AUTHORS: The Sybarite Collective (bcfan, MaybeAmanda, Amy (Spookey247) Tesla, msk, Lucy Marchmont, kmom)
Feedback: thesybgroup-owner@yahoogroups.com
Site: http://www.geocities.com/syb_collective/jabberwocky.html
Rating: R
Category: BirthdayFic
Spoilers: Bad Blood
Archive: Sure
Very Special Thanks Euphrosyne for beta above and beyond.
Chris Carter owns M&S; Fox owns The XFiles; we own this story; Sybil is her own woman.

Dedication: To Sybil on her 28th! Happiest Birthday!

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You sure this is the right place?" Scully shouted above the din of the twenty-something crowd and the wail of music she would have been hard pressed to describe beyond 'really-really-really- no-I-mean-really-REALLY-loud.' Even in the supposedly 'quiet' room away from the band, the steady thumpthumpthump was enough to rattle the bottles on their table. And what kind of place was this packed at 3 in the afternoon?

Mulder left another two dollars on the table for the waitress, pocketed the rest of his change, took a long swallow from his beer, and shrugged. "This is the address Frohike gave me. Besides, how many White Rabbit bars could there be in one town?"

'One too many,' she thought, and rubbed her temples. The headache she'd been battling all day was poised on the brink of victory and she was out of ammunition. "I don't know, Mulder. It seems -" she scanned the crowd "- wrong."

Mulder took a second long pull from his beer, leaving the bottle, much to Scully's surprise, well over half empty. "Not all informants insist on cloak and dagger antics, Scully."

"Still -"

"Still nothing. Sometimes it's easier to hide in plain sight," he replied. "Your friend Sheriff Hartwell seemed to think so."

She stopped rubbing. Great. He was bringing that up again. What was it with Mulder, anyway? He was never satisfied with just beating a dead horse. No, he had to poke it, flog it, whip it, flay it, chop it into tiny little pieces with his Ginsu knives, then turn it into a decorative horsehide planter. Martha Stewart might have been impressed by arts and crafts, Mulder-style, but Scully had had about enough.

She sighed. The case in Chaney had been - well, it had been weird, that's what it had been. Exsanguinated tourists, drugged pizzas, nonsense about vampires, and finally finally finally she had a met a cute guy - nice, respectable, law enforcing and, until proven otherwise in a court of law, law abiding - and what had happened?

Nothing.

Well, Sheriff Hartwell had maybe flirted with her a little, but she hadn't responded.

'But that was all that happened,' she thought as she carefully worked her thumbnail under the corner of the label on her otherwise untouched Shiner Bock.

Well, okay, maybe she had responded a tiny bit. An itty-bitty teensy-weensy bit. Microscopic, even. She was only human, after all, and as susceptible to attention as every other under-paid, over-worked, hanging-on-by-the-frayed-end-of-a-greased-rope woman out there. She'd barely returned Hartwell's interest, had shown him little more than polite but professional courtesy.

But did Mulder see it that way? Oh no, not Mulder. He was still sulking and carrying on as if she'd ripped off her clothes and had her way with the good Sheriff right there on the autopsy table in the Chaney morgue.

Which, dammit, she hadn't. Not even close.

And why did Mulder care, anyway? she wondered as she checked her watch for the thirtieth time in as many minutes. It wasn't as if she spent all her time monitoring Mulder's love life, so why did he feel the need to monitor hers? Even if she actually had one, it was none of his business. It wasn't like he actually cared, was it?

No, it wasn't. And that was the problem.

For a long time, Scully had harbored first the hope, then the suspicion, that Mulder's feelings for her might be more than simply partnerly. But lately, something had changed in a way she could neither articulate nor understand. It seemed to her as if the two of them had spent years teetering on the rim of some great crater, each waiting for the other to fall. It was becoming increasingly clear, though, that while Mulder had fallen in one direction, she'd fallen in the other, and as a result, they were further apart than they'd ever been.

"Scully?"

She looked up. Mulder's bottle was empty, and he was waving their waitress over. "You want another? Something to eat?"

Scully shook her head. "No thanks."

"You sure? It's 28 cent wing night." He waggled his brows as if the very idea of passing up 28 cent wings was unfathomable.

"I'm sure."

Mulder ordered another beer, a plate of nachos, a platter of wings, and, with a smug little smirk tossed her way, "whatever you've got in the way of rabbit food back there."

For some reason, that irked her. "I said 'no thanks,' Mulder."

Mulder leaned back in his chair, his smirk a little broader. "Who said it was for you?"

For some reason, that irked her even more, but she bit back her reply. "We've been here almost an hour. What makes you think this guy is going to show?"

"I'm as sure as I can be," Mulder answered. "Frohike said someone with information wanted to talk to us."

Scully glanced up from her bottle peeling. "Information about what exactly?"

"That he didn't say."

'Of course not,' Scully thought. They never said. Must be in the Shadowy Informant Handbook somewhere - 'Pissing Off Your Contacts For Fun And Profit.' The chapter right after 'Cryptic Comments That Mean Nothing But Sound Really Cool.'

"Did he give you a name? A description? Anything to go on?"

"Nope."

Scully scowled. "So how are we supposed to find this someone?"

"I guess he'll find us."

"Or," a woman's voice came from behind Scully, "she will."

Scully turned. A red haired woman in a purple suit stood behind her.

"Shiner Bock, please" the woman said, sitting down in the chair which Mulder pulled out for her. "You must be Agents Mulder and Scully. I'm Sybil. I got an e-mail from our mutual friend Melvin telling me that you two were investigating vamps." She spoke in a lazy, teasing voice and seemed perfectly unconcerned about being overheard.

"Sybil," Mulder said, leaning in, and looking determinedly into her eyes. "A little discretion?"

"Hmpf, Mr. Mulder. This is Texas. No one knows and no one cares what any one says in a bar. Like Vegas, only... not." She looked Mulder up and down. "Shiner Bock?" she repeated, on a questioning note. "Mine? Where?"Jesus, thought Scully. What a load of---and stopped in mid-thought, because Mulder had actually got up to go to the bar. He was back with a sweating bottle of beer before Scully had formulated one of the several questions in her mind.

Mulder's eyes moved from Sybil to Scully. "Fro--Melvin said you had information. What's up?" he asked, the lack of expression in his voice expressing the utmost suspicion.

Sybil leaned forward, and the lazy drawl was nearly gone from her voice. "I think the company I work for is running insurance scams with the undead."

Mulder nearly dropped his beer bottle.

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Sybil shook back her mane of hair. "Well, think about it. I work for an independent insurance agency. They have a certain amount of claims where people just die in bed. The ambulance comes, they can't find a heartbeat. The doctor issues a death certificate, and the beneficiary files the claim. I mean, the biggest thing you have to do to cash in a life insurance policy is to have a body."

"The initial exam is finessed how?" Scully asked politely. "Sure, they get a body with no breath or heartbeat, most doctors pronounce death. But there has to be a medical exam when you apply."

"Not with these little term policies. You've seen the ads - for a few dollars a week, you can have term life insurance with no exam. "

"And they get the policies in bulk," Mulder said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Sybil said, folding her hands on the table in front of her. "We've had an awful lot of suspicious claims lately, but who was I going to tell this to? It's not exactly what the Bexar County prosecutor deals with. These folks would think I was watching too much 'Buffy'."

Scully sighed, then began to roll her shoulders slightly to ease the tension. Another crazy case, yet again with the vampires. She lifted her mostly untouched beer and took a long pull, trying to be discreet as she examined the informant. She gave up and openly stared.

Sybil's cascade of red hair tumbled to her waist. The purple pantsuit was zipped just low enough to reveal an expanse of cleavage that she was sure Mulder noticed. And the gaudy plastic earrings? In the shape of yellow duckies? Mulder was leaning into Sybil, listening closely, wearing his familiar slightly touched, laser-focused expression as she explained some detail of undead insurance fraud. And Sybil, well -

Scully knew a flirt when she saw one. And she was definitely looking at one now.

"And the strangest part, Mr. Mulder," Sybil gushed, "is that the funeral home must be in on the scam. There have been no showings, no services, and every single one of the so-called bodies has supposedly been buried in a coffin ordered from the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor!"

Murder's mouth popped open to reply - and Scully leaned over and stuck a chicken wing in it.

"Wing, Mulder?"

Scully smiled sweetly around Mulder's muffled comments, turning to Sybil.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the FBI needs more than an informant's suspicion. We need hard evidence. Do you happen to have any proof to support your allegations?"

"The number and pattern of claims made me suspicious," Sybil replied. "All of them using the same funeral parlor seems weird, too. You all are the FBI - aren't you the ones that are supposed to find the evidence? I'm just a little old CSR."

Mulder nodded. "She's right, Scully. Why don't we hang around San Antonio for the next few days and see what we can find, maybe take in a Spurs game tonight? They're playing New Jersey."

"But Mulder-"

"Great idea, Agent Mulder," Sybil said. "We can visit some sites around town or, if you prefer, I can have some folks that know about this come down to tell their story."

"And who exactly are these 'folks'?" Scully asked before Mulder could reply. She despised herself for her pettiness, but she was not entirely comfortable with the expression of admiration he appeared to be bestowing on their attractive informant. To put it mildly.

"Witnesses," Sybil answered.

"Witnesses who have actually witnessed something? Or people who have contrived to make speculative suppositions out of very little?"

"Scully, for someone who recently had a cozy chat for two, in a car, in the dead of night, with a member of the undead, you're being remarkably disbelieving, even for you," Mulder remarked.

"We don't have any evidence of the kind regarding Sheriff Hartwell's state of being. I can only say that during the time I spent with him, he appeared to be very much alive."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. She could tell he was about to say something else, but apparently thought better of it.

Sybil smiled sweetly. "Excuse me for interrupting, but I get the impression, Agent Scully, that you're not buying this little 'supposition' of mine. You may think I'm constructing a case out of very little, but I watch all the cop shows and I devour shelves of crime books, and I believe I've learned something from all those great detectives. Isn't that what a trained investigator such as yourself would recommend I do, that I should try to see further by standing on the shoulders of giants like you and Agent Mulder?"

"That's very true," said Mulder. "When your legs are as little as, say Scully's, a giant's shoulders can be very useful."

Sybil laughed. "Now, don't be so mean, Mr. Mulder. Her legs look to be just about the same length as mine."

Scully winced with irritation as Sybil stretched out one of her decidedly shapely legs for them both to see. This time there was no doubt that it was Sybil's display of balletic agility that Mulder was admiring.

Scully coughed as she decided to direct the subject back to a more professional footing.

"Be that as I may, what scenes do you suggest we visit and to whom should we speak?"

"We have to be discreet," said Sybil, and for the first time she lowered her voice. She touched an earring nervously. "I don't want to be fired over this. My boss has been far from understanding about my, ahem, necessary but recreational internet usage at work, and if he finds out that I'm accusing his company of being in cahoots with a pack of vampires and committing major- league insurance fraud, my position might just be untenable."

"That's quite understood. You can be assured of our discretion," said Mulder.

"Thank you." Sybil sighed. "I'm due to meet an informant of my own here in a few minutes. Pete Roberts is a hearse driver at the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor and over a couple of drinks and a little flirting, he's proved very informative. I suggest we speak to him first before moving on. I've compiled a dossier too." Sybil withdrew a large green canvas bag from under the table and began to rummage through the contents.

"Ducks," observed Mulder.

"What?" asked Scully.

"Oh, he means on my bag." Sybil gestured towards the felt panel on the front of her bag, depicting four ducks on a pond.

"And your earrings," noted Scully.

"I love duck," Sybil explained as she continued to rummage through her bag. "Ducks are just so. . ."

"Ducky?" Scully suggested dryly.

"They certainly are," smiled Sybil. "But also they represent so much more. I guess you could say they're kind of like a talisman for me. I don't know why, but I just feel safer with a number of them around, especially at the moment."

"A few silver bullets might be more useful," said Mulder. "Maybe a wooden stake."

"Here!" said Sybil. She thrust a wad of papers across the table. "These are some copies of papers pertaining to the claims I believe to be part of this scam. For example, here you have three different claims, each with a different client name, all at the same address. And here, four different names, all in the same apartment building."

"That could be a coincidence," said Scully.

"Possibly," agreed Sybil. "but here," she pointed, "four more. Healthy twenty-five-to thirty year old males, all of whom died of natural causes in the last six months. They all lived at the same address - not just the same building, Agent Scully, but the same apartment, number 315 - and in each case, the body was dealt with by the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor."

"Still -"

"I might agree with you, Agent Scully, if it wasn't for the fact that this particular apartment is in my complex. It's a quiet place where the neighbors don't really mix, and everyone minds their own business. I didn't think anything of it until the third claim, but I can see into the apartment from my bedroom window, and the third man to die there, Mr. Maynard, soon reappeared as the new resident Mr. Liddell. For a person who had died of a heart attack a few days earlier, he was looking quite healthy."

"It's been known for complete strangers to occasionally resemble one another. Or perhaps Mr. Maynard and Mr. Liddell are related in some way, and Mr. Liddell inherited the apartment."

"Agent Scully, the resemblance was so close they would have to be twin brothers. Mr. Liddell took out an insurance policy with my company two weeks ago. He died three days ago and was taken to the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor. Something tells me he's going to be back at his apartment real soon, if he isn't already."

"We should check it out," said Mulder.

Scully was about to argue when Sybil leapt to her feet.

"Pete!" Sybil squealed. A large man, dressed entirely in black, approached their table.

"Sybil!" Pete squeezed her shoulder as he greeted her. He looked from Scully to Sybil and back again. "Why, Sybil, you didn't tell me you had a sister."

Scully turned her head and almost came in contact with the man's outstretched hand.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I'm Pete, Pete Roberts." He lowered his large hand and shook Scully's heartily. "How come I've never seen you at one of Syb's martini parties?" His light Texas drawl and wide smile took Scully's attention for a moment. She recovered enough to regain her professionalism.

"No, I, ah, we're not related. I'm F.B.I. Special Agent Dana Scully," she recited as she drew her badge from her inside jacket pocket. "This is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder." Scully gestured to her left as Mulder took his own credentials from his coat.

"Oops," Pete said as he took the empty chair. "Sorry 'bout that."

Sybil leaned over the table as she whispered. "Pete, these are the people I told you about. The ones that can help us make sense of this."

Pete's dark brown eyes widened as he reached across the table to shake Mulder's hand. "May I say, it's just amazing to be sitting here with you two, knowing what you've been a part of. Aliens, mutants, clones -"

Scully arched an eyebrow in Sybil's direction. "And you knew about this how?"

Sybil smiled. "It's all a matter of public record, of course. The newspaper stories of course, and many F.B.I. files are available for the asking to the enterprising Internet user. When I was researching modern-day vampire sightings, your names came up." She reached across and took a carrot stick from the platter of veggies. "A couple of times, in fact."

Mulder flagged down a waitress. "Pete?" he asked.

"Shiner Bock," Pete informed the waitress.

"So," Mulder began once the waitress left, "what makes you suspect there's something wrong at Peaceful Slumbers?"

Pete glanced nervously around the club and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I see everything as a hearse driver. Sobbing widows, angry children, tragic grief, even relief in some cases. Always lots of emotion, whatever that emotion is. About three months ago, I drove for two funerals in one week where both had the tone of a business transaction. Very cut and dried, here's the body, here's the check, no visitation, this way to the marble orchard."

"Marble orchard?" Scully interrupted.

Pete smiled. "Trade talk for a grave yard. Memorial garden, if you will. Anyway, on the third 'business funeral' trip, I noticed that the widow of this guy, Mr. Maynard, looked an awful lot like the widow of a man we buried the month before. I checked the security camera tapes in the chapel to see if they were the same person and," he leaned across the table, closer to the two agents and whispered, "you couldn't see the woman on the tape at all. It was like the funeral director and his assistant were talking to thin air. No voice, no woman, nothing." The young man leaned back and took Sybil's hand. "That's when I knew you were right, darlin'."

"I suppose you have these tapes," said Mulder.

"You bet. I made a copy for myself and put the original back." Pete reached under the table and produced a small backpack. "Here are the tapes and all the data I've put together. Sybil asked me to put my notes in an Excel file." He glanced at her fondly. "She's such a stickler for detail. She'd make a great editor."

Scully listened to all this but was still not convinced. Tapes could be manipulated, data could be forged, and agents could be duped. It had happened before and it was up to her to see it didn't happen again. The Bureau didn't need another lawsuit on its hands, especially not from an angry, grieving widow.

She took the backpack from Pete's hands and smiled. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Roberts. We'll review the evidence and see where to proceed from here." She glanced at Mulder and added, "If we proceed at all."

Pete nodded. "Sybil and I have more to tell you, but we better get out of here." He glanced nervously around the room. "We should meet in a more public area next time."

"Sure," said Mulder as he picked up his jacket. "Where do you suggest?"

"The Riverwalk, of course," Sybil suggested, smiling as Pete helped Scully put her own suit coat on. "It's the perfect weather for a stroll and there are always tons of people out. We'll meet you there tomorrow at 11 AM."

"You'll love it," Pete said close to Scully's ear. "Paseo Del Rio. The Payaya Indians called it Yanaguana, Place of Refreshing Waters."

"Oh?"

Pete nodded. "I used to drive a tour bus."

"I knew that," Mulder said. He scooted behind Scully, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her through the throbbing nightclub throng. "About the Refreshing Waters, I mean."

"Whatever," Scully said, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"And it's near our hotel, Scully, so it's all the more convenient."

"Our hotel? In downtown San Antonio?" Scully cast a questioning gaze in Mulder's direction.

"The Menger," Mulder said.

Sybil's face broke out in a huge, attractive smile. "You have exquisite taste, Agent Mulder. The Menger is one of San Antonio's finest hotels. And VERY expensive."

Scully's eyes flew wide. "Mulder! Are you nuts? There's no way the Internal Auditor-"

"Chill, Scully, it's covered."

"But Mulder-"

"That's where Teddy Roosevelt recruited his Rough Riders, and I thought we could use the vibe," said Mulder. "Besides, nothing's too good for mah lil' pardner," he said, looking directly at Pete Roberts.

Pete just smiled. "Be sure to check out The Menger's bar. It's awesome."

"The Menger's got a Four Diamond restaurant too, Scully, shimmering crystal outdoor pool, Jacuzzi in-room." His lips brushed her ear. "A night in paradise."

Scully's headache was better already.

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'Okay,' she thought, 'Mulder is definitely acting weird.'

Scully took a deep breath and sank into the enormous Jacuzzi tub. Sighing, she stretched out, her hair fanning into the froth. A smell like a damp ashtray wafted up from her follicles. God, who knew how much second-hand crap she'd inhaled at the bar? Reaching for the little shampoo bottle by the tub, she gave her hair a vigorous scrub and rinse, then folded a hand-towel into a pillow and stretched out again.

Much better, she thought. Relaxing, even.

Her ears were still ringing. Not a big surprise really; she'd been tempted to stuff wadded bar napkins into them a couple of times at the White Rabbit.

As if summoned, the image of their new informant promptly flashed through her mind, complete with garish wardrobe and dangling ducks. Scully found herself tensing up again, despite the warm water and bubble-jets.

"What the hell *was* all that?" she muttered.

Some kind of joke, obviously. Soon there would be a punch line - lame, of course - and they'd laugh - or rather, *Mulder* would - and then they'd go home. She would track down Melvin Frohike, kick his chubby little ass, and put the whole stupid thing behind her.

So screw it, she thought. She'd just soak for a while, read, grab some dinner, and then go to bed. Things would look better in the morning.

Scully settled more deeply into the tub, lifted a leg out of the foam. Her wet shin glistened. Shampoo bubbles oozed between her toes.

God, she found herself thinking as she regarded her dripping limb, even for someone who was fairly petite, that Sybil certainly seemed to be all legs. Well, all legs and breasts. Oh, and hair. Lots of hair. Really shiny hair, too.

Frowning, Scully studied her own leg. It seemed...stubby. Yes, that was it, stubby. It made a satisfying splash as she dropped it back, though, and splattered the mirrored wall at the end of the tub.

And of course Mulder - typical clueless male - had rubbernecked the bimbo's every move. He'd practically tied himself in knots in his haste to pull out Sybil's chair, get Sybil a beer, swallow Sybil's unlikely story hook, line, and sinker.

"Subtle as a heart attack," Scully observed. The words echoed against the tile.

Mulder had wanted her to notice him noticing Sybil. Sybil, for her part, clearly could have eaten Mulder up with a spoon. Mulder had wanted Scully to notice that, too.

It wasn't like him. Not even a little.

Scully kicked at the water, sending another wave crashing against the mirror. The whole thing had to be a setup.

She was pretty sure she knew who the patsy was, too.

Exhibit A: this romantic hotel, with its fresh flowers and high- quality percale and un-bolted-to-the-floor actual furniture filling every corner.

Exhibit B: that suggestive whisper Mulder had given her as they'd left the bar earlier.

And for the clincher, Exhibit C: the look he'd given her as they'd gone to their separate rooms. It was *that* look, the one he always used when he was trying to talk her into something, half-puppy dog, half-wolf, and instead of annoying her like it usually did, today it had made her stomach hurt. And, she now realized, that had been exactly the intended effect.

The phrase 'on the make' flashed through her mind.

My god, she thought, why here? Why now? Had her mostly disinterested interest in one allegedly un-dead and decidedly broad-shouldered sheriff been enough to finally push Mulder over the edge?

Hardly seemed likely. But then, what the hell did she know? It wasn't like Mulder was in the habit of letting her in on things.

For a moment Scully didn't know whether to be flattered or pissed off. A few seconds later she'd chosen pissed off and started toweling herself for all she was worth. She threw on her jeans and a sweater and grabbed her key card. She needed some fresh air. Maybe a soda.

Maybe something stronger.

The door shut with a whoosh and a gentle click. Scully headed for the elevator, trying not to remember that Mulder's room was right there, right at the end, just to the left of the gilded ashtray and the potted ficus trees. She stabbed the 'down' button and turned her back resolutely on room 731.

She heard a ding and looked up. She hit the 'down' button again, just to be safe.

Then she heard a woman cry out. The voice was muffled, coming from one of the nearby rooms - someone was clearly in the throes of...distress? Passion? It was hard to tell. An urgent male voice answered the cry. Scully turned toward the sound, first curious, then incredulous.

It was coming from Mulder's room.

Mulder had a woman in his room.

The elevator door swung open, but Scully turned away. Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself rapping hard on the door, resisting the urge to press her ear to the wood. At her knock, the woman's voice rose up again, high-pitched, drawling, sounding, actually, a lot like -

Like Sybil?

"Don't open it!" Scully heard.

"Just wait a minute." He peered out at her. "It's okay. It's just my partner."

The door swung open. "You alone?" Mulder checked the corridor for traffic.

Scully tried not to sputter. "Who else would I be with?"

"Come in. I was just about to call you. Something's come up."

"Oh? Has it?"

"Yeah." He stared at her for a moment. "We've got developments, Scully. BIG developments."

She followed him into the room. "Do we?"

Their informant barely looked up as Scully entered. She was perched on the end of Mulder's bed, clutching a Kleenex to her nose, her face roughly the same eggshell color as the carpet and the walls. For a moment Scully felt a pang of something that maybe, just *maybe* could have been sympathy, but then she shook it off, reminding herself that this was more than likely a scam.

"Tell her what you told me, Sybil," Mulder coaxed. "It's okay. She wants to help."

Sybil said nothing.

"Sybil had a bad scare." Mulder sat down next to Sybil on the bed and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"Oh really?"

Mulder shot her a look. The look said, 'Scully, do you think you could be just a *little* professional about this?'

'Oh, brother,' she thought. Turning, Scully looked for a chair, found one, planted herself in it. Sitting ramrod straight, she did her best to look interested, not mad. "What happened?"

"I got home," Sybil said, a tear rolling very dramatically down her face, "and as I was going from my car to my apartment I saw someone familiar walking ahead of me. I kept a safe distance and followed him. I've never seen him in my neighborhood before, and I thought to myself: is there a chance he's visiting Mr. Maynard? Why the hell would he do that? But he did, Agent Scully! He went straight to Mr. Maynard's apartment!"

"Who did, Sybil?"

Sybil swallowed hard and dabbed her eyes. "I mean, as I told Agent Mulder, this changes everything - if *he's* in on the scheme, then-"

"Sybil, who?"

"Her boss," Mulder answered.

Sybil nodded. "Leonard Weissman. The owner of Ideal Insurance."

"You're sure it was Weissman?" Scully asked

"I know what my boss looks like, Agent Scully," Sybil replied, sitting up straight. The young woman's chin was raised and her eyes flashed with defiance. "I sit across from the slimy creep every day, and I'm telling you I saw him go into Mr. Maynard's apartment."

"We believe you, Sybil." Mulder smiled at Sybil, patting her shoulder again. "How long ago did Weissman arrive?"

Scully noticed that Sybil's tears had ceased as she beamed back at Mulder. "I came here as soon as I saw him--couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes."

"We need to go back to Sybil's," Mulder said. His face was getting that focused, passionate look Scully both loved and hated. Loved, because it was the essence of who he was--the ultimate seeker. Hated, because it usually signaled that Mulder was off and running, caution thrown to the wind, dragging her along in his wake.

"Mulder, could I speak with you?" Scully asked. "*Out in the hall*," she added with emphasis.

Sybil blinked at them, her eyes bright and suddenly tear-free. She blew her nose noisily as Mulder and Scully stepped out into the hotel hallway.

"Scully, what the hell is your problem?" Mulder asked, obviously exasperated. "We're losing valuable time. We should be getting back to Sybil's apartment to check out Maynard."

Hmm. Why did the phrase 'getting back to Sybil's apartment' feel like itching powder had been dusted all over her? "I'm not at all convinced that she isn't making this all up."

"And why would you doubt her?" Mulder asked, a smirk playing over his lips. "Could it be the fact that she's an attractive woman?" Scully could feel the color rising in her cheeks. Every fiber of her body seemed to hum with indignation. It took every ounce of control not to smack that smug look off Mulder's face. "What are you implying, Mulder?"

"I'm not implying anything. It's just that you've seemed more than a little cranky since you found out my informant was a pretty young woman."

"Every time I express skepticism about a case featuring a woman, it does *not* mean that I'm jealous."

"So what does it mean, Scully?" Mulder asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You've been hostile toward this woman from the moment we met her. And now that you mention it, there does seem to be a pattern."

"A pattern?" Scully squared her shoulders and glared at Mulder.

"Yeah, a pattern with every woman between the ages of thirteen and seventy."

"Oh hardly, Mul-."

"Look, we don't have time for this. We have to go."

Scully scowled at Mulder, thrusting chin up a little further. "Fine. Let's go."

Mulder looked a bit surprised at her sudden capitulation, studying her face for a moment before nodding and leading her back to his room for a conference with Sybil.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

A tense silence rested between Mulder and Scully as they drove the short distance to Sybil's apartment complex, following in their rental as Sybil led the way in her little red Miata. Finally, Scully could take no more of it.

"Mulder, I'm not trying to be difficult. Nevertheless-"

Mulder interrupted, feigning shock. "You? Difficult? Perish the thought, Scully."

Scully took a deep breath. Killing him while he was driving was a bad idea, she reminded herself. "Nevertheless," she resumed, "I have some serious misgivings about this."

"Of course you do," Mulder said. "I do, too."

Scully brows rose. "You do?"

"Sure I do," Mulder replied. "I just didn't want to say anything Sybil might overhear. There's nothing but coincidences and loose ends and potential wild geese here at the moment. Despite the reports, there are a lot of things that don't make a lot of sense. I'm not unaware of that, Scully."

Scully nodded. Of course he wouldn't have wanted to say anything in front of Sybil - that would have been both unprofessional and unwise. An informant had to trust you if you were going to be able to get any actual information from them. And Scully, still stinging from the events in Chaney, had perhaps let her real feelings float a little close to the surface. Naturally, Mulder, sensing her mood, had jumped right in and played good cop to her bad.

That was it, right?

"Oh," she said. "So, why are you taking this so seriously?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "That's just how it works with us. I take the crazy stuff seriously, and you don't. I look for extreme possibilities, and you don't. I suspend my disbelief, and you don't."

"You want Sybil, and I don't," she muttered to the window, under her breath.

"Sorry? What? I didn't hear what you - "

"Look, Mulder, I'm just concerned. We could be walking into a trap," she replied, trying to keep the frustration and irritation out of her voice, but failing. "An ambush. Some sort of set-up. That's all I am saying."

"Yep. We could." Mulder nodded in agreement. "It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be the last time, either."

"That's my point, Mulder. Eventually, it WILL be the last time. We'll walk right in, go for the bait, the trap will spring shut, and that will be that."

"You calling me a dirty rat?" Mulder asked, doing the worst Jimmy Cagney impression Scully had ever heard.

"I'm serious."

Mulder was quiet a moment. "Frohike wouldn't have put us on to this if he didn't think it had some merit," he said. "I am sure the guys went over Sybil's background with a fine-toothed comb. Between what Sybil and Pete Roberts have observed, and the evidence in the files you reviewed, I'm sure you'll agree that something is rotten in the hallowed halls of Ideal Insurance and Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor, Inc."

"Based on the files and the anecdotal evidence we've been given, yes, I agree, something is definitely not right. But evidence can be faked, Mulder. Reports can be created out of thin air, and I should know - it feels like that's what I'm doing every time I sit down to write up an expense report."

Mulder scowled. "Hey!"

"After what happened with Ronnie Strickland, I don't want to risk -"

Mulder turned to look at her just as Sybil pulled into a parking spot. "If this is some sort of trap, Scully, I don't think she's in on it. All bravado aside, she's genuinely scared. She's looking to us to protect her."

Scully slumped back, defeated. Well, that was that, then. All it took to get Mulder's attention was one little-girl-lost, and there he was, all knight-in-shining-armor. There was no arguing with him when he was in hero-mode.

She sighed. "I'm not saying she's in on anything, that she's an accomplice or some kind of criminal mastermind. What if she's being used, too. What if she's just the bait?"

Mulder put the car into park and turned off the ignition. "Sybil? Bait? You're kidding."

Scully gave a half shrug. "Is that so hard to imagine? She's in the right position to find all the evidence, especially if someone makes sure she finds it."

Mulder gave a dismissive wave.

Scully slowly drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "She's also young - "

"True."

"Single -"

"Apparently."

"Not unattractive -"

"No," Mulder agreed, "she is most definitely not unattractive."

Scully pressed on. "Intelligent, articulate-"

"- and she *is* a feisty little redhead," Mulder finished for her.

Scully's left brow rose. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Mulder gave her a smug little smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"No, Mulder seriously, what -"

Scully was interrupted by a knock on the passenger side window. Mulder popped the locks and Sybil slid into the back seat with a gust of perfume and a giggle.

"That apartment there," she said, and pointed. "That's Mr. Maynard's place. Or Mr. Liddell's. The apartment in question, anyway."

"Third floor with the blackout curtains?" Scully asked.

"Uh huh," Sybil replied. "I suppose if you are a vampire, you'd want to block out as much sun during the day as possible."

"That makes sense to me," Mulder said. He pulled the tiniest pair of binoculars Scully had ever seen from inside his jacket. They were probably worth a small fortune, she realized. Some day she was going to ask him just where he got all his cool toys.

"This is kind of exciting," Sybil said, interrupting Scully's thoughts. "Like being in the middle of a TV show."

"Just exactly like that," Scully said dryly. She held out her hand, palm up, and, without a word, Mulder handed over the binoculars. "Something like Survivor: San Antonio, maybe."

Mulder scowled again.

Ignoring his look, Scully scanned the facade of the building, the brick work surrounding the windows and doors, the windows and doors themselves, the balconies, the low plantings at the building's foundation, the various antennae and satellite dishes projecting from the roof. She wasn't sure what, if anything, she was looking for, but she looked anyway; since she'd joined the X- Files, she'd discovered clues had a way of turning up in the strangest places.

"So what do we do now?" Sybil asked after a few minutes.

"Now we just wait unt-" Mulder began.

"Mulder." Scully handed him the binoculars. "I don't know if it's anything, but see the bricks above Maynard's window? It looks like there may be some sort of markings on them. Just geometric patterns, but none of the other windows seem to have them."

Mulder squinted through the binoculars, moving his head from side to side as he focused on first one window, then another, then another. Sybil might not have noticed, but Scully could tell his mood had gone from bored silly to agitated senseless in the space of about half a second. "Good catch, Scully," he said quietly, real admiration in his voice.

"What is it?" Sybil asked, leaning forward so she was wedged between the seats.

Mulder handed her the binoculars. "Glyphs, I think," he said absently. "Take a look."

"Glyphs?" Scully asked.

Mulder nodded, frowning now in concentration. "Yeah." "Oh, I see them." Sybil passed the binoculars back to Mulder. "So what are glyphs?"

"It's a form of writing," he said. "An ancient form. Half ideograms, half pictograms, some petroglyphs thrown in for good measure."

"Petroglyphs? Like cave walls?"

"Yeah," he replied. He began tapping the steering wheel - 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction,' Scully thought. "Brick is technically stone, so it makes, um,-" he trailed off as he scanned the horizon. "How long until sundown, anyway?"

"Brick is stone so what makes, um, what?" Scully prompted.

"What? Oh. It, ah, it makes a certain kind of sense," Mulder finished his previous observation. "Bats and caves and stuff."

"And stuff," Scully echoed derisively.

"Can you read them, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder snorted. "Me? No. Very few *people* can. The ones who can, trust me - you wouldn't even want to meet them in a very clean, very well-lit alley."

"Why not?"

"Half of them are insane, and the rest are just crazy." He reached over and tugged on Scully's collar. "Good," he said, his eyes going to her cross. "Don't take that off."

Scully pulled her collar closed. "I wasn't planning to."

"Sybil, have you go got a crucifix, a cross, an article or symbol of your faith on or about your person? Necklace, earrings, scapular, sacred vestments of any sort? Bottle of holy water, maybe? 'I Heart God' underwear?"

Sybil shook her head. "I have another pair of duck earrings in my purse. How's that?"

"Probably not enough."

"Mulder," Scully said, her voice sounding harsh even to her own ears, "I'm giving you three seconds to start making some sense. One, two-"

"The glyphs," he said. "It's like a welcome mat. Only instead of saying *Welcome,* or *The Addams Family,* this is more like, *Vlad lives here. Trespassers will be eaten*."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Mul-der-" she began.

"Oh shit!" Sybil yelped. "That's him. My boss. He's coming out of the building. Duck!"

Sybil tugged on their arms and the trio gracelessly slid lower.

This is like some kind of comedy routine, Scully thought sourly, and when Mulder smirked and waggled his eyebrows, she couldn't help muttering, "Quit it, Groucho."

Her expression froze in shock, however, when she inched higher and spied Sybil's boss, Leonard Weissman. He was mammoth - and the shape of a bowling ball.

She started to whisper, "That's the roundest-" when the words died on her lips. Five paces behind the first man a second appeared, his twin in every respect. From white Stetsons to open navy blazers to canary yellow pants stretched high over bulging stomachs, the two trailed enormous shadows from the street lamp onto their car. Scully shivered, and imagined Mulder did the same. Sybil seemed even uneasier.

"That was-"

"Your boss?" Mulder whispered. "And who's the other one?"

Sybil gulped. "His twin brother Lawrence. He's the CEO. They both give me the creeps. Together they just don't feel right. Do you know what I mean?" Her face seemed to plead for understanding, then brightened slightly. "Everyone calls them Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

"Dum - dum dum dum," Mulder intoned.

The twins shoehorned themselves into a sleek black sedan as it pulled up to the curb, The driver - a beanpole, sour-faced gent in mirrored sunglasses - pulled away with a flourish.

They straightened, and Scully turned to Sybil as Mulder's restless hands went back to drumming on the steering wheel.

Sybil bit her lip nervously. "You know, it was exciting to try to figure out the insurance puzzle, but now with the Weissmans and Maynard so close to my apartment, and driving away in the same car - well, I'm starting to realize the gravity of the situation. To me."

"Maynard was the driver? And you're sure he's the same man as Liddell?"

Sybil nodded, and Scully felt a strong tug of sympathy. Paranormal or not, vampire or not, something was rotten in Sybil's world. Scully knew what that was like.

"Real life isn't as pretty as a TV show," Scully said. "We'll do the best we can to help."

Mulder sat up straighter, looking determined. "You know, Scully, with Maynard gone, wouldn't this be the perfect time to check out his place? If he and the Weissmans are up to something, we won't be able to find any clues unless we search for them."

Scully wanted to look disapproving, but she couldn't prevent the twinkle in her eye. "Funky poaching, Mulder?"

Mulder grinned back, and Scully's heart lightened.

"Hey," Sybil chimed, "can I come too?"

Scully shook her head; the very worst thing they could do would be to involve a civilian. She smiled when Mulder echoed her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Sybil, we can't risk letting you enter a possible crime scene. But there is one thing you could do. Do you have a camera? I'd like to go out on Maynard's balcony and get a record of the glyphs outside his window - someone I know should look at them. And, if my guess is right, we'll need to borrow it for some interior shots, too."

"I can grab my old Polaroid. I live close by. Too close," she muttered.

Five minutes later, while Sybil stood watch on her balcony, using Mulder's binoculars, Mulder and Scully entered Maynard's apartment.

"I wish I had Maynard's cleaning service," Scully muttered. She stood in the pristine hallway adjacent to the fastidiously tidy living area.

"Remember the shoelaces, Scully? Vampires are obsessive- compulsive, you know."

"Being clean doesn't necessarily equate with vampirism, Mulder."

Mulder ducked out to the balcony for a couple of quick snapshots, so Scully began a preliminary search of the apartment. Even though she'd denied it, the way each piece of sparkling furniture was arranged in a rigid geometric pattern was decidedly odd. Her uneasiness increased as she inspected the powder room, bedrooms and en suite bathroom, and the closets.

Scully was heading for the kitchen when a hand brushed her shoulder. She started, reached for her gun.

Mulder held his hands in the air, chuckled. "Whoa, pardner! Just me. What did you find?"

Scully sighed, and shook her head. "There is something weird here, Mulder. Whoever lives here may be delusional and believe himself to be a vampire, or - I know, I know - he really is. There are no mirrors in the powder room or ensuite, and come and look at this."

Mulder grinned, the bagful of candy kind.

They stepped into the master bedroom, where three coffins lay in a row: one regular, and two king-sized. Mulder gleefully began snapping photos.

"Fat vampires? Even if there were vampires, I've never heard of that."

"Huh?" Mulder looked up, pocketed the camera and the instant photos. "I don't see why not. America's weight gain should be reflected in the vampire population. Just think of the average victim as a greasy cheeseburger."

Scully choked back a laugh. "High cholesterol blood?"

Mulder glanced at the open closet door and pointed. Underneath rows of suits, large and small, were pairs of shiny black shoes - all with Velcro fasteners.

"See, Scully!" Mulder triumphantly swept his arm, like Vanna White displaying her latest treasure.

Scully shrugged. "Let's see if we can find some incriminating paperwork. If there is a crime, we need something a little more solid than clothing."

They began searching the many drawers, cubby holes, and hidden compartments of the antique desk in Maynard's spare room.

Mulder carefully jimmied the lock on the bottom drawer. "Ah ha!" he proclaimed as he pulled files marked 'San Antonio - benefits' and 'Austin - benefits', rubber-banded together with a dog-eared funeral directory, when they heard a sharp rap at the door.

"Hurry up!" Sybil's voice urged. "I just spotted Maynard pulling into the underground garage!"

The trio rushed out the door, down the hallway, and into the emergency stairwell. After catching their breath on the landing, they walked down the stairs to an outside door.

"Looks like we hit pay dirt, Sybil." Mulder tapped the package in his hand. "Insurance claims forms. Lots of them."

"That's great!" Sybil included Scully in her wide smile, which Scully couldn't help but return.

Turning away, Scully stared into the now dark sky and longed for her room at the Menger. It was only 8 o'clock, but she was just about ready to fall into her king-sized bed and drift into dreamland. No vampires there.

"The night is young." Sybil declared. "The Weissmans came back with Mr. Maynard, and I've heard gossip that they hang out at an after-hours place called the Red Queen Cabaret. Should we go there next?"

"Or," Scully interjected, "should we head back to our hotel, Mulder, and look over the evidence we found?"

Mulder glanced at his watch. "We need to look at the evidence and talk to our two rotund suspects. It's time to double-team, Scully," he said as he thrust the folders into her hands. "Sybil, you know where this Red Queen Cabaret is?"

The young woman nodded.

"Good. Scully, you go back to the Menger and go over all this. I saw photos of the Weissmans in the stuff Pete brought us. Get into the FBI database and run the pictures and names of our gentlemen here and see if you come across anything. Sybil and I will check out the Red Queen and see who they meet, if anyone." Mulder bit his lip as he squinted toward the San Antonio skyline. "Plus, I'd hate to think they were on the prowl for fresh blood. If they've been using and reusing the same 'bodies' for a while, they might think they need some new recruits." He turned to his partner and took her hand. "Keep the cross on, Scully. I don't think these vampires are as shy as Sheriff Hartwell and the other residents of Chaney."

Scully was almost speechless. Between the ditch and the unusual show of affection, she had trouble finding her voice. Mulder turned and headed for their rental.

"Mulder, we don't know anything about any of these people. Not the Weissmans, not Maynard, not Roberts." She glanced at Sybil, "We need to look at the hard evidence first, Mulder!"

She sighed. He was in his 'zone' now, the place where no amount of talking, reasoning, or shouting would stop him from the path he'd laid for himself. She'd seen it countless times before. Well, if he wanted to make a fool of himself, fine. Certainly some sort of crime was being committed, though it was probably just a run of the mill case of fraud. She'd do the checking, do the paperwork. It was what she got stuck with most of the time, anyway.

"Fine, Mulder," Scully said. "I'll take Sybil's car back to the hotel and go over all this." She'd always wanted to drive a Miata - no sense in passing up the chance. Scully took the keys from Sybil's hand, slung the files into the passenger side and was gone in an instant.

End Jabberwocky 01/02