"*Those* are your dancing shoes?" Mulder was staring at Scully's feet, trying not to laugh at the black patent leather shoes with the seal of the United States in gold, silver and bronze on the toe and dome of the capitol and the Washington and Lincoln Memorials on the sides.
Scully glared at him as they walked slowly along Tenth Street toward The Cradle. "The coroner couldn't tell me anything that wasn't in his report. And he was not pleased that someone was questioning his findings."
"But you were polite about it, of course."
"Of course." She smiled. "I only lost patience with him a couple of times."
"Any chance of exhuming the body for a second autopsy?"
She shook her head. "He was cremated. However, I have requested copies of the reports on Galen Ford and the Los Angeles victim, and I've contacted the legats in Paris, Copenhagen and Moscow. Maybe there's some detail that was overlooked."
"Hmm. I've been thinking about that. No offense to your chosen profession, Scully, but in my experience, doctors generally hate to say 'I don't know.'"
"Your point being that if seven doctors were willing to admit that, how many came to some erroneous conclusion simply because they weren't willing to admit it? How familiar are you with the Ford case?"
Mulder stared at the sidewalk in front of him, concentrating on avoiding the patches of ice the salt and sand had yet to melt. "I know a few of the details. He was found in his apartment with all of the doors and windows locked. It was ruled suicide because he was found suspended by the neck from a hanging macrame plant holder."
"But strangulation was not the cause of death."
"Right. The ligature marks on his neck occurred after death."
"So, how did he come to be entangled in a philodendron? And what about the missing notes?"
"If, in fact, there were notes, they were missing."
"That was a test. Did she pass?"
As they reached the door of The Cradle, Mulder paused to consider the question as the music coming from the club shook the walls. "She didn't deny that they existed. To be perfectly honest, Scully, I don't know what to think. I don't want her to be involved, but what I want has no bearing on the evidence."
Scully laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. She couldn't help remembering Phoebe Greene and the way Mulder had been around her, overly cautious of every word and action, distant and yet obviously drawn to her, and although the hurt still showed in his eyes, Scully was left with little doubt that he was over her. Not the case this time. He was not just hurt, he was in a great deal of pain, and the distance was not there. He was still in love with Dominika, and, given the depression she could already sense in him, she feared how he would take it if she were the guilty party.
"I know one thing," she said brightly, hoping to cheer him up. "We should have brought ear plugs."
He turned to open the door, hiding a grin. "One of the first signs of old age..." The blaring music swallowed the rest of his words.
The interior of the club was decorated in dark colors, from the russet upholstery on the chairs to the mahogany stain of the floor and walls, leaving no surface to reflect and intensify the scant light provided mainly by the strobes over the dance floor. It was still early on a Thursday evening, but already the crowd was gathering to get an early start on the weekend.
Scully sat down at a vacant table just inside the door while Mulder searched the faces in the crowd. As he suspected, Dominika was there, seated at the bar between two ardent male admirers, drinking vodka shooters. Her husband was nowhere in sight. "So, it's one of *those* nights," he mumbled.
"What," Scully called over the noise.
Mulder sat down next to her and pointed in Dominika's direction. Scully watched for a few seconds.
"Trouble in paradise," she asked.
"Its just a game to her." And one she plays very well, he thought. "She makes up the rules and she's the only winner."
"Mulder, if you're uncomfortable working this case..."
"It's ancient history, Scully," he said, but he couldn't take his eyes off the woman at the bar.
Scully watched him watching Dominika as she leaned closer to the man on her right to whisper in his ear. Unhappy with this turn of events, the man on the other side of her took her hand and pulled her gently in his direction. She patted his shoulder in a way that from a distance seemed condescending and whispered to him while he glared past her at his competition.
"What's she trying to do? Start a fight?"
"Probably."
"Winner take all?"
"Maybe. And maybe she'll just slip out the door and leave them both wondering what the hell happened. Maybe she'll get bored with both of them and go looking elsewhere or maybe they'll reach an agreement and take turns. I wouldn't put anything past her."
"I wonder what her husband thinks of all this."
Mulder looked at her, considering her statement, and shrugged. "As long she comes home eventually, he probably doesn't care."
"Are you talking about him or are you talking about you," Scully asked.
He couldn't answer that question, so he settled back and watched as Dominika continued her expert seduction of the two unsuspecting victims and thought about it. He couldn't deny feeling a little jealous of the attention she was lavishing on them, but he knew where it would lead. He knew that she wasn't worth the heartache and frustration. He couldn't explain the hold she had on him. She was beautiful, but he had known other beautiful women and they hadn't effected him this way. As a lover, she had moved with practiced ease, as though the act of lovemaking was little more than a rehearsed routine and he was just a prop she used to show off her skill. Afterward, he had always felt used and dehumanized, but he couldn't stay away for long.
"Dance with me, Scully," he said, turning his attention suddenly to his partner.
"What?"
"I said I was taking you dancing, so lets dance." He stood up and held out his hand.
"If you're trying to make her jealous, I don't think it's going to work."
"I just feel like dancing. Anything wrong with that?"
Scully regarded him suspiciously and reluctantly placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. "I guess not," she said. This was against her better judgment and her principles, but she followed him to the dance floor. Getting him to relax and lighten up every now and then had become almost a full time job in itself, and she tried to tell herself that this was an encouraging sign, but that did not diminish the feeling that she was nothing more than a stand-in for the person he really wanted to be dancing with. She should resent that fact, she thought, but she didn't. If dancing with her made him feel better, it was a small price to pay. And at least the music was not conducive to slow dancing.
As she breathed a sigh of relief at that last thought, the song ended and the first strains of Eric Carmen's 'Make Me Lose Control' drifted out from the speakers. Mulder pulled her close and slipped an arm around her waist. She thought about fighting it, but finally settled into his arms and was amazed to discover how comfortable she felt. It was like dancing with her brothers at family reunions - familiar, fun and risk free. She was equally amazed to discover that Mulder was pretty good at this. He wasn't exactly clumsy, but until that moment, she would never have used the word graceful to describe him.
It always seemed that just when she thought she had him figured out, something would happen to show her just how little she really knew about him. Spending time with him was always an adventure. She had never considered her life dull, but when she thought about it, it had been up until she met Mulder. Busy, yes, but nothing exciting seemed to happen. In retrospect, there were things she would do differently, but she wouldn't trade her life now for anything.
The work they did might be frustrating, at times it might even seem trivial and unimportant, at least to her. But in the grander view, they were making a difference, slowly chipping away at the veil of secrecy between the government and its people. It was a battle they might never win, but if they could continue as they were, triumphing at least in theory in the minor skirmishes, maybe the war would take care of itself.
She almost laughed as she thought about her days of teaching at Quantico, how important that had seemed at the time - being recognized as someone with knowledge to offer the next class of Special Agents and being given the opportunity to shape their perceptions. Ah, the things she could tell them now, not that anyone would believe it if they hadn't seen it all firsthand. How could they when she had seen it and still couldn't bring herself to believe.
A hand on her shoulder and the sudden halt of the dance startled her startled her from her train of thought. She looked up to see Dominika standing next to her, smiling at Mulder.
"May I cut in," she asked. Her speech was slurred and she was unsteady on her feet.
Scully looked up at her partner, waiting for him to answer. He responded by holding her tighter. "I don't think so," he said.
"Oh, come on, Fox. For old time's sake?"
"It's okay," Scully said, trying to free herself from him.
"No, it's not."
"Fine. If you won't dance with me, there are plenty of others who will."
"Then go ask one of them."
Dominika turned away, then turned back. "Please," she said. "I just want to talk."
"Mulder," Scully said, scolding softly. She pushed herself away and he released her reluctantly. Dominika stepped instantly into the void, nearly knocking Mulder to the ground as she fell against him. Scully reached out to steady both of them.
"You're drunk," he told Dominika. He was still holding on to Scully's wrist and showing no signs of letting go.
"Not drunk enough," she laughed.
"I think you are."
Dominika took a step away from him. "You have no right to tell me..."
Before she could finish the sentence, Mulder grasped her hair at the nape of her neck and gave it a hard yank, positioning her head so that she could not help but look him in the eye. "Don't cause a scene," he hissed.
Scully looked on his disbelief, weighing the discrepancy between the gentle grip he had on her wrist and violent manner he was using on Dominika. It was a side of him she had never seen and didn't like very much, but it worked. Dominika's mood changed dramatically. She stood obediently, trying to turn her head to avoid eye contact.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Mulder let go of both of them. "We're taking you home," he said in a commanding tone.
Dominika glanced at Scully, her eyes revealing a caustic remark on the tip of her tongue, but she looked back at Mulder, and seeing the anger in his face, changed her mind and simply nodded.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Scully drove while Mulder and Dominika sat in the back seat. Judging from Mulder's expression, she was too close for his comfort. Scully kept one eye on the road and the other on the rear view mirror, prepared to stop at any moment and order them to neutral corners.
The first few minutes passed in tense silence. Mulder watched Dominika closely. He wanted to feel sorry for her, but he was determined not to let that happen. He would not let her get to him again.
She started to cry, softly at first, then collapsing against him as deep sobs racked her body. On instinct, he put his arm around her. With all that he knew about her, if any of it was true, she had reason to cry, but he was not entirely convinced that the tears were genuine. It could be a part of her game.
"Fox," she said. Her voice was hoarse through the sobs. "It wasn't always so bad, was it? I know why you hate me, but we had some good times, didn't we?"
"Yes, we did," he replied coldly.
"I never meant to hurt you."
"I wish I could believe that."
"I did love you. In my own way."
"I know. I loved you, too. And I paid for it."
She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. Mulder had to fight the urge to brush her tears away. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable, but he knew it was just an illusion.
"Do you still," she asked.
"Dominika..."
She reached up and kissed him, lightly at first, then more demanding. Mulder surrendered to her, to the bittersweet memories, accepting the kiss and returning it with equal fervor. Their lips parted in unison, tongues probing and searching hungrily as their bodies moved involuntarily closer.
"Nika," Mulder moaned. "Don't." He pushed her away and paused to catch his breath. "I don't want to start this again."
She nodded sadly and laid her head against his chest.
Mulder looked down at tangle of red curls displayed on his white shirt, then at Scully, intently watching the road and occasionally glancing at him over her shoulder. He didn't know what he expected from her. Maybe that she would be as disappointed with him as he was with himself and maybe even a hint of anger. But when she looked at him, it was with sympathy, and he was surprised. After everything she had done for him, and after all the times he had let her down, she was still there whenever he needed her. She was more than a partner. She was his friend, his only real friend. Why couldn't he fall in love with someone like her?
Dominika moved back to her own side of the seat.
Why was it always someone like Dominika? Or Phoebe? Or Kristen? He knew the warning signs. Hell, he'd become an expert at spotting them, but he never paid any attention. Was he that gullible, he wondered, or was he trying to avoid a commitment because the one he had already made was so much more important to him? Finding Samantha. Anything else in his life would only get in the way of that mission.
"I think it was my fault," Dominika said softly.
"What was?"
"That boy. Nathan. He died because of me."
"What do you mean," Mulder asked cautiously, exchanging a quick glance with Scully via the mirror.
"Everywhere I go, tragedy follows. I don't understand it, but I know somehow, I am to blame. You know it, too, or you wouldn't be here. What's happening, Fox? Help me understand? Explain to me what is going on."
"I can't. Maybe you can explain it."
"I wish I could. It scares me. I know you don't believe me, but I would never intentionally hurt anyone. I have to know. Is it something I'm doing? Something I'm causing to happen? And how do I stop it?"
"You can start by helping us get some answers. The woman in Los Angeles? What happened?"
Dominika looked at him with a blank expression and shook her head. "I don't know who you mean."
"Her name was Rebecca Conroy," Scully said. "She was a choreographer."
"I've heard the name. I'm familiar with her work, but I didn't know her."
"You never met?"
"It's possible. I don't remember."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Mulder and Scully walked Dominika to the door of her house, an old Victorian mansion in what had long ago been one of the better parts of town. Gavrel greeted them at the door. He eyed Dominika suspiciously and the two exchanged a few heated words in Russian until a little girl came bounding into the room. Dominika introduced their daughter, Kisa.
"I don't suppose you learned enough Russian from her to pick up any of what they were saying," Scully asked when they were back in the car, this time with Mulder behind the wheel.
"Da and nyet is the extent of my vocabulary."
"How about do svidanya?"
"She never bothered saying good-bye," he said.
"Are you going to tell me how the two of you met, or do I have to guess?"
A few blocks from the house, Mulder pulled the car to the side of the road and shut off the ignition. "Her father was an astronomer working at an observatory near Voronezh, south of Moscow. In that capacity, he came into a collection of photographs, mostly taken in Siberia, that purported to show UFOs and their landing sites. This was at the height of Soviet power, so naturally, he was forced to turn the collection over to the government, but not before he made copies of them. The government branded the photographs as fakes, but classified them anyway. Somehow, it was discovered that he had the copies. The KGB paid him a visit and a few days later, he disappeared, never to be seen again, but they never found the photos. A few years later, Dominika found them and kept them and when she came to the United States, she brought them with her. That was at about the time as my article on Gulf Breeze appeared in Omni. She read it, did a little research and contacted me to find out if I would be interested in the collection."
"And of course you were."
"Naturally. I took the pictures to the Lone Gunmen, had them analyzed. They turned out to be just what the Soviets said they were. Fakes. Very good ones, done with some very high tech equipment that would not have been available to the average Soviet citizen."
"The government set him up?"
"Set him up, tested his loyalty. Depends on how you look at it. Dominika was upset by that, that it was all for nothing. That she would never know what happened to him because he was betrayed by the government he had supported all of his life."
"That sounds vaguely familiar."
"It does, doesn't it? I suppose that was one of the things that attracted me to her. She could understand what I felt because she had been through it. She wanted answers, just like I did. And she was a believer. I really thought I'd found..."
"Your soul mate?"
"Yeah."
"Did you know she was married?"
Mulder sighed. "No. Not at first. That was one of many things she conveniently forgot to mention. By the time I found out, I was in over my head. It was just a minor inconvenience. She has a way of bringing out the worst in people, Scully. That little incident at The Cradle. I don't want you think that's normal for me, but after a year of dealing with her occasional tantrums, I found that the only way to get her to calm down and listen was a show of force. I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Mulder, I've known her less than a day, and already I've wanted to deck her a couple of times, just on general principle. I guess I can understand it."
"It's no excuse, but thank you for not judging."
"What happened?"
"One day, she just left. I tried to call her and the number had been disconnected. I wrote to her and the letters were returned. No forwarding address. A few weeks later, there was a message on my answering machine. She said she'd gone back to Moscow. Nothing else. No explanation, nothing. Scully?"
"What?"
He started to speak several times before he found the words. "How old do you think that little girl was?"
"About four."
Mulder nodded. "The last time I saw Dominika was four and a half years ago."
Scully stared at him wide eyed. "Mulder, do you think..."
"I don't know."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
In the morning, Scully found Mulder in a booth in the dingy motel dining room, staring into a cup of coffee. He didn't look up until she slid into the booth across from him.
"You look like hell, Mulder."
"Good morning to you, too."
"How long have you been up?"
He checked his watch. "Going on twenty-five hours. If I were you, I'd skip the coffee this morning," he said, signaling to the waitress, who seemed not to notice.
"That bad?" Mulder pushed the cup across the table, and she sampled it with a grimace. "God, what do they use in that stuff, river water?"
"I was thinking raw sewage, but your explanation is more appetizing." He yawned and rubbed his temples.
"Mulder, why don't you go back to your room and try to get some sleep. I can handle things today."
"No, I'm all right."
"Are you?"
"Not really, but sleep isn't the solution."
"You need to talk to her."
He nodded. "I know. But first, I have to decideif I want to know the truth."
While Scully considered that, the waitress appeared and took her order for toast and a Pepsi. When she left, Scully turned her attention back to Mulder. He looked so miserable, and there was nothing she could say to help.
"I don't even know if its possible," he said.
"I made a few calls last night. Kisa turns four next month. From what you told me, yes, its possible that she's your daughter."
That word sounded so strange to him. "Daughter," he repeated, testing to see how it felt to say it. A chill ran up his spine. "Oh, Scully. What if she is? Obviously, Dominika didn't want me to know."
"You have a right to know. And we can't lose sight of the reason we're here. Whether Dominika was involved in those deaths or whether it was someone else connected to her, the child could be in danger."
"I don't think so."
"You're probably right, but we have to consider that."
"What do think, Scully? I can't see straight on this one. Do you think she's responsible?"
"Completely irresponsible, I'd say, but that's not what you mean. She's the most obvious suspect, but after last night, I have my doubts. In fact, I'm beginning to think this entire case is nothing more than a tripe hunt."
"What about Nathan Draves? His death is still a mystery."
"Just because no cause was found doesn't mean there wasn't one. Since I can't verify the coroner's findings, I have to assume that he was correct, and I don't like making assumptions."
"There were six other people who died in a similar manner."
"If that's true. The reports on those cases should be coming through sometime today. Maybe they'll give us something to go on. Right now, I'm just as interested in finding out where this case came from."
"I thought Skinner gave it to us."
"He did, but how did it come to his attention? Either he couldn't or wouldn't tell me. For all we know, the whole thing could have been orchestrated to attack Dominika's reputation. God knows, she must have enough enemies."
A cold draft swept through the restaurant as a man threw open the door dramatically and stood just inside, surveying the room. Mulder and Scully turned to look at him.
"Looks like we've got company," Mulder said. "Vanko Slavatinsky, their coach."
Slavatinsky strode across the room, came to a halt at their table and introduced himself. "You are FBI," he asked. His accent was thick and difficult to understand, his grasp of the English language somewhat lacking.
"Yes, Fox Mulder, and this is Dana Scully."
"Yes," Slavatinsky said. "I must speak with you."
"Please, sit down," Scully offered.
Slavatinsky accepted the invitation. "Please forgive," he said. "My English not so good. I am concerned for Dominika and Gavrel. What goes on. They are ... upset. The show tonight, benefit for Amhurst Ice Club. Is important for them. They are upset, they skate badly."
"I can understand that," Mulder interrupted, "but there isn't much we can do about..."
"Mulder," Scully said. "Go on, Mr. Slavatinsky."
"Vanko. They have much talent. Could be among world's best. But they do not..." He thought for a moment, then pulled a dictionary out of his pocket and consulted it. "They do not commit themselves to their art. Only to each other."
"Dominika has a strange way of showing it," Scully said.
"I understand why you think that, but is true." He consulted the dictionary again. "In past, they have no success because performance was inconsistent. Performance inconsistent because they have no success. You understand? Important people there tonight to see them. Tonight could change all. They can have no distraction."
"Mr. Slavatinsky," Mulder said, "I sympathize with your concerns, but we have a job to do."
"And I have job to do. I try." He smiled in acknowledgment of the futility of his mission. "Sorry to bother you."
"Did you know a woman named Rebecca Conroy," Scully asked.
"Yes. I ask her to create dance for Dominika and Gavrel."
"Did she?"
"No. She... uh, she don't like Dominika. Refuse to work with them."
"So she and Dominika did know each other," Mulder said.
"No, they never meet. Miss Conroy say they are not good enough for her. She would not work with them. She was wrong."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Go to part three
Back to titles