out through her lips.
	He said her name and she climaxed suddenly, distracted from all
her thinking by the sound of his voice, pulling her into the moment.
	They lay there, spent, on the bathroom floor. His lips were
teasingly close to hers and his eyes almost closed trying to focus on her
face.   Her body was still in turmoil and she wished he would just kiss her.
	"Did you really daydream about me kissing you?" he asked.
	Now she knew he was doing this on purpose. "Yeah," she
confessed.  "I know is sounds juvenile, but..."
	"Just kissing?" he asked, pulling himself up onto his elbow, his
eyes never leaving hers.  "Nothing else?"
	"It was a fantasy. When we started working together.  I knew
nothing would ever..." But it had, hadn't it?  The nearness of his lips was
driving her mad.  "Most men don't really like kissing, Mulder," she said.
	"And you do?"
	She licked her lips and nodded.  Why was he always teasing her? 
	"God, you're serious, Scully," he said and pressed his mouth
against hers.  She met him eagerly, sucking and tasting and caressing until
she'd had her fill.
	No, she would never have her fill.  She knew kissing was safe. 
She knew it was because Bill  had never kissed her so she didn't have to
worry or fear, but she also had thought it was a lost art.  Until she met
Mulder.  He had a mouth that was made for this and he knew exactly how
to do it. He must like it too because he didn't rush to get it over with.
	She sighed and curled closer to him.  The steam was beginning to
dissolve and she was beginning to be aware that she was lying wet on
bathroom tile.  "What're you thinking?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her
collarbone, which he was tracing with her fingertips.
	"I want to renew our wedding vows in the house when it's
finished."  He looked at her, but didn't ask her why.  She was glad,
because she didn't want to tell him their union was a foggy blur in her
memory.
	"Okay," he said.
	"I want to invite my mother."  They hadn't broached the subject of
her family.  "I don't know if she'll come but I feel like..."  she stopped, her
chest filling with unshed tears at the estrangement.
	"Maybe it will be a way to begin to forgive," he said,
understanding.  He was thinking of his own mother and wondering if she
would be willing to make the effort to attend.  Things had seemed better
over Christmas.  The house would be a new start for them.  Their new life. 
"I love the idea," he said, turning to wrap her in his arms.

-Epilogue-

	The house was painted and fixed up and finished the first weekend
of spring.  The sun shone and its warmth was beginning to coax life from
the barren ground as it did every year. Winter came, but it never stayed.
	Scully rose early, needing to spend some time alone. She went on a
walk through the house, checking on details that no one would ever
notice, but she needed to know that everything was absolutely perfect. 
She went outside to check the flowers she and Mulder had arranged the
day before for the ceremony.  Dew lingered on the fresh petals, waiting to
be burned off by the sun.
	She felt good.  Dana and DK and the others had grown quieter in
her head.  She felt them rather than heard them now, like a normal person
might think of herself in the past.  It had been so long since she'd been
normal that she'd forgotten what it was like.
	She had been afraid the nightmares would come.  They still did,
once or twice a week, sending her back into a helpless child's body, or into
an experiment she was powerless to stop.  She was getting more
successful at reminding herself that it was in the past and it could only
hurt her if she allowed it to.  Mulder's presence helped.  She had never had
someone so completely in her life.  They bickered constantly but his arms
were there for her when she needed them, and she was learning how to
ask.
	She wouldn't have survived without him and she knew it.
	"Hey."  Mulder put his hand on her shoulder and she turned.  His
hair was sticking up everywhere and he was barefoot and shirtless, his
loose pajama bottoms hanging into the mud.  His eyes were quiet and
serious.  "Second thoughts?"
	"Never," she vowed.  "I'm so glad we're doing this."  Hand in hand,
they went inside.  Their guests would be arriving soon.

	At noon, they gathered in the yard. Mulder put on his grey suit and
Scully wore the dress she'd purchased for the occasion, a soft floral.  The
kind she never wore, but looked beautiful in.  It was a symbolic ceremony,
so no priest or justice was present.  Mulder's mother was frail, suddenly,
since Christmas, and Frohike had taken on the responsibility of watching
over her.  Scully looked at her own mother.  Strands of steel gray twined
through her dark hair and there were knew lines that Scully knew she
herself had caused.  She had found a few white hairs decorating her own
scalp recently.
	Skinner looked out of place even though Emily Byers kept talking
to him.  She was really sweet and Scully wondered if she would be
attending another wedding one day very soon. Langly was wearing a polo
shirt, but his long yellow hair hung loose ad he still looked like the same
old hacker.  It had been hard for Byers to accept his little sister's
attachment to his friend.
	Mulder couldn't believe his good fortune.  He had never even
dreamed of anything like this.  He remembered the cold winter day he'd
asked Scully to be his wife - he hadn't even asked, just expressed a desire. 
He'd expected her to laugh, to crush his feelings under the pointy heel of
her little shoe.
	It had been a damn hard three months, but he knew all about
cocoons and trials.  They'd survived and cemented their lives.  He
threaded his fingers through hers and she smiled at him.  At any other
point in his life, he would have been mortified to stand up in the sunshine
in front of his friends and family and hers and confess his feelings.
	He turned and took her hands in his, probably squeezing too hard,
but maybe he was still a little scared.  He'd never gotten anything he
wanted before.  She smiled encouragingly at him.
	And there were no words.  Everything he'd been practicing in his
head for a week disappeared.  He felt his grin turn idiotic. "I love you,
Scully," he said and saw the slight color that rose in her cheeks.  He hoped
he would always see it there.  "I've learned to take every moment and I've
learned that every moment can be worth taking, that it's safe to love and
trust and build a life."  His eyes returned to hers. "But mostly, I love you."
	She wet her lips and spoke.  "Mulder, you are the most patient and
gentle and giving man  I've ever known. I had lost my hope that life was
worth living and I lost myself. You found me.  You helped me find me
ever since we met."  She'd forgotten the onlookers who were there to
witness and celebrate their bond.  This was her opportunity to tell Mulder
all the things she couldn't normally say, things that didn't come up in daily
life.
	"Kiss her already!"
	Mulder and Scully turned, surprised, because the voice belonged to
their boss.  The top of his head was reddening but all of their guests were
grinning at them.
	Mulder took Scully in his arms and they made their kiss juicy and
showy, until they forgot themselves again.  His hands slid down and he
tried to bury himself in her mouth.
	"Party!" Langly yelled jubilantly.
	The lovers' kiss parted with a soft smacking sound.  They had all
the time in the world.  The stereo was cranked up and the buffet in the
kitchen raided as Mulder and Scully hung back from the crowd, lingering
alone together.
	"We have the rest of our lives," she said.
	"What're you trying to say?" he asked her.
	"Let's go have some fun with the people who love us."  She tugged
at his hand.  He didn't budge, holding her in place with his fingers.
	"You're crazy if you think I'm ever going to let go," he informed
her.
	"Don't you dare."  She put her other hand over his and they went
into the house together, where they were greeted with applause from their
friends.

		THE END!

-Author's Notes-

Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end!  I hope you've
enjoyed the story.  I wrote this because I'd read so many stories featuring
Scully's identity problems - Scully vs. Dana.  So I wanted to do a story
with multiple personality syndrome, and childhood sexual abuse is the
main cause of that syndrome.

When I began to do research,  I was shocked at how many characteristics
of "abused child syndrome" the writers of the X Files have worked into the
way they write Scully's character.  For example, the incident with the
rabbit that Scully remembers in "Christmas Carol" seemed completely out
of place to me until I read "A tactic of some abusers...is the actual or
threatned abuse of small animals.  In some instances rabbits and other
small creatures were destroyed before the eyes of terrified children."
[Secret Survivors, E. Sue Blume, pg. 63].  I don't know why the writers
would make this choice, or if it was even something they decided to do, or
if the "symptoms" of child abuse are, as many have thought, so vague and
general that they could apply to anyone.

I did a lot of reading because I wanted my story to accurately portray a
painful subject.  I felt that anything less than a serious portrayal would be
in insult to people who have experienced abuse themselves.

Here is a partial bibliography for anyone who might be interested in where
I got my ideas or who want to say "That isn't so - you're wrong!"  I would
love to hear from you if you think I'm wrong. I might be.  But I have
sources. :)

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY
1. "Nightmare" - Emily Peterson and Nancy Lynn Gooch as told to Lynn
Freeman
2. "Katherine, It's Time" - Kit Castle & Stefan Bechtel
3. "Voices" - Trula Michaels LaCalle, PhD

FALSE MEMORY SYNDROME
1. "Confabulations: Creating False Memories, Destroying Families" -
Eleanor Goldstein with Kevin Farmer
2. "Suggestions of Abuse" - Michael Yapko, PhD
3. "Lost Daughters" - Reinder van Til

SEXUAL ABUSE AND INCEST
1. "Secret Survivors: Uncovering Incest and its Aftereffects in Women" -
E. Sue Blume
2. "The Courage To Heal" - Ellen Bass & Laura Davis