TITLE: Jabberwocky 01/01
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! 

XxXxXxXxXxX

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.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX


'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. Sccully took the keys from 
Sybil's hand, slung the files into the passenger side and was 
gone in an instant.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The Red Queen Cabaret was certainly not the sort of place Mulder 
would hunt for modern-day vampires. Club Tepes, the scene of his 
last encounter, was cold and industrial. This bar was straight 
out of a 'Gunsmoke on acid' nightmare. Heavy tapestries depicting 
Old West dance hall girls hung on the walls of the mid-sized 
club. A huge, old-fashioned bar and barstools ran down one wall. 
Wooden tables and chairs, crowded with an amusing assortment of 
revelers - everything from weekend cowboys to Italian-suited 
bankers - filled the floor.  The music was nothing but country, 
and the strains of Willie Nelson's "Whiskey River" poured over 
the crowd like the mellow liquid it spoke of.

It didn't take Mulder long to spot Sybil's boss and his 
doppelganger. They stood out like the mammoth figures they were, 
with their white hats and roaring laughter. Unfortunately, it 
seemed Mulder and Sybil stuck out as well. Cool fingers slid 
across Mulder's hand.

"Oooh, Sybil honey! Introduce us!" said a low voice. Mulder 
glanced over his shoulder and saw the tallest, most garishly 
dressed female impersonator he'd ever seen.

"Oh, hi, Dan - I mean, Diandra," said Sybil, her voice and face 
showing total shock and dismay. "This is, Mul- uh, Marvin. He and 
I met at the, uh, Menger bar and then decided to come here. 
Marvin, this is Diandra, my office manager."

Damn! Mulder thought. Sybil had given away their base of 
operations. He successfully maintained his composure. "Hey. Sybil 
said this is a hoppin' place. Is she right?"

Diandra's predatory smile came close to Mulder's face. "Depends 
on who you want to hop, darlin'. Sybs, you go, girl! And be sure 
to stop by and see me at the Weissmans' table before you leave." 
He/she winked. "Never hurts to score a few points with the 
bosses, know what I mean?" After lightly kissing Sybil on the 
cheek, Diandra slunk off.

Mulder turned on Sybil. "What were you thinking?  No more real 
information, okay?"

The young woman was on the verge of tears. "I got scared! 
Diandra's been watching me for months. I think he knows I've been 
checking the insurance payments to Peaceful Slumbers and studying 
modern vampires." 

"Is he one of them?" 

"A vamp?  No, I've seen him working on his tan.  But what are we 
going to do?"

"We'll create even more suspicion if we don't go over there. Pull 
yourself together and let's get our story straight. We've just 
met, you're a little drunk. Let me do the talking." He grabbed 
her hand and looked into her eyes. "And please know, this is just 
for effect."

At that point, Mulder's right hand slid around Sybil's neck as 
his left one found her bottom. "They're playin' Merle," he 
whispered in her ear. "Let's groove, babe." 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Back in the hotel room, Scully had gone over the sparse evidence. 
Yes, it was clear that the insurance company files Sybil had 
provided them with were falsified. She was a forensic 
pathologist, not a forensic accountant, but Pete Roberts' 
contributions from Peaceful Slumbers showed their books were 
cooked as well. Scully was still running the pictures of the 
Weissmans through the FBI database when she looked closely at the 
Polaroids from Maynard's apartment. That couldn't be - she took 
the photo and ran into the bathroom to look at it under stronger 
light. 

It was. 

Shit shit shit!

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Why, Sybil, I don't think we've ever seen you here at the Red 
Queen before," drawled Leonard Weissman, as he stood and took her 
hand lightly. "And you've brought a friend, how nice!" His beady, 
pig-like eyes came to rest on Mulder. "Have you known our darlin' 
Sybil long, Mr...?"

"Page. Marvin Page. No, we just met. I'm in town on business and 
Sybil said she'd show me some Texas hospitality," Mulder said as 
he grinned at Sybil and pulled her close.

"Not many people know about the Red Queen," said Dan/Diandra, his 
hands shuffling a deck of cards. "Do you know who the Red Queen 
was, Sybil?"

"Sure." She tossed her long, red hair. "Alice in Wonderland. 
She's the one who wanted the white roses painted red."

"The one who said, 'Off with her head!' to Alice," chuckled 
Lawrence Weissman.

Diandra leaned across the table and hissed, "She just *hated* 
that nosy little girl!" 

Just then Mulder's cell phone rang. "Sorry, folks, business 
before pleasure," he said as he fished it from his coat. "Page 
Advertising, Marvin Page."

Scully's voice rang out, "Mulder, it's a trap! I looked at the 
pictures from Maynard's more closely and saw someone standing in 
the shadows outside Maynard's apartment building. It was Pete 
Roberts! He's setting Sybil up! Get out!"

"Sorry, I'm not at the office right now and I don't have any 
account information with me right now. Call back and I'll let it 
go to voice mail." Mulder switched off the phone and put it back 
in his pocket. Only Scully could convey equal amounts of worry 
and irritation at his endangerment within a warning.

"Marvin, honey?" queried Sybil, a red eyebrow arching.

Mulder ignored her and faced the watchful Weissman twins with an 
apologetic smile. "Sorry for the interruption, but there's no 
rest for the wicked in advertising. Sometimes I long for a job 
where I'm not constantly on call, where my evenings are my own, 
and I can just socialize in peace with a pretty little lady like 
Sybil." To emphasize his point, he draped his arm around her 
shoulder once more, and squeezed just a little too hard in the 
hope she would comprehend his intended warning of their danger.

Judging by her noisy yelp, she didn't.

"Perhaps you're just in the wrong line of work, Mr. Page," 
suggested one of the Weissmans. "Evening work can be such fun, 
and I find you meet the most interesting people at night."

"Contrariwise," said his twin, "Mr. Page may be in the right work 
but at the wrong time."

"I like ordinary working days with regular hours," said Sybil, 
looking confused.  "Evening jobs leave no time for going to bars, 
and hours and hours of over-time just screw up my metabolism."

Mulder glanced round the cabaret once more. What had seemed on 
entering to be a conventional western bar with live entertainment 
was now taking on a more sinister and gothic ambience. The main 
lights had been dimmed and a large chandelier hung from the 
center of the ceiling, and smaller bracket lights on the walls 
were now lit. The music, however, remained country. The stage at 
the back was being readied by a group of stagehands, and scenery 
and props were being used to create an 'Old Wild West' set.

The many patrons of the Red Queen now appeared to be watching 
their table closely, some with a distinctly predatory air, and as 
one man in a Stetson made a point of grinning at Mulder, there 
was no mistaking his pointed fangs as they glinted in the eerie 
light.

Weissman continued, "Regular hours, Sybil? A little bird told me 
that lately you've been doing a little freelance work off the 
clock."

"Me, Mr. Weissman? Ideal Insurance is my only employer, and I 
wouldn't want to work for anyone else."

"Oh, I'm not saying you got paid for it, Sybil, darlin', I'm just 
a little wounded that I may have nursed an ingrate to my 
corporate bosom."

"Ingrate!" spluttered Sybil angrily. "Why, I've worked very hard 
for you, for very little pay or thanks, and now you're saying I 
should be grateful to you, too? You have a nerve, sir!"

Mulder nudged Sybil in warning, noting briefly that Sybil's fair 
complexion was now turning an unattractive shade of purple.

"I gave you a pleasant job at Ideal Insurance, with a nice little 
desk by the window. I turned a blind eye to your excessive 
personal internet use, your surreptitious reading of novels, and 
indulged your passion for gossiping with friends for hours at a 
time on the phone. I recollect I even bought you a basket of 
toiletries, albeit heavily discounted, from Beall's department 
store last Christmas, and yet you chose to repay me by nosiness!" 
Leonard Weissman now looked increasingly menacing. "Your 
movements, young lady, have been monitored since the very 
beginning."

Mulder rose to his feet, and pulled Sybil up by the arm. 
"Gentleman, if you'll excuse us, it's about time Sybil showed me 
back to my hotel. I have an early meeting in the morning."

"*We* were just getting this party started, Agent Mulder," 
the other Weissman said. "Pete, why don't you show the lady and 
gentleman the way to the stage? Mr. Maynard is looking forward to 
meeting our friends, especially Sybil."

Sybil squealed as firm hands were placed on her shoulders, and 
Mulder sighed as he saw they belonged to Pete Roberts, their 
friendly informant from the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Parlor.

"With pleasure, Mr. Weissman and Mr. Weissman," said Roberts, 
nodding to Leonard and Lawrence. "I told Sybil we'd handle this 
on our own, but she wouldn't listen. The flirting sure was fun, 
though. Sorry you had to get involved in all of this, Agent 
Mulder."

"Nobody's sorrier than me," Mulder sighed. "Sybil, you have just 
learned an invaluable lesson in crime fighting: sometimes your 
source turns out to be one of the bad guys."

"Well, I should have known *that* from all the stories I've 
read," grumbled Sybil, as she managed a defiant glare at Pete.

A snide smile was on Leonard Weissman's lips as he watched Sybil 
attempt to pull away from Pete Roberts's restraining arms. 
"Nosiness rarely pays, and, as you are about to find out, can 
prove downright dangerous," He moved towards her and brushed her 
cheek with one set of chubby fingers. "I used to think you were a 
real sweet girl."

"Ditto, ditto! Sweet and pretty," concurred Lawrence Weissman, as 
he stood on the opposite side of Sybil to his brother and stroked 
her other cheek."

"Take your hands off her, you bastards," snapped Mulder. Vowing 
to wipe the smug identical smirks from both brothers, he rushed 
forward, only to find himself overpowered from behind by Diandra.

Leonard watched with amusement. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder, Sybil 
is safe from us. But I have some friends - very good friends - 
who will be only too eager to find out just how sweet she is. 
Indeed, Sybil, you may prove more useful to Ideal Insurance 
tonight than you ever were as an employee. I have to keep my 
dangerous business associates happy, and I believe you will make 
them very happy indeed. Have you ever been to The Red Queen 
Cabaret before, Sybil?"

"No."

"And there's a good reason for that, Sybil. It's usually open 
strictly by invitation to members only. You see, my associates 
like to keep their entertainment strictly private. My brother and 
I don't participate, but we *do* like to watch."

"Watch what?"

"They call it the `Theatre des Vampires' of San Antonio. Mr. 
Maynard is the Master of Ceremonies, and his friends put on quite 
a show, but they can't do it without a guest appearance from - 
how can I phrase it - a non-professional performer."

"What the hell are you talking about, Weissman?" said Mulder.

The Weissman twins laughed and Leonard said, "Let's put it this 
way, Agent Mulder. The guys here aren't as progressive as those 
friendly tax-paying vamps I hear you met with in Chaney. They 
like to do things the old-fashioned way. Mr. Maynard has 
intimated to me that his sacrificial lamb for tonight's 
entertainment will be Sybil."

"We just love fresh blood," murmured Diandra, caressing Mulder's 
chest. "You look as good to me as a cool, tall glass of water in 
a hot desert. You just seem to be radiating the message, `Drink 
me'."

"Agent Mulder," Sybil asked as they were bundled to the right 
wing of the stage, "did I tell you I don't just read detective 
novels, but that I've read all the vampire novels of Anne Rice 
and Laurell K. Hamilton too?" 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Scully drove to the King William district of San Antonio at top 
speed. En route, she vowed that she and Mulder would never 
investigate a vampire case in Texas again. Seriously, she 
thought, what kind of freaky odds were responsible for two 
vampire cases, one right after the other? If Frohike so much as 
suggested he knew anyone with information about anything 
anywhere, anytime, ever again, she would seriously kick his ass. 

She soon found Beauregard Street where the Red Queen Cabaret was 
Situated. Oddly enough, it was right next to a cafe called 
'Madhatter's Tea House.'

"What is it with all of this 'Alice in Wonderland' stuff?" she 
muttered to no one but herself.

Two burly doormen stood by the entrance of the Red Queen with a 
placard that stated, "Admittance to Members Only."

Whatever danger Mulder and Sybil might be in, demanding entrance 
and bursting in on a pack of alleged vampires or vampire-wannabes 
as an F.B.I. agent was probably not the safest way to rescue 
them. Nor was there any point in asking the San Antonio police 
department for help - Father McCue and a fount of Holy Water 
would probably be of more assistance. She eyed the entryway and 
wondered if there was any kind of access through an alleyway or a 
trap door behind the adjacent restaurant.

The cafe was crowded with twenty-somethings. Scully marched up to 
a waitress and flashed her badge.

"I'm looking for a way into the Red Queen Cabaret."

The girl stammered, "Uh, we like, share a basement, so, like - 

"Show me. Now." A man coughed behind Scully. "Excuse me, ma'am, I 
mean Agent Scully, but may I be of assistance?"

Scully turned to see the handsome features of Sheriff Hartwell.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Maynard and four other vampires had dragged Sybil and Mulder 
onstage, and pulled long theatrical curtains closed. Mulder's 
arms were pulled behind his back, and one of the men reached 
inside his jacket and took out his service revolver, and patted 
him down very inexpertly, before taking off his jacket, shoulder 
holster and shirt. Maynard grabbed at his crotch. "Is that a 
stake or are you glad to see me?" he asked. His pals all cracked 
up. Mulder squirmed, hoping they wouldn't search further.

Sybil put up a good fight, but Maynard, and two minion women 
dressed in long vampy - Mulder winced inwardly at his own pun - 
dresses, handcuffed her. Maynard jumped six feet straight up, and 
yanked down a set of long chains from the rafters. He paused to 
watch as the female minions cut off Sybil's purple jacket with 
exacto-knives.

"You BASTARDS!" Sybil hissed. "I got that on mark-down at 
Neiman's!"

With a sudden yank, her sleeveless blouse was slit up the back, 
and ripped in half, the torn pieces dangling around her wrists. 
She raised her cuffed hands to her chest, as if to cover the 
expanse of cleavage that was revealed by the lacy red bra. All of 
the vampires stared at her. She gave Mulder a sudden, hard look 
that said as clearly as if she had spoken it - "Get ready."

She brought her clasped hands down, and exactly like she was 
going to offer them all a Mentos, thumbed the cap off a sleeve of 
BBs. And flung them under the vampires' feet.

"Shit," Maynard mumbled. He and the women dropped to their knees, 
counting. The vamp holding Mulder's arms let his grip slacken. 
Mulder twisted away, trying not to step on the BBs now rolling 
everywhere, and pulled his gun from his ankle holster.

Eyes steady on Mulder, the tall vampire slowly rose to his feet. 
His cohorts stayed on the floor, crouched over the BBs, 
apparently waiting for some kind of cue. 

"What's going on?" called one of the Weissman twins from the 
other side of the curtain. 

"Yeah," the other one shouted, "give us the Red Queen, Maynard!"

When Maynard and the minions looked up, Mulder had the gun 
leveled at them. "I know this may not kill you, but I'm betting a 
bullet to the brain will sting a little," Mulder said. He smiled. 

Arms crossed over her cleavage, Sybil came to stand by Mulder. "I 
see a door just offstage," she murmured. "I don't know where it 
goes."

"Anywhere would beat this." Mulder put his arm around her 
shoulders. "Let's get going."

"Oh, this is a treat." Maynard chuckled, showing the tips of his 
fangs. "I never leave the choreography to chance, but this little 
scene is too delicious to resist. Yes, yes, I think we'll try a 
new direction tonight."

With that he gave a rapturous gaze upward. The curtain swept open 
and a blood-red light bathed the stage. There were whistles and 
catcalls from the bar; the other vampires on the stage instantly 
rose to their feet, acknowledging the applause with broad smiles 
and theatrical flourishes.

Mulder brandished the gun, backing towards the stage door and 
pulling Sybil with him. "Just keep moving," he told her in a low 
voice. "I think Maynard's bluffing."

"How do you know?"

"His forehead is sweating."

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Maynard called out, edging cautiously 
toward Mulder and Sybil. "Tonight the Red Queen has a champion!"

There was an appreciative "ahhhhhhhh" from the audience.

"A champion?" one of the Weissmans called. "Hell, Maynard, he 
ain't nothin' but a damned Yankee!"

Everyone laughed. Maynard took a cautious step toward them.

"Vampires don't sweat, Agent Mulder," Sybil muttered. "At least, 
not in anything *I've* ever read."

"See how she clings to him!" Maynard gave a grand, sweeping 
gesture. "See how she thrills to the feel of his flesh!"

"I'm not thrilling to anybody's flesh!" Sybil said indignantly.

At the sound of the word 'flesh' the audience gave a collective 
sigh. Mulder could almost hear them licking their lips en masse.

"The Red Queen is consumed with desire," Maynard continued. "Her 
bosom heaves. Her heart throbs."

Sybil started forward, one hand still clutching her cleavage. 
"Leave my bosom out of this, you big disgusting freak!"

Mulder tightened his grip on her shoulder. "Sybil, no!"

The two female vampires were gliding toward them like a pair of 
ghosts. Mulder waved his gun in their direction. "Back off!" he 
said, watching Pete Roberts coming at them from the other side of 
the stage, two vampires in garish makeup flanking him.

"We're almost there," he told Sybil, "get ready to run like hell 
- "

Just then Maynard crouched and sprang at them. 

Mulder got off one shot before Maynard knocked them both to the 
floor. Within moments the other vamps had pulled Sybil away. She 
screamed and struggled as she was carried off.

Maynard pinned Mulder to the floor. "That was highly amusing." He 
didn't actually look very amused, with a bullet hole in his 
forehead, round and dry as a steel grommet. "Take the rest of his 
clothes," he snapped at someone standing behind him.

"No!" Mulder kicked at the hands that began pulling off his 
shoes.

In response, Maynard wrapped a hand around Mulder's windpipe and 
bore down. He was much stronger than he looked. "You will kindly 
shut up," he said, then turned and waved his free hand at the 
crowd, as if Mulder was a calf he'd just roped. "The Red Queen 
will enjoy her champion!" he called.

The audience whooped and applauded. Mulder struggled as several 
vamps stripped him down to his briefs and began carrying him 
across the stage to the spot where Diandra had Sybil pinned 
against a set piece.

Sybil's eyes were wide. "Agent Mulder, I'm so sorry!"

Diandra laughed. "When Sybil gets through with you, Yankee boy, 
me and my homegirls are gonna savor you 'til the sun comes up - "

The audience was applauding wildly. On the other side of the 
footlights Mulder could see the Weissman twins standing side-by-
side. They both wore identical expressions of lustful 
anticipation.

Sybil could see them, too. "I'm gonna get you for this, you 
bastards!" she shouted.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Maynard stepped to the front of the stage 
and addressed the crowd. "We have a little bonus in addition to 
this evening's main attraction. Direct your attention to 
centerstage, please! I give you: The Red Queen's Passio - "

Maynard never finished his grand announcement. Something very 
large hurtled across the stage, taking him with it.

"Everybody freeze and no one else will get hurt!" a male voice 
shouted.

"Oh my god, it's a raid!" someone shrilled.

Suddenly Mulder found himself dumped in an unceremonious heap as 
the vampires holding him joined the audience in a stampede toward 
the front door of the cabaret. Plainclothes officers were 
swarming in through the stage door. The officers quickly zeroed 
in on the fleeing 'performers', taking them down with almost 
preternatural speed and precision. 

Mulder pushed himself up on his knees - where the hell was his 
gun?

"Mulder! Are you all right?"

Scully appeared next to him; Mulder resisted the urge to clap his 
hands over his thinly concealed manhood.

"I'm okay," he said, frantically scanning the stage. "Scully, 
where the hell are my pants?"

Scully didn't even spare him a glance. "Where the hell is Sybil?"

He spun toward the spot where the vamps had been holding her. 
"She was right over - oh shit."

The spot was empty. Mulder spun back toward the bar just in time 
to see an officer hurling Diandra across several tables. Sybil 
was nowhere to be seen.

"Scully - the Weissmans," he called. "Can you see them anywhere?"

"No," she answered from the back of the stage, "But Mulder, I 
found your - "

Just then a woman screamed in the wings.

"Sybil!" Mulder turned and dashed stage right.

"Agent Mulder, I'm over here!"

Two enormous, Stetson-topped bodies were crowding Sybil against 
the wall just beyond the flimsy side curtains. Mulder couldn't 
see their informant, but the glint of a hunting knife in one of 
the twins' hands was unmistakable.

"Just be still and give us a little drink, lady," one of the 
brothers said. "We've been waiting a long time for this night. 
You ain't messing us up now!"

"Screw you, you bastards!"

Lawrence Weissman ducked; a wooden stool crashed against Leonard 
Weissman's shoulder. Shards flew everywhere. Both men staggered.

Mulder leveled his gun at Lawrence. "Freeze!" he shouted. 
"Federal Agent!"

With an angry howl, Sybil launched herself at Leonard, shoving 
the already unbalanced man to the floor and leaping on top of 
him. "Nice little desk by the window, huh?" she snarled. 
"Consider this my notice, you blood-sucking bastard!"

She snatched up a fallen brace from the stool and raised it over 
his chest.

"Sybil, no!" Mulder heard Scully come up behind him. "He's not a 
vampire yet! Don't do it!"

An officer dashed over and lifted Sybil off Weissman's prone 
form. Two others flipped the big carcass over and began 
vigorously applying a pair of handcuffs. Another one slammed 
Lawrence against the wall. Mulder lowered his gun.

"He's - he's not?" Now Sybil's bosom really *was* heaving. "Put 
me down!" she cried, and the officer holding her did as she 
asked. "I don't understand, Agent Scully."

"He would have become one tonight, along with his brother, if the 
vice squad hadn't come in time," Scully explained. "That's what 
the Pageant of the Red Queen is all about, apparently. Here 
Mulder," she said. "Your pants."

"Thanks." Handing Scully his gun, Mulder quickly bent and got one 
leg into his slacks. "What do you mean, 'vice squad,' Scully? Who 
the hell are these guys?"

"They're from Chaney, Mulder. I met them in the basement of the 
business next door. They've been planning this take-down for 
weeks, only - "

"Got the ringleader here, little lady," a voice drawled. "This 
the fella you was tellin' me about?"

"That's him," Scully said. "Ask him if he's bought any insurance 
policies lately."

Mulder's mouth fell open. "Sheriff Hartwell? What the hell are 
you doing here?"

Maynard was wearing a shiny pair of silver handcuffs as Hartwell 
dragged him off by his collar. "You might not believe this, Agent 
Mulder," he said, "but we got standards. Rules you don't break." 
He gave Maynard a shake. "Hear me, you exhibitionist bastard?"

Maynard writhed in the handcuffs, making a hissing noise. Mulder 
could see that other members of the Pageant were being hustled 
through the stage door in similar straits. There was a siren 
wailing in the distance outside, growing closer every second. 

"Sorry ya'll, gotta run." Hartwell dragged Maynard toward the 
exit, calling over his shoulder. "Just hand those fat posers over 
to the San Antonio boys, seein' as how they're like y'all, and 
not like us." Turning slightly, he giving Scully a heroic smile. 
"Nice to see you again, ma'am," he said, reaching up to tip his 
hat. "You got my number if you ever need anything!"

"Mulder," Scully said, glancing down at his boxer shorts. "Your 
pants."

"Oh," he said, hopping from one foot to the other as he got into 
the other leg and yanked the pants up. He quickly buttoned and 
zipped up. He realized Scully was looking at his chest, and she 
seemed to like what she saw.

"Agent Scully, I'm so glad you got here when you did," Sybil 
said, shivering and hugging her arms. The officer who had lifted 
her away from the Weissman brothers took off his jacket and 
slipped it over Sybil's shoulders. She smiled at the cop, who 
flashed a broad grin back.

"Well, I'm glad I got here in time, too." With what appeared to 
be some difficulty, Scully wrested her gaze from Mulder's bare 
skin and turned to Sybil.

"Are you all right?" she asked the younger woman.

"I'm just ducky," Sybil said, slipping her arms into the jacket's 
sleeves. "For the first time in a long, long while, I feel safe."

Mulder noted that the police officer was around Sybil's age. He 
supposed the guy was what women classified as good-looking. 
Certainly better looking than that buck-toothed hyena, Hartwell.

Mulder shivered. Goosebumps rose on his skin. Those vampires kept 
their stage area awfully cold. Scully noticed his discomfort.

"Mulder, we're just about wrapped up here. We should drive Sybil 
home and get you back to the hotel." Scully spotted his jacket 
and shirt on a table at the back of the stage and retrieved them.

"I can give Sybil a lift," said the young cop, whose arm had 
managed to find its way onto Sybil's shoulders. "I mean, if it's 
okay with her."

"That okay with you, Sybil?" Mulder asked, suddenly amused at how 
much less jealous Scully seemed now that Sybil's attention had 
been drawn elsewhere.

"That would be *just* fine," she said, buttoning up the cop's 
jacket.

Mulder and Scully watched the two young people walk away.

"Come on, Mulder. You must be exhausted. Let's get you to bed."

"Why, Scully, are you coming on to me?" he asked as they walked 
to the car.

*******

Mulder winced when he touched the tender skin on his neck as 
Scully opened his hotel room door.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, tipping his chin up to get a better 
look.  A purple bruise was forming, evidence of Maynard's 
powerful grip. 

"Only when I swallow. Or breathe," he replied, smiling wryly. 
"Uh, Scully, I don't know how much you saw up there on the stage, 
but Sybil and I, uh -"

"Mulder, I know all about the Red Queen performance. I know you 
were forced to participate. Sheriff Hartwell gave me a rundown. 
It's just -"

"It's just what, Scully?"

"There seemed to be a connection between the two of you. I 
noticed it as soon as we met Sybil."

Mulder put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. 
"Scully, do you want to know what I was thinking when we met 
Sybil? I thought she was a pretty, smart, interesting, outgoing, 
charming, vivacious -"

"- you can stop now -"

"- woman, but she wasn't you."

Scully frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"You're the only woman I feel a connection with, Scully."

"With me?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper. 

"With you. So the question is, Scully," he began, "do you feel 
that connection too?"

She couldn't speak.  Mulder watched her carefully, every passing 
second seemed to bring a little more sadness to Mulder's face. 
Finally, she bypassed words completely and nodded solemnly. 

Mulder smiled and pulled her into his embrace.

"Sometimes, you need to stop talking," he said into her hair.

"Me!" she squeaked when Mulder slid his hands under the hem of 
her blouse and along the small of her back.

"Still talking," he said, and dipped his mouth over hers. "Stop" 
kiss "talking." Kiss. "Stop thinking."

They fell backwards into his room, and both of them flailed at 
the door to slam it shut. Still clutching each other, they crab-
walked and fell on the bed, ungracefully, but Scully didn't care. 
She didn't care that she was fumbling at Mulder's much-abused 
pants, and he seemed unwilling to pause what he was doing to take 
them off. Then she felt his teeth biting at her nipple through 
her blouse and bra. 

"Wait, Mulder," she said. "Wait."

"Why?" he growled into the 'v' of her blouse. 

'Why?' she asked herself. "Um - It's too fast," she improvised.

Mulder's voice was hoarse. "Fast?"  Kneeling beside her, he began 
unbuttoning her blouse.  "Not fast enough. How many years is 
this?" 

"Mulder, I - " she began, not sure what she was going to say. Her 
ability to form sentences was quickly evaporating.  "I - I think 
- " 

"Scully," he said, concentrating on her buttons, which were 
apparently giving him a great deal of trouble, "if you keep 
thinking, I guarantee you, you will think yourself right out of 
this. And if you think yourself out of this -"  His hands 
stilled.

"What?" she asked.

"If you think yourself out of this, the next thing you will do is 
talk me out of it.  And if you talk me out of it - here, today, 
now - I am pretty damned sure I'll never work up the nerve to 
even try to talk you into it again. Ever."

Scully blinked once, twice.

He looked up at her, his expression an odd combination of 
amusement and caution.  "And that *would* be a bad thing."  He 
looked down again.  "Right?"

Scully tried to answer.  Her lips moved, but no sound came out. 
There were at least a 146 reasons 'Why This Should Not Happen' 
according to the list she'd been mentally keeping for years.  Oh, 
'one day' she had assumed it would happen, but 'one day' had 
always been hovering somewhere beyond the distant horizon. 

But - 'Never?' She thought back on his words. 'Never ever? Never 
ever ever?'  

Mulder was right - that *would* be a bad thing.  A very, very bad 
thing. 

She glanced down at his trembling hands. He was nervous, too, she 
realized.   He wanted this, too. 

Wanted it as much as she did.  

"Mulder?"  she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

His head jerked up again.  His was wearing an expression she knew 
all too well - the Panic Face.

"Scully?" 

She took pity on him. "Here," she said, her hands moving toward 
his.  "Let me help you with that." 

In answer, Mulder grinned. That was all the encouragement she 
needed.

She made short work of the blouse, then smoothly slipped out of 
her slacks for good measure.  Mulder fumbled at the neck of his 
own shirt hands still shaking.  "Oh hell," he mumbled, and giving 
up on finesse, ripped it off over his head.  

Scully rose from the bed to meet his kiss, wound her arms around 
his waist.  Oh god, the feel of him, his muscular back under her 
fingertips, the coarse hairs tickling her nose as she kissed his 
collarbone.

"Hey, Scully - " he tugged at her bra strap " - how the hell does 
this - "  

"Front," she gasped.  Oh god, the feel of his mouth on her skin.

"Yeah, I got that, but I'm out of practice and - " 

"Wait, just - " She reached up, popped the clasp, grabbed his 
hands and practically stuffed them under the nylon as it fell 
away. 

"You," he breathed, bending, licking, sucking. "You."

Rising to his knees again, he urged her back onto the bed, ran 
his fingertips lightly along the top elastic of her panties, 
moving up towards her belly, over both breasts to her shoulders, 
then down both arms.  "Oh my god," Scully gasped, her skin 
erupting into maddening ridges of gooseflesh.  

"Shhh." He grasped her wrists and drew her arms slowly over her 
head, settling his long body over her, his chest pressed against 
her breasts, his mouth everywhere. Scully suddenly felt 
overwhelmed - his mouth so insistent, so soft; his wet kisses 
like moving water, each wave deeper than the last.  His body was 
hot, radiant, and she could feel him burning, even through the 
coarse denim rubbing maddeningly against her thin nylon 
underwear.

Denim? What the -? Her hand moved lower. He was still wearing his 
jeans.  

Something had to be done.

While she had him off-balance, she wriggled toward the head of 
the bed, put her hands against his chest and shoved.  Mulder 
flipped willing onto his back. 

"Scully?" he asked as she reached for his fly.

"Strip search," she deadpanned.

He laughed. "God, I love you."

She froze. "You - you what? 

"What?" he asked, sounding almost insulted. "This is news?"

"No," she answered slowly. And it wasn't, not really. All denial 
aside, Scully knew a guy didn't chase you all the way to 
Antarctica just because he wanted you in the office to do the 
paper work. "No. I guess it's not."

"Good." He sat half the way up and drew her into an impassioned 
if awkward kiss. "Glad we got that straight.  Now, where were 
we?"

She shoved him down again.  "Strip search, remember?" 

"Oh, you brute."

Her smile returned. She took a deep breath and set to work on the 
fly button, then the zipper. He lifted his hips most helpfully 
when she reached for his waistband, and wriggled impatiently when 
she carefully but quickly tugged his pants down. It might not 
have been the most elegant job of undressing someone she'd ever 
done, she reflected as she tossed the garment to the floor. She 
was definitely going to have to find a way to get more practice. 

"Now," she said, eyeing the bulge in his briefs appreciatively 
and using the most sinister voice she could muster, "where 'did' 
I leave my gloves?"

"Oh, no, you don't!"  Mulder sprang up from the bed and pinned 
her flat on her back in a heartbeat.  

"Oh, yes, I do!" she answered, struggling more from surprise than 
any real desire to get away. 

Before she knew it he had her in a scissor-hold, his erection 
pressing against her hip, his breath hot in her ear.

"Oh no you don't," he growled, laughter in his voice. 

"Oh yes, I do," she said softly, all at once feeling deadly 
serious. "I do."

He nuzzled her neck.  "Do what?"

She couldn't hold him tightly enough.  "What you said before.  
The - the love thing."

Mulder stopped what he was doing. "'The love thing'?"  His brows 
rose. "What about 'the love thing'?" 

"I -" she began.  She swallowed.  "Me too, Mulder. Me too." 

"Ah, well, then," he said, planting a row of soft kisses along 
her jawline, "I can die a happy man now, can't I?"

"Oh no. Not yet you can't." She slipped her fingers into his 
briefs. "I have plans for you, Mulder." She squeezed gently. "Big 
plans." 

His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.  "Then what - " he rasped, 
"what are we waiting for?"

'What indeed,' Scully thought.  She lifted her lips to his.  His 
mouth opened to hers, inviting her in, welcoming her. 

'One day' had finally arrived. 

About damned time, too.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

He didn't know if he could get used to Scully smiling this much. 
Her lips were curved above the rim of her Starbuck's Mocha Java 
as she cast a sidelong glance at him. Mulder wasn't sure if he 
could keep his hands off her if she kept it up.

"I hope it's not too early to stop at Sybil's," she said. 

He tried to remember if Scully always sounded this sexy in the 
morning. 

The plain fact was, things would always be classified as before 
and after last night. Before had been wonderful, but after was 
proving to be beyond belief.

There was something very different about Scully and it wasn't 
entirely due to the warm blush of beard-burn on her face. No, 
there was a sparkle in her eyes that he'd longed to see. He 
wondered if he appeared changed or if his transformation was 
internal.

"Not much choice if we're going to make our flight," he replied. 
"You know what I want to do when we get back to DC?"

"I have a rough idea," she said. 

Oh yeah, her voice was definitely sexier this morning. 

He stopped the car in front of Sybil's apartment, grinning as he 
noted the police cruiser in the driveway.

Scully shrugged, laughing, and reached into the backseat for 
Sybil's 
Polaroid camera.

"This is going to be interesting," she said, following him up the 
path to the front door.

Mulder's hand was raised to knock when the door swung open, 
revealing the young officer from the night before and Sybil. The 
officer was dressed in the same jacket and slacks he'd worn last 
night and Sybil was gorgeous in her dishabille, cheeks rosy and 
hair tangled.

"Agent Mulder!" she exclaimed, flipping a silky mass of curls 
over her shoulder. "And Agent Scully!"

The four of them looked at each other. The young cop had the good 
grace to look a little sheepish. Sybil studied Scully's face 
carefully, no doubt taking in the pinkened cheeks and twinkling 
eyes, and turned her attention to Mulder, a smile gradually 
blooming on her face. 

"We brought your camera back," Mulder said blandly, hoping to 
deflect some of that amused interest. 

"And we wanted to thank you for all your help," Scully said, 
offering her hand to the other woman. "I'm sure it was a 
frightening experience, but you helped solve a serious crime." 

"It was pretty scary," Sybil agreed. "But I feel safe now." She 
smiled up at the good-looking young police officer. "And I 
wouldn't have missed this experience for the world."

"Neither would we," Mulder and Scully said together. 

"In fact," Sybil continued, "how would you feel about posing for 
a snapshot as a memento of this big adventure?"

"As long as we can have a copy ourselves." Mulder smiled at 
Scully's eager reply, and encircled her shoulders in a loose hug 
as Sybil snapped the shutter twice.

Scully carefully pinched one of the drying photos by its edge 
while Sybil held the other.

Mulder held out his hand. "Would you like me to take a photo of 
you two?" 

Sybil grinned and nodded, then snagged her new beau's arm as he 
seemed to sag backwards. "You okay there, honey?"

"Sure thing, babe - but I gotta get to work. Maybe another time?"

Sybil tightened her grip and flashed a determined smile. "Only 
take a minute. Sure thing, Agent Mulder."

Mindful of the officer's reluctance, Mulder quickly pressed the 
shutter twice.  "Here you go," he said to Sybil, thrusting both 
camera and photo her way and handing Scully their copy.

The young officer flashed a blinding smile.  "Gotta go now," he 
said, taking a moment to plant a rather juicy kiss on their 
former informant.  "See you tonight?"

"You bet," she answered, fairly swooning as the officer headed 
for his car.  "It's my birthday," she told Mulder and Scully 
brightly.  "Wayne's taking me out for dinner." 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Mulder," Scully said, as they headed for the airport a few 
minutes later.

"Hmm?" Mulder looked over.

She held the two Polaroids they'd just taken and was staring at 
them with a troubled expression.  

"What's the matter, Scully?"

"Look." She held up the photo taken of Sybil and the young 
officer.  It showed a pretty young redhead, smiling brightly, one 
arm thrust out, wrapped around empty air.

"Wow." Mulder gave a low whistle.  "No wonder he didn't want his 
picture taken."

Scully frowned.  "Should we go back, Mulder?  Do we need to warn 
her?"

"He was one of Hartwell's men, right?" 

Scully nodded. 

Mulder smiled.  "I think Sybil can take care of herself, Scully."  

XxXxXxXxXxXx

The End

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