--------
Disclaimer: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Samantha,  Mrs. Mulder, 
Pendrell and various conspiracies are borrowed from Chris 
Carter, 10-13 and Fox.  Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo were 
created by Char Hall and Vickie Moseley in the original Bed 
Springs.  Thanks also go to Vanessa Len for mythological 
information.
______________________________________________

T h e  X - F i l e s
Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison

by Char Hall and Megan Reilly
[lazydark@aol.com & eponine@prodigy.net]

8/3/96-10/30/96
______________________________________________

Apartment of Chloe Grant
December 2, 1996
9:45 PM

     "Grant, are you sure she should be watching movies like 
this?" Mickey Callavelo asked his partner as he came back 
into the living room from the kitchen, a huge bowl of popcorn 
in his hands.
     Both women gave him dark looks.  "She's fine," Chloe 
Grant told him, ruffling Samantha Mulder's hair with her 
hand.  "Sit down and shut up," she ordered with a smile.  He 
did as she said, sitting down on Chloe's threadbare couch and 
handing her the popcorn. 
     Sam, who was sitting on the floor in front of them, 
turned to take a big handful of popcorn.  "Arnold 
Schwartzenegger movies are my *favorite*," she told Mickey, 
tossing a piece of popcorn at him and gracing him with a 
charming ten year old grin.  He threw one back, missed her by 
a mile, and she went back to watching the movie.
     "Think Mulder and Dana are enjoying their honeymoon?"
Mickey asked his partner softly, the words barely audible 
over the roar of an explosion in the rented movie playing in 
the VCR.
     "Of course," Chloe returned with a quirky smile.  
Mickey nodded and looked at the TV, but Chloe's eyes lingered 
on her partner, wondering what he was thinking.  Wondering 
what was going on his mind wasn't a new experience for her, 
although the domesticity of this scene was.  In her head, she 
knew Mickey was her partner and a damn good one, and that 
Sammi was the younger sister--much younger, now--of their 
boss, Fox Mulder, head of the X-Files division, but it didn't 
stop Chloe from wondering what it might be like...
     Not with Mickey, of course, Chloe thought, a little 
shocked at herself.  The trouble was, he was the only man she 
was close to in her life right now.  Her partner.  Wonderful, 
she thought ironically.   There had only been one man she'd 
ever thought she might live happily ever after with, and that 
had ended badly.
     It had ended so incredibly badly.  Months ago.  Chloe 
still didn't feel like she was ready to trust someone with 
her heart again.  But someday...someday, it might be nice, 
she decided, thinking again of  Fox Mulder and his new bride, 
Dana Scully Mulder, who were no doubt, at this moment, very 
much in love and basking in the sun.

-----

White Sands Resort
December 2, 1996
9:45 PM

     Dana Scully Mulder, who was having a hard time 
remembering not to think of herself as 'Scully' anymore, 
looked across the room at her husband of one week who stood 
by the window, looking out at the waves crashing onto the 
gorgeous white sandy beach only a few feet away.  It was the 
perfect place for a honeymoon, with a bright, airy  hotel
room, a complimentary sampling of fragrant bubble bath and 
other luxuries waiting for them.
     No evil, no cases, nothing to worry about.  Just the 
two of them, married.  At last.  In one of the greatest 
resorts that existed, enjoying sun and heat in the middle of 
December.
     And Mulder was miserable.  Dana could sense it; she 
knew this man so well, better than she knew anyone else, 
nearly better than she knew herself.  She knew it wasn't her, 
or them or regrets about their marriage. He loved her.  She 
knew that.
     She went to him and put her arms around him.  He was
surprised, but then she felt his arms tight around her, so 
tight she could barely breathe and she knew that she was 
right.  Mulder was missing the rain and the cold of 
Washington, D.C.  And his sister.  And the X-Files.

-----

FBI Building
December 3, 1996
9:15 am

     "What does he want to see us for?" Mickey asked, 
turning to meet Chloe's eyes.
     "He's our supervisor, Mickey.  And with Mulder and Dana 
both out of the office, we report directly to him."
     Mickey's face fell instantly.  "You don't think I'm in 
trouble again, do you?"
     Chloe couldn't help it, she laughed.  Mickey looked at 
her, stricken, and she could tell he was going over in his 
head every last thing he'd said in the past few weeks.  It 
was an unintentionally offensive comment that had landed him 
in the X-Files to begin with, and though he liked his 
position, Mickey couldn't help wondering.  He wasn't too 
good in the diplomacy department, Chloe thought, but she 
liked him anyway. 
"I'm sure it's just our next case," she reassured him, 
but he continued to look unconvinced.
     The elevator doors opened and they went together into 
the Assistant Director's office.  Chloe hid her smile as 
Mickey opened the door and started to hold it open for her, 
then gave her a look and went through it himself.  She'd told 
him, again, that she was perfectly capable of opening a door 
for herself, and this time he was really making an effort
to change his ways.  She knew he couldn't help it.
     "Agent Callavelo, Agent Grant," Skinner said and nodded 
them both into the chairs facing his desk.  Mickey sat down 
nervously, on the edge, still convinced he was going to be 
called on the carpet.  The memory of the state's dinner, last 
week, came crashing down on him...
     "Agent Callavelo," Skinner said, meeting his eyes after 
shuffling the papers on his desk around.  "I enjoyed hearing 
your thoughts on the San Diego stalker at the state's dinner 
last week."
     Here it comes, Mickey thought, but his boss didn't 
continue.  It took him a good thirty seconds to realize the 
man had been serious. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say, 
and could feel himself blushing.
     "That's why I'm assigning this case to you.  Although 
it doesn't have the earmarkings of an X-File, I'm sure it 
will put both of your talents to good use.  You'll be leaving 
for New York this afternoon.  Agent Grant," Skinner said, and 
put the file in her hands.  Mickey got to his feet and 
followed her from the room.
     "How bad is it?" he asked her, back in the elevator.
     "Not bad," she said, sounding distracted.  "I was 
thinking about Sam.  Mulder and Dana left her with me, and we 
can't take her with us."
     "They knew that this might happen.  We can leave her 
with her mother,  I'm sure she'd love to have her.  And it's 
only a couple of days before they get back."
     "You're right," Chloe said, looking through the file 
again.  She wondered why she felt so unsettled, like 
something bad was waiting for them around the corner.  She 
pushed the thoughts away, but they didn't stay gone for long.  
Right there, in black and white, the name of their contact in 
New York City.  A name she'd hoped she would never hear again 
in her entire life.
     Nicholas Shane.  The man who'd torn her heart out and
essentially used it for dental floss.  The man she'd loved so 
intensely that even now, after six months, it hurt like it 
was yesterday.
     "I'm sure it won't be that bad," Mickey said 
optimistically.
     "I'm sure you're right," Chloe managed to reply.

-----

Arlington National Cemetery
10:13 am

     The woman stood in front of the small grave marker, 
oblivious to the rain that poured in heavy torrents from the 
dark skies above, staining her black wool overcoat with 
streams of water.  The tombstone was nondescript and even 
though it had only been there for four months, it
already seemed worn with age.  The name carved into the stone 
was unintelligible to her, perhaps because of the rain 
obscuring her vision.  It couldn't be tears.  Not now, not 
after so many years.
     In a final tribute to the man who now lay decomposing 
beneath her feet, she lit a Morley cigarette, because that 
had been his brand, and she watched it burn for a moment, the 
acrid smoke mixing with the moldy smell of her damp wet coat.  
Then she dropped it on the ground, crushing it viciously into 
the muddy earth with her shoe.
     "I will get my revenge," she swore, more to herself 
than to the dead man.  Without another thought for him, she 
turned to go, long brown hair sliding over the collar of her 
coat.  She was a young woman, perhaps thirty years old, with 
a striking and beautiful profile.  When she turned, the other 
side of her face was toward the grave, the skin melted
and reshaped by horrible scars.  There was nothing she could 
do to disguise the facial scars, and so she walked with her 
head held high and her back straight, her promise of revenge 
keeping her strong.

-----

December 4, 1996
Central Park, New York
5:13 am


     "I hurt myself today to see if I could still feel.  I 
focus on the pain, the only thing that's real.  The needle 
tears a hole, that old familiar sting.  Try to kill it all 
away, but I remember everything..."
     Chloe Grant ran as she'd never run before.  Her feet 
pounded against the sidewalk, as though the pain of the 
reverberation would calm the storm that was raging within her 
heart.  This morning she'd risen early and left the hotel in 
order to seek a way to rid herself of the pent-up 
frustrations that had resulted in yet another sleepless 
night.
     She and Mickey had arrived early the night before, 
deciding it best to wait until the morning to start fresh on 
the case.  Chloe felt nothing but relief when Mickey had 
suggested  waiting.  She wanted to put off meeting Nick for 
as long as  possible.  More than that, though, she wanted to 
have time to really think about it.  She really did not want 
Mickey, dense as he seemed to be at times, to pick up on the 
fact that she really was uncomfortable around the man.  And 
it took a lot to make Chloe uncomfortable.
     She sucked in a tight breath and ground her teeth 
together as the tiny little earphones transferred the song to 
her over-worked mind. 
     "What have I become? My sweetest friend, everyone I 
know goes away in the end.  You could have it all, my empire 
of dirt.  I will let you down.  I will make you hurt."
     She tried not to think about the song and its meaning 
as she ran yet another lap.  Nicholas Shane, my ass, she 
thought, bitterly.  I will not feel intimidated and I will 
not let him bother me.  He's a smug bastard.  That's all.
     Still, she didn't feel very well.  Maybe the case would 
offer enough distraction that she wouldn't have to deal with 
Shane on her own, because surely then...  Then what, Chloe?  
She wasn't sure.  Admit it, Chloe, you still love the smug 
bastard.
     That thought lingering in her mind, Chloe Grant stopped 
running and hunched over, breathing deeply of the New York 
air.  She moved to the side of sidewalk, allowing other 
joggers to pass as she tried to regain her breath.
     Still hunched over, she caught the first whiff of a 
familiar scent that made her heart skip every time she 
smelled it.  She pursed her lips as she realized where it was 
coming from.
     From the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of 
Nike Crosstrainer shoes, white socks, and hairy legs.  As she 
straightened she allowed her gaze to travel up the form, 
giving herself time to set her face in a mask of stone.  
Hairy legs gave way to a pair of dark blue Umbro soccer 
shorts, then a plain white T-shirt which pulled tight across 
his muscular upper torso.  Her gaze faltered there, marveling 
for a split second.  Catching herself, she completed her 
mission.  Her body completely erect now, tight with 
apprehension and dread, Chloe raised her eyes finally to his 
face.
     A charming smile had replaced the look of anger that 
she'd last seen on his chiseled face.  His wavy dark hair, 
now damp from sweat, had also grown much longer since the 
last time she'd seen him.  Six months and now he stood in 
front of her.  Special Agent Nicholas Shane, Violent Crimes 
section of the New York FBI.  Up for section chief.  Fast 
moving, quick thinking, asshole supreme.  
     Chloe carefully raised one hand, while keeping eye 
contact with him, to remove each of the earphones from her 
ear.  She allowed them to dangle down her back, the cord 
making a "V" at her throat.  She made sure her gaze was 
chilling, despite the swirling emotions she felt at seeing 
him again.
     "Special Agent Grant, so nice to meet you again," he 
said, sticking his hand out as though they were just passing 
acquaintances.  Yeah, passing acquaintances instead of ex-
lovers, she thought with a shiver.  How can he be so 
nonchalant about it?
     "And you," she said, barely able to keep the sudden 
emptiness from her voice.  She grasped his hand, giving it 
only a half-hearted shake.
     "So,"  he said quietly, as though he'd suddenly become 
shy.  The hand that she'd shaken slipped to the back of his 
neck as he rubbed his sweaty hair.  "They've sent you to help 
out with my case, huh?"
     She nodded, not trusting her voice yet.  Suddenly, she 
had the odd feeling that he was up to something.
     "Well, I'm glad.  At least I know I can trust you,"  he 
said.
     I wouldn't be so sure, you bastard!  Chloe cringed at 
her own malicious thoughts, but made no effort to shove them 
away.  She could only remember the last time she'd seen him.
     It'd been a long day, and she'd had a headache.  That 
much she remembered, because she'd gone home early.  Early to 
find old Nick-boy in bed with some fucking blonde bitch.  
Chloe's fists involuntarily clenched.  She bit the inside of 
her cheek to keep from laying into him that instant as he 
stood before her, charming as he had been on the first day 
they'd met.
     "So, uh," she forced the words to be at least half 
pleasant, "I see you haven't given up jogging."  Of course, 
it was evident by his fit form.  Strong leg muscles that 
accented his muscular upper torso and abdomen.
     "No.  I figured I should keep fit, you know, never know 
when I might have to run from somebody's husband..."
     He trailed off as he noticed Chloe's dark gaze.  He 
knew enough about her to know that he'd just struck a very 
sharp chord.  He'd been trying to joke lightly, but the joke 
had been one of poor choice considering what had happened 
between them.  Instead of stumbling over apologies, Nicholas 
tried to redeem himself by following another avenue,  "I saw 
you jogging and when you hunched over, I thought you might be 
hurt.  I mean, I thought... I thought maybe your leg was 
bothering you..."  He stumbled over the words.  "Look, I 
heard what happened on your first case.  I just want you to 
know that I want to help."
     Isn't that sweet, Chloe thought.  Too bad he doesn't 
mean it... But even as she thought about it, just his tone 
was the loving tone that she remembered.  She pursed her lips 
and fought the urge to move closer to him.  To her surprise, 
he closed a bit of the space.  He took hold of her hand 
again, giving it a light squeeze.  
     "I guess I'll meet you and your partner at my office at 
about eight, huh?"
     For an instant, Chloe thought he was going to lean 
forward and kiss her, but instead he let go of her hand and 
backed slowly away before turning his back on her and 
continuing with his jog.
     Confused more than ever now, just as she suspected 
would happen, Chloe Grant picked the earphones off her 
shoulders and put them back in her ears.  She was engulfed 
once again by the strong current of music.  She began to jog 
back to the hotel, turmoil less settled than it had been when 
she'd hit the sidewalk.  The sun had lit the city by the time 
she reached the hotel, waking the people up and readying them 
for another day at the grueling task called life.

-----

New York FBI Offices
7:57 am


     "Mickey, your tie is crooked again,"  Chloe's voice 
held a mixture of annoyance and amusement.  He felt foolish 
as he glanced down at the tie.  He'd tried his hardest to tie 
the bloody thing.  
     Wish I had Sam here to tie it, he thought.  He forced a 
smile on his lips as Chloe used her index finger to lift his 
chin so that she could straighten it out for him.  
     Ever since Chloe had been told that they'd be going to 
New York for the case, she'd become withdrawn.  It was just a 
small change, but even after being her partner for a short 
few months, he could see it.  She was forcing her smiles, as 
he had this very moment, and trying not to seem so 
apprehensive about coming here.
     It was worse this morning.  He'd heard her leave the 
hotel, figuring that she'd gone for her daily jog, but when 
she came back something seemed odd.  It was almost as though 
a new weight were pressing her.
     He sighed and looked down at his fixed tie, mumbling a 
quick thanks.  Chloe took a step away from him, turning her 
body as she did so, but Mickey reached out and grabbed the 
sleeve of her relaxed blazer.  "Chloe?" he asked, tentatively 
stepping into a realm which he'd never dared to enter before.
     She stopped and turned slightly toward him, her 
shoulders hunching forward a bit as she did so.  Her long 
blonde hair swirled around her shoulders and her azure blue 
eyes locked on his deep green ones, curiosity transforming 
the features on her face.
     "You okay?" he asked, taking the step before he had the 
chance to decide to back off.  Something personal was 
bothering her.  Normally they were open with emotions 
regarding cases, both of them aware that it would make the 
partnership that much easier.  Especially after all the 
trouble, communications and such, that they'd had in the 
beginning.
     Her face did another transformation, right before his 
eyes.  He didn't think it was possible for one person to be 
able to completely mask their feelings, but Chloe had done 
just that.  Her eyes lost their light, leaving him with a 
weird feeling, and her face grew slack, her jaw loosening.
     "Oh yeah, I'm just tired," she lied.
     Mickey nodded, willing to let it go.  He wouldn't 
press.  Her business was her business and it didn't concern 
him, although he definitely was feeling the effects, until it 
began to mess with their cases.  He let go of her sleeve and 
watched as she completed her turn and stalked away from him, 
down the hall.

-----

     They reached the office and silently waited, after 
knocking, to be admitted.  The man inside looked up and the 
smile that had been on his face spread into a full fledged 
grin. Mickey thought it odd, but filed the thought away as 
inappropriate.  He waved them in and stood up to offer them a 
chair.  Very gentleman-like.  Mickey smiled and put out his 
hand as Chloe seemed to ignore the man, taking her seat.
     "Special Agent Michael Callavelo,"  he said.  The man 
had a firm grip.  "And my partner, Special Agent Chloe 
Grant..."  Mickey found himself trailing off as he noticed 
that Chloe had turned her head away from the man who had 
returned to his desk. He perched on the edge with both hands 
gripping the small lip that existed where the top of the desk 
met with the sides.
     "Agent Grant and I have met,"  Agent Shane said.
     Mickey's eyes narrowed at his partner, while he 
carefully added two and two together.  Met before, but what 
else?  Mickey also filed that thought as he nodded toward the 
agent who hadn't bothered to introduce himself.  I guess he 
assumed I'd know who he was, Mickey thought.  Still, it's no 
excuse.  It's kinda rude.  This coming from the guy who has 
no tact when it comes to diplomacy...
     "I see,"  Mickey said, glancing at Chloe.  She'd 
finally shifted her gaze to face the man before them, but she 
wasn't looking at him.  She wanted to appear as though she 
were, but she was actually looking past his shoulder.  
     "So, you're aware of the case--"
     "No, actually, we're not.  Your office didn't send 
specifics,"  Chloe cut in, startling both Mickey and Shane.  
Shane recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing at Chloe.  
     "All right, I'll tell you what,"  Shane pushed away 
from the desk and walked around to open a drawer in the desk.  
He pulled out a fat red and white striped case file and 
plopped it down in front of the two agents, who had to pull 
their chairs up so that they could look at it. "Take a look 
at this, and I'll give you the basics."
     Mickey watched his partner dig in to the case, noticing 
that she seemed so uncomfortable that he hoped the SAIC would 
finish explaining as quickly as possible and let them alone.
     "There have been two murders so far.  Funny thing is 
that the bodies are...I can't explain it.  Apparently neither 
can my forensic pathologist.  Oh hell."  He sat back in his 
chair and ran a hand through his thick dark hair.  "These 
bodies seem almost to be turned to sodium bicarbonate.  It's 
weird, like the person was made from baking soda or something 
that was lumped together to create a terrible likeness to a 
human being.  It's the craziest thing I've ever seen and I 
can't tell how it could have happened.  We can't even really 
classify it as murder.  I mean, how do you do that to 
someone?"  
     Mickey watched as the man's expression turned confused.  
He scratched his head and finally sat forward, steepling his 
fingers to form a point.  He narrowed his eyes at the agents 
before him.  He took a deep breath.  
     "We'll see what we can do,"  Chloe said, hastening to 
stand.  She got a step away from her chair, Mickey staring 
oddly at her, when Shane called her name.
     "Agent Grant, I'd like to speak with you in private," 
Shane said.  Mickey watched as his partner's back suddenly 
straightened and her hands made fists at her sides.  She 
nodded, almost angrily, and sat stiffly back in her chair.
     Mickey stood up and offered his hand to the agent 
again.  As he slowly made his way to the door, he decided 
that maybe these two should really try to work out whatever 
differences they were having.  As long as the case went 
smoothly, Mickey didn't care if they screwed each other silly 
on the desk in his absence. 
     Okay, Mickey, that's drawing the line.  He did care, 
but it was none of his business and he was sure Chloe would 
prefer that it stayed that way.
     Glancing down at the case-file in his hand, Mickey 
asked the secretary where the library was, leaving a message 
with her for Chloe that told her where he was headed.

-----

     "Chloe..." said Nick, sounding apologetic, giving her 
that look that had been known to turn her stomach to the 
consistency of melted ice cream.  The look that was usually 
followed by "I'm sorry", a kiss, and a wild night in bed.  
But he stopped there.
     Chloe shook her head, looking down at the dirty floor 
and then looking back up at him.  "What did you want to see 
me about?" she asked, not letting herself be emotional.
     "I wanted to--"  he stopped again.  It had to be a 
show, she thought, watching him warily, the Nick she knew was 
never at a loss for words.  Never.  "Chloe, you look like 
you're mad at me and I--" Another pause.   Nice effect, she 
thought, struggling to distance herself, it sounds almost 
sincere.  "I guess I deserve it, but I don't want it to 
get in the way of the case."
     "Work first, that's how it always is with you," she 
said and congratulated herself on not sounding angry or 
catty.  By the time this damn case was over, she'd either 
deserve an Academy Award or have a nervous breakdown, she 
thought.  "Right, Partner?"
     His lips twisted in a wry smile at her words.  He was
remembering, and she was trying hard not to.  "I have 
feelings about you still, and I'm sure that you have them for 
me," he said diplomatically, in a 'lets be friends' kind of 
way.  "But we have to put them aside in order to solve 
things.  This--"  He raised his hands in a gesture that 
reminded her of Mickey, "Isn't getting us anywhere.  A man is 
dead, Chloe!"
     And so will you, she thought, but then pulled 
herself out of it.  She nodded.  "Of course," she said 
coolly.
     "Can you trust your partner?"
     His question came out of nowhere.  "What?" she asked,
shocked.
     "Can you trust your partner?"
     "Yes, what makes you ask?" Chloe responded.  A second 
later, all the blood rushed to her head as she felt waves of 
fury wash over her.  He thought she was sleeping with Mickey!  
He thought she slept with every damned man she was assigned 
as partner to!  Nick--Nick!--the one who she'd caught with 
a bimbo in their bed, thought *she* was a slut!  She opened 
her mouth to rip into him, but he was too fast for her. 
And his answer wasn't what she was expecting.
     "You were on the fast track before these X-Files, 
Chloe.  Did you know that?"  Nick said quietly, the softness 
and the emotion she could hear him holding back drawing her 
in.  She looked at him, meeting his eyes, and put her anger 
aside for a moment.  She shook her head no, she had no idea 
what he was talking about.  "I didn't think so.   Everyone
was envious of you.  Rumor had it you might be able to make 
ASAC in under two years.  And then Robin turned you to the X-
Files, and you went.  Giving up a lot.  And I always thought-
-I wondered if it was because of me.  Because Chloe, if it 
was--"
     So that's it, she thought, setting her chin stubbornly 
a notch higher in the air.  "I like the X-Files.  It's where 
I want to be.  With Mickey."  Let him think what he wants, 
she decided, trying to convince herself she didn't care.
     Nick nodded, and his eyes were strange.  Chloe didn't 
recognize the look.  It was dark, brooding.  Almost 
dangerous.  He'd changed. New York would do that to a person.  
The memory of all their conversations about it came flooding 
back, their excitement over their promotions, of going to a 
new city, all the plans they made...so  quickly crumbled.  
"Here," he said, putting the file into her hands, standing 
very close to her.  Close enough for her to feel his essence, 
and to breathe in that familiar cologne.  She looked up into 
his eyes--he was taller than her and she'd always liked that 
--and for a moment, it could have been the old days.  She 
found herself holding her breath, thinking that if he
didn't kiss her, she was going to have to.
     Like their first kiss.  And like their last, actually.
     Chloe took the file and walked wordlessly out of the 
room.  Nick watched her until she was out of sight, and even 
after, he stared, lost in thought.

     "What did he want to see you about?" Mickey asked, 
carefully, thinking: tact.  Remember, be nice.  He was 
standing on the curb, still trying to get a cab, when Chloe 
emerged from the building. Somehow he'd thought their meeting 
would take longer.
     Chloe shrugged, her eyes changing as they had earlier 
when he'd asked her what was wrong.  Closing herself off, 
shutting him out.  She shook her head and stepped out between 
the parked cars into the street.  A cab came screeching to a 
stop, and she hopped in.
     She grinned at him with that smile he'd thought she'd 
lost.  "*That's* how you get a cab," she said with a jaunty 
wink at him that made him feel very relieved.
     Until he lost her to that weird blankness a moment 
later in the cab, as she remembered one of her conversations 
with Nick about moving to New York.

     Mickey felt his stomach heave a moment before he even 
opened the door and went into the morgue, and he felt the 
look that Chloe gave him.  Just thinking about dead bodies 
made his head swim.  She clapped him on the shoulder 
reassuringly and strode past him, over to the big metal 
locker where their victim was housed.  She glanced at him, 
her hand on the drawerpull, to make sure he was ready.  And 
then she opened it.
     Chloe knew Mickey was embarrassed about his aversion to
dead bodies, but Chloe thought it was cute.  She liked 
Mickey, a lot, as a person and not just as her partner.  
     Mickey waited, concentrating on drawing steady, even 
breaths to fight the nausea welling up within him.  Chloe 
didn't look down at the body right away.  He was watching her 
to avoid looking at--thinking about--it.  Mickey always 
thought of their victims as "it," especially when
they were in the morgue, because if he thought of it as a 
person he knew he'd be flat on the floor in seconds.  He 
began to ask himself how he could stand pulling the trigger 
on the firing range, or cleaning up a big bloody wound, or 
even eating his sister's cooking and not stand dead bodies 
when the movement of Chloe's arms caught his attention.     
     She'd fished a butterfly hair clip out of her pocket 
and raised her arms up over her head to twist her long blonde 
hair into the fastener.  Mickey looked at her and found 
himself entranced, unable to look away.  
Her arms were slim and strong and slightly tanned, even 
though it was the dead of winter as she knotted her hair and 
clipped it.  Immediately a few strands slipped out and fell 
around her face and Mickey had to ask himself why his heart 
was beating so fast all of a sudden.  This was  just
Chloe.  His *partner* Chloe.  His heart shouldn't be racing 
the same way it had in fourth grade when Anita Chisholm beat 
him at the foot race and then put a frog in his lunchbox.
     But she was a lot like that grade school crush, he 
realized.  She was smart and funny and goofy and strong.  And 
he liked that. 
     Chloe, oblivious, turned her attention to the body, or 
what had once been a human body.  It looked more like an 
ornately sculpted sandcastle, only it was pure white.  And 
the details were too good.   She leaned in, touching it, and 
crystals came away, clinging to her  gloved fingers. "Mickey, 
look at this," she breathed in wonder, all of her other 
cares and worries forgotten.
     Taken off guard, Mickey looked.  And saw a big clumpy 
chunk of what looked like white sand.  That had obviously 
recently been a human being.  Pieces of it, like grains of 
sand, clung to Chloe's fingers.  His stomach convulsed as he 
gagged without even a second to think to fight it.  Instantly 
weak, he went down on his knees, and was sick on  the
floor.
     A moment later, as his eyes were still closed while he 
tried to come back to normal and not think about what he'd 
seen, a strong  hand closed over his arm and another firm, 
warm hand brushed the clammy skin of his forehead.  Chloe.  
"Up and at 'em, Big Boy, there you go," she said as she 
helped to haul him to his feet.  He felt feverish and 
dizzy and most of all, ashamed as he opened his eyes and 
looked at her. "Okay now?" she asked, searching his face 
carefully.
     He broke away from her and wiped his mouth with the 
back of his hand.  He turned away, feeling the heat rising up 
in his face.  He tried to think of something witty to say, to 
smooth it over, but he was too mortified.
     "The bathroom's through there," she said, close to his 
ear.  She touched his arm reassuringly again and he cringed.  
"Mickey," Chloe said, coming around to face him.  "It's 
okay," she told him with a smile.
     He nodded, feeling slightly more at ease when he saw 
that smile. She was his partner and his friend.  She 
understood.  It was all right.  He nodded and went into the 
small room, closing the door firmly behind him.
     Chloe looked at the door.  When would she ever learn? 
she had to ask herself, shaking her head as she returned to 
the body.  "You're cleaning it up!" she called to him and she 
thought she heard him laugh.
     The body was a real puzzle.  She had no idea what might 
have caused this, and the file they'd gone over in the cab 
had lent no possible explanations or clues.  And how did one 
conduct an autopsy when the subject had effectively turned to 
dust?  Chloe snapped a few pictures--Mickey did better with 
Polaroids than with the real thing--and then began to poke 
about at the body, even though she was not in any way 
authorized to do so.  A little forensics in school and a bit 
of  pathology in her time on the X-Files didn't count for 
much officially.
     She found that the degree of damage was the worst on 
the outside.  The grains and clumps were bigger, less fine, 
harder to brush away, once she got past the first layer.  
Most of the organs seemed to be petrified into this dust on 
the outside, but still a little mushy on  the inside. 
She frowned.  The damage had come from an external source,
apparently, but it didn't make sense.  Heat couldn't do this.  
And a blast of some other sort would strike only one side of 
the body, wouldn't it? she reasoned, yet the outer shell of 
the body was equally affected in all areas, back and front, 
including the soles of the feet and areas that would have 
been covered by clothing.
     It was like a marshmallow roasted over a fire.
     Or like a person turned to stone.
     Chloe's thoughts couldn't help wandering back to Nick 
as she stood and tried to concentrate on the body before her.  
He'd asked her if she could trust her partner.  There had to 
be a reason for him to ask her that, she thought.  At first, 
she'd thought his intention was to hurt her. Now...now, 
looking at the body, she wasn't so certain.
     "Chloe!"  The touch of Mickey's hand on her arm brought 
her out of  where she'd been lost in thought.  
     "Sorry," she said, focusing on his face.  She could 
trust him, she thought, looking into his green eyes.  Of 
course she could.  
     "I'm going to take a walk--get some air, clear my 
head," Mickey said.
     "I'm not finished here--"
     "I know," he said, anticipating her words.  "I'll meet 
you back at the hotel for lunch, okay?  A late lunch?"
     Chloe nodded and diverted her attention back to the 
body again.  Mickey stood and watched her for a moment 
longer, wondering what was wrong and unable to ask her.  
Silently, he slipped from the room.

     The city was cold and noisy around him, the crisp air 
cutting right through the fog and lingering nausea he felt.  
He stood on the sidewalk and took in a deep breath of air, 
savoring it.  City air.  Reminded him of home.  He rolled his 
eyes at the ridiculousness of his thoughts and began walking 
quickly through the streets, the exercise more important to 
him than the sights he was passing.
     Up ahead of him, he noticed a woman in a long black 
coat walking swiftly, dodging between pedestrians with ease 
and agility.   There was something about her that was 
different, something that he couldn't put his finger on that 
caught his eye. Intrigued, Mickey started following her, 
making it almost a game with himself to keep his thoughts 
busy.  She stayed well ahead of him and the fact that he 
couldn't catch her made the game all the more fun.
     She snuck a quick look back over her shoulder at him 
and he got a glimpse of a regal profile.  Her pace quickened 
and Mickey stopped where he stood.  What are you doing, Mick? 
he asked himself, following a woman in the big city?  Not 
smart, buddy, not smart at all. He watched her hurry away and 
wondered what he could have been thinking.  Finally he turned 
to go back the way he had come.    And ran straight into a pair 
of hoods.  These guys were scary. Not only were they both 
bigger than Mickey, their clothes were dirty and they smelled 
bad and their eyes were bloodshot.  "Wallet.  Now," said one 
of them, while the other spit on the ground.
     Mickey's heart pounded and he took a second too long 
deciding what to do.  "NOW!" screamed the mugger, smashing 
Mickey upside the head with his fist.
     Blood and pain obscured his vision, but instinct kicked 
in.  The man who'd punched him was on the ground screaming 
for mercy in a moment.  Mickey placed one foot squarely on 
the man's back and looked the other mugger right in the eye.  
The man looked back at him and then noticed that Mickey had a 
gun strapped to his side.  He nodded to Mickey and slowly 
began to walk away.  "I'll get you, man,"  Mickey heard him 
mumble and although he knew they were nothing more than idle 
words from a defeated hoodlum, they still sent a chill 
up his spine.  Reminding him how his reaction could have 
backfired on him.
     "Are you all right?"  The woman's voice was cool, well-
modulated, and Mickey looked at her in surprise.  His notion 
of New York City was of a cold place where no one would stop 
to help a stranger.  Especially when that stranger had 
recently been stalking you, even if he hadn't intended to.
     "Fine.  Thanks," said Mickey, wondering what this woman
thought she could have done.  She was a few inches shorter 
than him, about five-six, and slender.  Her thick dark hair 
fell down over one side of her face, covering it entirely, 
and she looked at him with direct, beautiful light hazel 
eyes.  "So much for life in the big city," he said,
because he had to say something.
     "You're not a native New Yorker," she said.  "Neither 
am I."
     Mickey smiled.  "Is anyone?"
     "I guess not," she replied and cast half a smile back 
at him.
     "Michael Callavelo," he said, thrusting his hand out 
for her to shake.  "Mickey, actually.  Nice to meet you."
     "Purity," she said, and he thought it was an unusual, 
yet somehow fitting name.  "Nice to meet you."  As she spoke, 
she tilted her head to look up at him and shook her hair 
back.  That was when Mickey saw that the side of her face was 
covered in scars.  He didn't allow himself to react, didn't 
allow his gaze to waver from hers.  He passed her test, and a 
moment later she took his hand and shook it.
     Mickey wondered what the hell had happened to her.  "Do 
you want to...maybe...get some coffee?" he managed to ask.
     Her focus had shifted from his face to a point in the 
distance behind him, and fear made her eyes turn dark.  She 
dropped his hand and took several steps back from him.  
"Run," she ordered quietly, meeting his eyes again.  Mickey 
could only stare at her as she turned and ran.  He looked 
back over his shoulder and saw three large, strong 
men in black suits running in his direction.  All three of 
them had guns.   Two of them were silenced.
     Mickey had the idea that his badge wouldn't impress 
them, so he ran in the opposite direction from the men, 
wondering if he would ever see the  woman again or learn what 
her story was.

-----

     Chloe emerged from the morgue a few hours later, not 
really feeling up to the long library session that the 
afternoon promised her and her partner.  She felt tired and 
cranky and frustrated, and she knew it didn't all come from 
the case.  But she refused to think of Nick, thinking
instead that she'd like to go running again.  It was the only 
thing that would even come close to satisfying the restless 
ache she felt inside her.
     But she knew she couldn't run away.  Figuratively, or 
literally. The fact it had even occurred to her made her even  
more angry with herself.  All she wanted were answers, and as 
usual, there were none to be found.  How could a person be 
turned into dust?  *Why* would a person be turned  into dust?
     How could Nick have done what he'd done to her?
     Stop!  Chloe told herself, gathering her thoughts for a 
moment before pulling open the door to the lobby of the 
hotel.  She scanned the room for her partner and didn't see 
him, so she started for the stairs.
     "Chloe."  Seemingly from  nowhere, a man materialized 
in front of her.
      Her head jerked up and she saw Nick.  Her jaw clenched 
in anger before she even realized it.  "What are you doing 
here?" she asked, unable to keep her irritation from showing.
     "You saw the body," Nick said.  Chloe nodded, not 
looking at him.  "We have to find out what's doing this.  
You've been working on the X-Files for months, do you have 
any idea--"
     "No," she said and started for the stairs.  Where's 
Mickey? She wondered, wishing her partner would hurry up and 
arrive.  She stopped herself and looked at  Nick.  He was 
helping her on this case.  She couldn't ignore him or walk 
away, no matter how much she wanted to. Professional, she 
reminded herself.  "I've never seen anything like it."
     "Where's your partner?" Nick asked.
     "He should be here any minute, I'm meeting him for 
lunch," Chloe said, finding it interesting that Nick seemed 
to have some trouble bringing himself to use Mickey's name.
     "Mind if I tag along?" he asked honestly.
     "Why should I  mind," said Chloe and he didn't answer.  
She knew he was looking at her and refused to acknowledge it.  
The silence between them stretched and they sat down in the 
plush lobby chairs to wait for Mickey.

-----

Summer house
Quontochataug, RI
12:32 PM

     Samantha looked across the table at the older woman 
seated there, who was staring sadly out the window at the 
ocean.  Sam looked down at her empty plate for a moment and 
fiddled with her milk glass and then looked back at her 
mother.  Fifty five years old, with white hair and striking 
blue eyes, Mrs. Mulder looked tired and sad.  Sam wondered 
what she could say to make her feel better.
     "I guess it's not the season for a summer house," she 
tried, but her mother didn't take her eyes from the window.  
Sam sighed softly and moved her milk glass again.  This was 
weird and she didn't like it.  When Chloe and Mickey told her 
she was going to stay with her mom--or her 'grandmother' as 
she had to call her when other people were listening  so
that they wouldn't get too confused or too interested--Sam 
had been excited.  And she'd thought her mom was, too, when 
she said they were going to the summer house on Rhode Island.
     Sam barely remembered the small cabin overlooking the 
water.  She thought she'd seen in her dreams a couple of 
times, having picnics and playing in the sand with her 
brother Fox.  But she didn't remember very well.
     She looked at her mom again and knew that she 
remembered it too well.
     "I think I'm going to go out to play now," Sam said and 
got up from the table.  She didn't expect her mom to say 
anything, just to let her go.
     But Mrs. Mulder roused herself from her thoughts and 
looked directly at her daughter. Sam stopped where she stood 
at the intense look in her mother's blue eyes.  "Be careful, 
Samantha," she said softly. "Your brother isn't here to look 
after you."
     Sam nodded.  "I will, Mom," she said and smiled.  "I'll 
be back in a little while."
     "Don't stay out too long.  It's colder than you think 
out there."
     Sam nodded again and let the door bang shut behind her. 
Just as she had always done.

-----

Metro Hotel
NYC, 2:45 PM

     Mickey hadn't shown up, and Chloe and Nick were still 
sitting in the lobby waiting for him.  Their silence hadn't 
lasted, although neither of them were looking at each other.
     "Have you consulted with Agents Mulder and Scully on 
the case?  What do they say?  Has there been anything like 
this documented in the past?" Nick asked Chloe.
     A smile threatened to break through.  "Agents Mulder 
and *Mulder* are on their honeymoon.  I didn't want to bother 
them.  But I checked and there haven't been any cases of 
sodium bicarbonation lately," Chloe answered.  She  could 
feel the look Nick was giving her and fought not to smile.
     "Maybe you should call them."
     "They'll be back in a couple of days, Nick.  I know 
what I'm doing, I can handle it!"  Chloe cried, perhaps too 
loudly, she thought, noticing the other people in the lobby 
glancing in her direction.
     "You can't even keep track of your partner!" Nick 
cried.
     "Guess I've always had that problem," Chloe muttered 
and she knew he heard her.
     "Phone for you, miss," one of the desk clerks came over 
to them to announce.
     "That's got to be Mickey," said Chloe, wondering why he 
hadn't used his cell phone.  Oh  shoot, she thought as she 
patted her pocket and realized her phone must be up in her 
room.  She followed the desk clerk to the house phone and 
picked it up.  "Chloe Grant," she said.
     "Where in hell are you?" 
     "Excuse me?" Chloe said, her eyebrows going up.  She
recognized Fox Mulder's voice, but not why he was speaking to 
her that way.  Nick had sensed something was wrong and he was 
walking over to her.
     "I trusted you," Mulder said.
     "What--?" Chloe didn't understand and she didn't like 
this.  Her pulse was pounding and she was scared.  This was 
not like her boss, her friend.  "I don't know what you're 
talking about," she said, trying to reason with him.  "I'm in 
New York, Mickey and I were called out on a case and we--"
     "I know where you are.  I just want you to tell me 
where  my sister is!"
     "We left her with your moth--"
     "I know you left her with my mother," Fox snapped.  
"She's gone."
     "Your mother's gone?" Chloe asked, dread filling her 
stomach.  The line went staticky for a moment.
     "Samantha.  She's gone.  Again."  Mulder said.  The 
'and it's all your fault' was merely implied.
     Chloe didn't know what to say or do.  She felt as 
though she'd had all the wind knocked out of her.  She felt 
tears burn in her eyes and Nick's presence beside her.  She 
swallowed hard and forced herself to be strong.  "Let me talk 
to Dana," she said.

-----

     Dana Scully Mulder took the receiver from her 
husband's hand, holding it lightly while she stared at
him.  She was angry with him.  Angry for several 
reasons.  The first was the fact that he was apparently 
blaming Chloe Grant for the disappearance of his sister.  
She glared at him, the look on her face clearly saying 'How 
dare you?'
     Chloe must've felt horrible after the way Mulder had 
spoken to her.  Dana herself was feeling uneasy about the 
whole situation.  She'd only heard half of the conversation, 
coming into their suite a few minutes before, with an 
armload of takeout cartons.
     Bringing the phone to her ear, Dana mouthed the words, 
"We're going to talk," before lowering her eyes.
     "Scully,"  she said, using her maiden name for the 
first time in a long time.  She needed to use it in order to 
convey her feelings to Mulder--telling him exactly how upset 
she really was.
     Chloe was thrown off, perhaps a little confused.
     "Dana,"  she said quietly.  "What the hell is going 
on?"
     "It's okay, Chloe.  Mulder and I will deal with this 
ourselves.  Try not to worry too much.  I'll call you as 
soon as I hear something, okay?"
     There was a slight pause as Chloe tried to sort out 
the mixture of emotions that were running through her.  
Scully only had sympathy for the young woman.  She had no 
way of knowing exactly what Mulder had said to Chloe before 
she had come in to hear the last accusing phrase. 
     Dana wanted to deal with Mulder as quickly as 
possible, therefore saying a quick goodbye to Chloe, before 
the agent could ask more questions.

-----

     Dana's words offered absolutely zero comfort.  "Mulder 
and I will deal with this ourselves,"  Dana had said.  And 
she'd used her maiden name.
     Chloe Grant fidgeted nervously, feeling her stomach 
turning in turmoil.  Samantha--Sammi missing?  The very 
thought made Chloe feel as though she had lost a sister or 
something.  A moment later, Chloe became aware of how 
extremely close Nick  was standing to her.  In that very 
moment, she could feel herself losing control of her 
emotions.  Too many things were happening too quickly and 
Chloe was at a complete loss.
     "Chloe, what was that all about?"  
     Nicholas Shane, always picking up easily on the way 
she felt.  The only man who'd ever been able to guess her 
expression.  The only one to see her feelings in her eyes.  
The only man she'd really loved.
     "I can't explain it,"  she mumbled.  "I don't want to 
talk about it."  She started to turn, but he took hold of 
her arm.  The cold look she gave him didn't make him release 
her.
     "I'm sorry if I suggested that you were incompetent, 
Chloe,"  he whispered.  His eyes were locked with hers and 
she found herself entranced.  She couldn't have looked away, 
even if she'd wanted to.  She listened as he continued, "I 
want us to be able to trust each other again.  I've been 
thinking about you lately--"  he paused, taking a deep 
breath, "Look, Chloe, we've got to be able to share things 
and not only about this case--"
     She couldn't take it any longer.  "Nick, what we had 
has been destroyed."
     "Chloe, don't say that."
     "What are you trying to say, Nick?  Are you trying to 
say that you want to try again?  Are you asking for my 
forgiveness?  Because if you are--"  
     Chloe was cut off.  The soft touch of his lips took 
her completely by surprise.  She began to struggle, but Nick 
had already taken a firm hold on her waist, deepening the 
kiss.  To her utter shock, Chloe found herself responding to 
the familiarity of his embrace.  She pushed all thought from 
her mind, lingering only in the most solid thing at her 
disposal.  Nicholas Shane.  
     For a moment, he was both reliable friend and trusted 
lover.  Then it all came to a screeching halt.  The kiss 
broke and with it the spell that Nick held over her in those 
few seconds.
     "Don't you *ever* do that again!"  She meant her 
voice to sound exasperated and angry, but she saw that he 
knew she wasn't completely sure of what she wanted.  Setting 
her lips in a tight line, Chloe turned from Nick and walked 
away.  She had better things to worry about right now, like 
the disappearance of her partner.

-----

     Michael Callavelo could feel his legs pumping to their 
fullest extent.  He was thankful that, like Chloe, he 
usually went for a morning run.  It at least kept him in 
shape.   Even though he hated running.
     He could see the woman yards ahead of him, her long 
black coat billowing around her as she ran.  She was 
surprisingly swift footed, making Mickey wonder if he'd ever 
catch up to her.
     A quick glance over his shoulder showed Mickey that 
the thugs were catching up to him.  Instantly he knew his 
mistake: too quick at the start off.  He hadn't paced 
himself and had already spent all his energy.  He became 
conscious of his labored breathing and the sting of his 
lungs as they struggled for more oxygen.  His steps 
faltered, slowing.  
     "Come on!"  a distant voice called.  Purity had 
stopped her flight and was standing impatiently waiting for 
him.  She gestured with her arms, as though he'd gain breath 
from the flapping.  Mickey picked up his pace, oblivious to 
the pain in his chest and legs.   As soon as he neared her, 
Purity resumed her quick retreat, beckoning him to follow.  
     She disappeared into an alley.  Mickey followed.  
Rounding the corner, he saw a dark colored sedan parked 
there.  He watched the woman slip through the door, seating 
herself in the driver's seat.  She continued to flap her 
arms, indicating that Mickey should get in the car.  She 
leaned across the seat and opened the door for him.  He 
slipped in and leaned back, his gasping turning to a slight 
wheezing noise.
     "Hold on,"  she said.  He didn't even have a chance to 
register the command before she had the car in gear and was 
pulling out of the alley.
     Mickey glanced over the woman, towards the direction 
from which they had come.  The men that had been chasing 
them were a few steps from the opening of the alley.
     Pressed back into his seat, Mickey felt sick when they 
fishtailed out of the entrance.  For an instant, he was 
reminded of the car accident that he and Chloe had been in 
during their first case.  He was not ready to relive that, 
closing his eyes instead and gripping the handle beside the 
door.
     It wasn't until he felt the speed of the car slowing 
that he allowed himself to open his eyes.
     "Afraid?"  she asked innocently.  Her voice was quiet, 
even and caring.  Always in control, he thought, amusedly.
     "Not of you," he answered truthfully, "them."
     She didn't say anything, her smile just made him 
comfortable.  It wasn't as though he were misplacing trust.  
After all, it might be nice to have someone to talk to 
considering Chloe was all wrapped up in her own personal 
problems.  Affecting to the case as it was, Mickey found 
himself easily forgiving his partner.
     He grumbled something else, unsure of what to 
say to this stranger.  
     "Still up for coffee?"  she asked.  Mickey was 
relaxed, but concerned.  What had those men wanted and would 
they try to go after Chloe too?  An overwhelming fear 
overcame him and he pressed his back into the chair, rubbing 
his temples.
     "Look, I hate to do this to you after you've just 
apparently saved my ass, but my partner could possibly be in 
danger--"
     "Partner?  What are you, a copper or something?"
     "Close,"  Mickey blushed a bit, remembering his 
father. He'd  been part of the Chicago PD.  Copper, that was 
putting it mildly, he thought.  "I'm with the FBI."
     "FBI?  Ooch.  So, what were those guys after?" The 
question was asked in innocence, but Mickey wasn't sure just 
how much he could reveal to this stranger.  
     "I have no idea,"  he answered.  And it was the truth.  
He'd only assumed they were part of the clan of muggers he'd 
recently deterred.  The more he thought about it, the more 
the unease grew.  They definitely weren't part of the same 
clan.  Had it something to do with their recent case?  "Have 
you got a cellular phone I could use?"
     Without answering, the woman handed him an expensive 
piece of electronic art.  This top of the line phone had 
Mickey confused for a moment.
     "Punch in the number, then hit send.  Just like any 
other phone,"  she said, a smile touching the corner of her 
mouth.  He was glad that he couldn't see the left side of 
her face, because he was sure that the smile would not have 
looked as charming if the scars obscured it. 
     "Thanks,"  he said as he followed the instructions.  
He waited for Chloe to pick up the phone.
     After ten rings, his fingers began to shake.  

-----

     Nick Shane watched Chloe retreat for only a moment 
before he was distracted by his cell phone. The brief 
conversation, with one of his agents, left him feeling 
giddy.  He started after Chloe, already knowing what room 
number she was staying in.
     He hadn't known why he checked, but he had.  Sometimes 
he did things on impulse.  Especially when it came to Chloe.  
She was so perceptive, so in tune with the things going on 
around her.  Except lately.  Lately she'd been fighting 
inner turmoil.  Most of it was, understandably, because of 
him, but some of it had to do with her partner.  A bloody 
Geno.  A good looking Geno.  A jealousy-invoking Italian 
boy.  
     Nick forced those thoughts away.  It would be hard 
enough to earn Chloe's trust again without getting jealous 
over some wussy.  And he would earn her trust, even if it 
was just to get through this case.  This case would put him 
on top, regardless of whether Chloe was along for the ride 
or not.
     The elevator ride was calming on his nerves which 
seemed frayed and at their max.  What he needed was a good 
strong cup of coffee, however, from the report he'd just 
received that wouldn't be forthcoming.  He had to get Chloe 
and head over to the newest crime scene across town.

-----

     "Mulder," said Dana as she hung up the phone, and 
turned to her husband.  Instantly she saw his eyes change, 
the anger in them growing cold as he closed himself off from 
her.  Her heart sank, thinking that she'd said and done 
exactly the wrong thing.  She reached out for him,
thinking that her touch could smooth things over, but he'd 
already walked away from her.  "Fox," she said, softening her 
voice, but not letting go any of the seriousness.  He 
continued to stare broodingly out of the window at the dark 
storm clouds. "I don't think you were right to speak to Chloe 
that way."  Silence.  Nothing from him.  Damn it.  "This
isn't her fault."
     Mulder whirled on her, fury in his eyes.  "You're 
right," he snapped and Dana's heart started beating faster 
with fear.  She had only seen Mulder like this a few times, 
and this was the worst.  "It's my fault." He grabbed his tote 
bag from the end of the bed and stomped toward the door.
     Dana was closer and quicker and she blocked it with her 
body. "Where are you going?"
     "To find my sister."  His dark look warned her to get 
out of his way.
     Dana forced herself to breathe, and it was hard.  The 
pause between them seemed to stretch forever and she wondered 
if he would really knock her to the floor to get out of the 
room.  "What about me?" she asked finally, softly.
     Mulder crumpled as though she'd punched him in the 
stomach.  Instant tears flooded his eyes and his bag dropped 
to the floor.  He didn't say anything, just stood there 
looking brokenhearted.  Dana felt her eyes burn at seeing him 
so vulnerable and so hurting.  She reached up and touched his 
face and he moved into her caress as a flower follows the 
sun.  Dana wrapped her arms around her husband and felt
him shake against her. "It's all right," she murmured into 
his ear,  "We'll find her.  Together."
     Her words made the world of difference to Mulder, who
continued to wonder if there was really enough room in 
Scully's heart for both him and Samantha.  He felt like a dog 
for having doubted her, again.  He squeezed her against his 
body, tight, hard enough to feel her heart beat, the life 
flowing through her.  She was real.  And she loved him, he 
had to remember that.
     Dana hugged him back and then released him.  
Reluctantly, he let her go.  "Come on," she said, picking up 
her bag.  "We'd better get moving."  Mulder watched her move 
past him out the door, amazed and awed by this woman he 
loved.  Then he followed her.

-----

     Chloe was doing sit-ups in her hotel room, trying to 
relax.  What had she been thinking, letting Nick kiss her?
     And liking it?
     She rolled her eyes and got up.  She couldn't think 
about that now.  She grabbed the case file and sat down on 
the bed, nudging her bag and her cell phone out of the way, 
sinking into concentration. 
     The knock on her door thirty seconds later surprised 
her.  Chloe frowned as she rose to answer it. Mickey, she 
thought.  About time. She opened the door.
     "Nick?  What the hell are you doing up here?" she 
demanded, "Are you following me?"  The words sounded harsh 
even to her own ears.  Great way to show you're over him, 
Chloe, she thought.
     "There's been another death," Nick said, completely
professionally.
     "Where?  When?" asked Chloe.
     "Come on," he said, taking her arm. 
     She began to go with him, but then stopped and pulled 
away. "Mickey," she said.
     Nick shook his head slightly.  "I tried to call him, 
but...no answer.  Guess you're not the only one who forgets 
their cell phone," he said, his eyes going to her phone which 
lay on the bed.
     Chloe hesitated, then darted back into the room to get 
her phone.  "Okay," she said, "But we'll leave him a message 
in the lobby.  He should be back here any second."  Since he 
was supposed to meet us an hour ago, she thought, but didn't 
let it show.
     "Are you sure you don't just want to pop next door and 
leave a note on his pillow?"  Nick said and regretted the 
sarcastic words the moment they were out of his mouth.
     Chloe's eyes narrowed at him and she snapped, "Maybe 
I'll do just that.  Except I don't have the key to the door."
     "Chloe, I'm sorry," Nick said, reaching for her arm, 
but she moved out of the way, crossing her arms protectively 
over her chest.  "I didn't mean..."
     "Yes," she said, "You did.  Come on, there's a body out 
there." 

-----

     "Seems a little strange to be going for coffee after 
almost being mugged and then chased by thugs," Mickey 
commented, feeling ill at ease in the crowded, noisy coffee 
shop.
     "Welcome to New York," Purity told him lightly, sipping 
at her cappuccino.  
     Mickey glanced down at his plain coffee and felt like a 
boring, gray-suited government official.  Which he was.  "You 
don't know what those men wanted?" he asked, watching her 
face.
     Her eyes changed as she silently shook her head no.  
Something like fear crossed them, a fear so strong she 
couldn't hide it.  She knew something that she wasn't 
telling.  Mickey was sure of it.  *But what?* he asked 
himself.  There were no answers.  Chloe would know if she
were here, he thought, she always picked up on things like 
that.
     Mickey noticed the mysterious woman across the table 
from him watching him, so he looked up and smiled, a little 
embarrassed to have been caught so lost in thought.  "So..." 
he said, wishing he were better at small talk, "What do you 
do?"
     "I'm a flutist," she replied, meeting his eyes coolly.  
"I play with the symphony on weekends, and during the week I 
work with a chamber group."
     I hate small talk, Mickey thought, nodding 
interestedly.  "So how'd you get into that?" he asked.
     She shrugged and sipped her coffee, not answering.  Her 
eyes were clear when they met his.  "You don't like 
questions," he said, getting the message.
     She didn't respond at first, and then her lips curved 
up alluringly in a small smile.  "The air of mystery is very 
important."
     "I'll bet," said Mickey, without thinking.
     "You like mysteries, you're an FBI agent," she said and 
he realized she was teasing him.
     He laughed, feeling a little embarrassed.  "Yeah," he 
said.  The conversation died and he searched for something to 
say.
     "How do you like your coffee?" she asked, watching him 
drain the mug.
     "It has an interesting taste to it," Mickey admitted, 
thinking he was probably just too accustomed to Bureau 
coffee, which was the nastiest stuff on the planet.  He 
seemed to remember Chloe had even offered to analyze some for 
him, while she drank a nice safe cup of tea.
     "They have a special brew," Purity said, and smiled at 
him again.  
     Something about that smile, Mickey thought, but he 
couldn't put his finger on it.  He seemed to be having a hard 
time focusing his thoughts.  Strong coffee, he thought, but 
then noticed he was having a hard time focusing his vision, 
too.   "What--?" he started to say, but then the room began 
to spin and he found it all going very dark.

-----

     "Nice place," Chloe commented tightly, too conscious of 
Nick standing directly behind her, almost touching her but 
not quite.  
     "You could do worse," he said, flipping the light 
switch.  The bare bulb in the center of the ceiling had been 
covered with red cellophane, lending a sickening glow to the 
crime scene.  The black leather of the sofa and the 
fluorescent painting on the wall seemed to be
stained with blood.
     "Turn that off," Chloe said.  He looked at her, but he 
did.  She felt uneasy, not just because of him, but because 
of the bodies.  Because there was no blood.  Just a white 
crystalline substance in the form of a human being in the 
middle of the shag carpet.  It would, no doubt, prove
to be sodium bicarbonate, just like the other.  The victim 
was a male, with a pair of white starched boxer shorts down 
around his ankles.   It looked to Chloe as though death had 
to have been practically instantaneous, and he had fallen 
backwards onto the rug after crystallization, which would 
account for the bits that were scattered around him.  Impact 
crater.
     The uneasiness in her stomach was beginning to give way 
to the excitement of being on a roll, that feeling that at 
any second, the next thought would be the one that cracked 
the case.  Chloe moved in closer.
     The other victim hadn't fallen over.  It was a woman, 
thin, in underwear.  She was on her knees, in front of where 
the man had been standing.
     Her head was gone.
     "Not your usual dead-john-dead-hooker scene, is it?"
commented Nick wryly.
     Chloe turned and looked at him.  For a moment, she'd 
almost forgotten his presence.  "No," she admitted.  "Any 
thoughts?"
     Nick shook his head, and he looked angry with himself 
for not having any insight.  
     "It's different from the last victim," Chloe said.  
"You have to wonder why the change."  Nick said nothing and 
she looked at the bodies again.  "Why the killer took the 
head."  Still nothing from Nick. "That was your cue," she 
said.
     "For what?" he asked, his eyes riveted to the scene.
     "I don't know," she said, crossing her arms and 
beginning to walk in a circle around the strange tableau.  
"You're pretty  intuitive, you're usually able to come up 
with a good theory quickly," she looked into his face again, 
but kept walking, "Unless you've changed?"
     "Only for the better," he said, smirking, but his heart 
wasn't in it.  She could see that.  Something about the crime 
scene disturbed him greatly, more than he was trying to let 
on, and Chloe was dying to know what it was.
     "Come on, Nick, you know something. Clue me in."  The 
rate of her pacing increased, and his gaze never wavered from 
the figures.  "You know something.  Is the killer a man or a 
woman?"
     "Man, I think."
     "Why?"
     "He cut off the woman's head.  A woman would have cut 
off the man's head, probably mutilated the body, too."
     "Okay--motive?"
     "I don't know."  Nick's voice was shaking.
     Chloe's stomach turned over, but she vowed not to let 
him affect her. She walked faster around the room, trying to 
see it from every angle, trying to pick up something she'd 
missed, the killer's  viewpoint or at least the frenetic 
energy that accompanied the urge to kill.  This  was a
serial killer; he had to enjoy what he did.   "He must've had 
a way to carry out the head," she said.  "So he must have 
planned to do it this way."
     "Brought it with him.  Bowling bag, maybe."
     "You think he's a bowler?"
     Nick shook his head quickly.  "Right size, right 
shape."
     "Why did he take the head?"
     "I don't know."
     "How did he do this?"  Silence.  "How'd he do it?  
Nick?"
     "I DON'T KNOW!"  Nick shouted at her, then turned 
around quickly, tearing his eyes from the scene and grabbing 
her arms, stopping her walk.  "Stop it, Chloe."
     Her eyes were wide on him.    "Okay," she said amiably.  
They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, both of 
them breathing hard.  He'd been close, she could sense it.  
But he was afraid.
     A second later, Nick released her and moved away, 
dragging the palms of his hands over his eyes and down his 
face.  He was pale, Chloe noticed for the first time, and 
wondered if it was a pallor from the city.  He was working 
too hard.  His head drooped between his shoulders and she 
could see how tired he was.  It couldn't be easy, being
in his shoes, she thought. The New York Bureau devoured 
bright young agents and chewed them up.  Leaving nothing, 
usually.  Nothing at all. "Let's get out of here," he said 
finally, and they went out of the apartment together.
     In the cab on the way back to the hotel, Chloe phoned 
the local authorities and gave her okay to remove the bodies, 
telling them she'd like to view the autopsy.  They told her 
it'd be a couple of hours.  She agreed.
     The cab stopped in front of the hotel.  Chloe was a 
little surprised when Nick made no move to get out.  "You 
want to grab some dinner?" she offered, not even bothering to 
fight the memory of all the tea and sandwich sessions they'd 
shared.  There was a case to be solved.
     Nick shook his head.  Chloe nodded, feeling foolish for 
having asked.  She was the one who kept insisting it was 
over, after all.  "You look tired," she said, not able to 
stop the words.  "Try to get some rest."  Nick nodded, 
looking into her eyes.  Finally Chloe closed the door 
to the cab and stepped back, watching it glide into the path 
of traffic.

     It was dark--when had that happened?--and the smell 
of snow was in the air.  Chloe shivered, suddenly aware that 
it was cold, and moved to enter the hotel.  She pressed the 
button for the elevator, still lost in thought, and suddenly 
remembered her partner.  Mickey.  She checked her watch and 
reached for her cell phone.  He'd better be in his
room, she thought, and he has an awful lot of explaining to 
do.

-----

     Chloe Grant felt tiny butterflies flexing their wings 
inside her stomach.  Still no word from Mickey and a hell of 
a headache to boot. 
     Where the hell was he, anyway?  Why hadn't he called?  
Was he in trouble?
     Questions tumbled through Chloe's mind until she drew a 
complete blank.  At this rate, she mused, I won't even 
understand what they're doing during the autopsy.  So many 
things were swirling around in her conscience that Chloe 
didn't know where to start.  Where Mickey was concerned, her 
conscience worked at high speed, not sure what to do about 
him.  When she considered Nick, on the other hand, confusion 
set in.
     Finally, Chloe sat on the edge of the bed and flopped 
back.  She folded her hands behind her head and stared 
blankly at the ceiling.  She watched one tiny black mark on 
the wall, as though she thought it might pick up and move.  
At least it was keeping her from driving herself insane by 
thinking in circles.
     When the little black dot actually began to move, Chloe 
thought she was already insane.  Well, until she realized it 
was a fly.
     "God, Chloe, enough of this.  Either close your eyes 
and rest, or go witness that autopsy.  Quit trying to make 
yourself crazy!"  she scolded, closing her eyes for a moment.  
A rest would be so nice right about now.
     Except the cell phone began to ring.
     Immediately springing for the phone, Chloe picked it up 
and promptly said, "Where the hell are you?"
     There was a startled silence on the other end as the 
person contemplated an answer.  "Liberty General Hospital, 
ma'am."
     "Oh,"  Chloe said, a little embarrassed that she'd 
assume it was Mickey.  At hearing the name of the hospital, 
though, Chloe felt a terrible sickness tingling in her gut.  
"Is something wrong?  What can I help you with?"
     "Uh, slow down, ma'am," the man on the phone said, as 
though she were some hysterical woman waiting for the worst 
of news. "I'm just calling to report that a man claiming to 
be Michael Callavelo was admitted a few hours ago under 
anesthetic.  He came out of it and demanded a telephone.  
Doctors wouldn't allow it because he had no ID.  He gave us 
this number and asked us to see if you'd come down and verify 
him for us."
     Chloe thought for a moment.  No ID, huh, Mick?  She 
suppressed an ironic laugh.  What have you gotten yourself 
into now?   "Yes, I'll be there in a half an hour," she 
answered and pressed the END button.  Haven't you guys ever 
heard of fingerprints?  Lazy idiots.

-----

     "...and that's how it happened, Chloe.  I honestly 
didn't think she would pull such a nasty prank.  I'll tell 
you, though, it's the best damned coffee I've ever tasted in 
my life,"  Mickey explained as they rode in the back seat of 
a cab.
     "Well, Mickey, I can't say she really did you any 
favors.  I mean, she's got your ID--"  Chloe was silenced 
when Mickey held up his hand.
     "Suspicions, suspicions.  Chloe, let me worry about my 
own problems, huh?  Besides, I have an idea how to find her."
     "And that is?"
     "She said she was a flutist with the symphony."
     Chloe snorted, she couldn't help it.  "If you believed 
that, Mickey, then you've seriously got more problems than I 
had at first thought."
     "Hey, don't you talk to me about problems, Chloe,"  
Mickey said, finally getting his share of sarcasm into the 
issue, "I'm not the one who can't even handle looking at the 
AC here."
     "Don't go there, Mickey, it's none of your business,"  
Chloe said, biting her tongue to keep from having to swallow 
her foot.
     "It's none of my business, yet it affects our case 
beyond belief? I think it's time you set it straight.  I can 
put up with so much beating around the bush, but--"
     "Oh, that's it, is it?"  Chloe asked.  "I'm beating 
around the bush?  Really, Mickey, it's none of your business 
and it'll stay that way.  Especially considering you've just 
been around town all day getting into trouble instead of 
investigating this case that you're so sure *I'm* messing 
up."
     "Chloe--"
     "I'll have you know," she continued, sharply cutting 
him off, "that Nick thinks our killer is a male.  The last 
victim had her head chopped off.  Nick thinks he carried the 
head out in a bowling ball bag or something similar."  
     By the time Chloe was finished explaining, they were 
already in front of the local FBI headquarters, the cab's 
meter ticking mercilessly away and raising their fare by the 
minute.
     Mickey wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.  If Chloe 
wanted to play it that way, he would put up with it.  After 
their first case together, he was sure he never wanted to 
experience those fights again. Keep it smooth, keep her happy 
and you'll be happy.  That was his motive now.  Tread softly, 
Mickey, she's extremely under the weather here.
     "Look, Chloe, I'm sorry I didn't meet you today.  I 
know you've got enough to think about lately,"  he 
apologized, holding the cab door open as she exited, after 
paying the driver.  "And I think we're going to have to rent 
a car.  I'm sick of taking cabs everywhere in New York.  
Especially since you risk your life every time you try to 
hail one."  His humor seemed to work, making Chloe's frown 
turn up at the edges. 
     "Okay.  How about you do that while I mess around with 
this autopsy.  I know how much they bother you."  She patted 
his shoulder and started to the door.  Mickey watched her 
until she disappeared into the building, then he turned back 
to the cab and climbed in.

-----

     Nicholas Shane was seated in the lobby of the hotel, 
holding his head in his hands.  He wasn't sure he wanted to 
know how the autopsy had gone, being absolutely positive that 
they wouldn't find anything new.  Why he was sitting in the 
lobby waiting for Chloe to return was eluding him at the 
moment, too.  
     He heard the jingling of keys and the heavy footfalls 
of someone who was just coming in.  This late at night there 
wasn't much traffic through the lobby, so Nick looked up.  To 
his surprise, the five-foot eleven-inch frame of Michael 
Callavelo was standing over him.
     "Fancy seeing you here,"  Mickey said pleasantly.  
     "Yeah.  I was waiting for Chloe,"  Nick answered.
     "Apparently.  Is there something I can help you with?"  
Mickey was trying to be hospitable without seeming too 
suspicious.  "Has something new come up regarding the case?" 
     "No.  No--I would have called right away.  I just 
wanted to know what was up with the autopsy.  She--Look, I 
should probably get going."
     "Hold up for a minute, Agent Shane.   I just returned 
to get a fresh suit.  I kinda had a mishap today.  I'm going 
back to pick up Agent Grant, if you'd like a lift."
     Nick regarded him carefully for a minute.  This dork 
was Chloe's esteemed partner?  Was the man so naive?  Nick 
smiled, nodding slowly.  "I'd appreciate that."  Nick 
definitely would have to check out Callavelo's background.  
How the hell had he managed to make it into the FBI?  Maybe, 
Nick thought, you're just underestimating him.  He sure as 
hell hoped that was the case, because if it wasn't he was 
beginning to feel very sorry for Chloe.

-----

     Chloe was circling the autopsy table and annoying the 
hell out of the medical examiner when Mickey and Nick 
returned.  She was surprised to see the both of them 
together, not to mention a little suspicious, but she was 
really glad they were here.  She had something to show them 
and it was easier if they were both there.
     "Come up with anything yet, Chloe?"  Mickey asked, 
completely avoiding looking at the body.  Nick seemed to 
cringe a bit at the use of her first name, but she chose to 
ignore him.  After all, he had no claims on her.  And Mickey 
could call her whatever he wanted.
     "You might want to sit down for this one, folks."  
Chloe gestured for the door, as she peeled off her latex 
gloves.
     "What's going on?" Nick asked, as she lead them out the 
door and down the hallway to the ME's office.  Once they 
reached it, Chloe sat in the ME's chair and made herself 
comfortable.  Putting on the airs of an undisturbed 
professional, Chloe reached for the top-middle drawer of the 
desk where she'd last seen the vial.  She pulled it out and 
held it up to the florescent light.
     "What's that?"  Nick asked, leaning forward so that he 
could get a better look at the contents of the thin, 
cylindrical tube.  It was a bright red, almost a ruby color.   
     "That, my friend, is a deadly poison.  In truth, it's 
got unknown origins.  As of yet, anyway.   We tested it and 
it's got the genetic makeup of mammalian blood, undetermined 
whether or not it's human,"  Chloe had to stop herself before 
she slipped into a complete autopsy-report mode.  Clearing 
her throat she continued, "The ME has sent it in for further 
testing, but we won't know for certain until tomorrow.  And 
that's all she wrote," Chloe finished, leaning back.  Her 
eyes were fixed on the tiny vial and didn't leave it when 
Nick asked his next question.
     "Where did you find it?"
     "There was a little packet of it jammed in the man's 
throat."  Chloe narrowed her eyes when Nick began to laugh.  
"What's so funny?" 
     "Well,"  Nick cleared his throat, controlling his 
laughter, "uh, he was in the position--"
     "Position?"  Mickey cut in.  "What do you mean?"
     "Don't worry about it, Mickey.  It has something to do 
with the way we found the two victims."
     "Oh, okay,"  Mickey said, blushing.  She'd done it 
again.  One of his vulnerabilities--his sexuality.  And she'd 
hit the nail on the head again.  Damn!  Mickey hoped to God 
that Nick hadn't picked up on it, but realized, with relief, 
that the other agent was a little too preoccupied with 
studying Chloe's face.
     In truth, Mickey wasn't sure which he preferred. 
     "A packet?"  Mickey asked, easing his mind a bit by 
turning his attention back to the case at hand.  "Was there 
something on the packet?"
     "No, but there were tiny holes in it.  The stuff was 
leaking out slowly.  I'd hazard to guess that if it touched 
skin it would be absorbed that way.  The ME was just lucky he 
was wearing latex,"  Chloe explained.
     "Well, you know what they say..."  Nick began, but the 
glares that both Mickey and Chloe shot at him, shut him up 
quickly.
     "Like a teabag," Chloe added.  "Except smaller.  It's 
hard to explain without showing you.  Let's just say that by 
the time we found it there was still a lot of the liquid 
left.  If that helps to explain the details of the bag."
     "Any ideas where you might get something like that?"  
Mickey asked, trying to think of the little bag in terms of 
clues.  "Can we look at it and see?"
     "I wouldn't know where to get something like that.  My 
guess says that you'd have to make it."  Chloe stood up and 
walked around the desk to the door.  "Let's go take a look."
     They followed her back to the autopsy room, where the 
medical examiner was just finishing cleaning up.  He nodded 
politely at Chloe as she led them across the room. 
     "There it is,"  she said, pointing at what looked like 
a small draw-stringed bag. 
     "Jesus!" Nick said, suddenly.  "I've seen those before.  
They're the newest commodity in New York.  Little incense 
satchels.  Hang 'em up in your car and they release the scent 
slowly through the tiny pores.  Last for months, those 
things."
     "Well, where do you get them?"  Chloe asked, hurriedly.  
This could be the best lead they'd have.
     "Uhm, slight problem--"  Nick stopped and looked at the 
eager faces of the partners.  "You can find them everywhere."

-----

T h e  X - F i l e s
Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison

by Char Hall and Megan Reilly
[lazydark@aol.com & eponine@prodigy.net]

8/3/96-10/30/96
______________________________________________
  
Part 2


     "Then there's no point in even looking into it," said 
Mickey.  Neither Chloe nor Nick looked at him for a moment 
and he just waited.  Feeling as though something were going 
on between them and he should leave the room.  He looked from 
his partner to the other agent and began to feel more than a 
little irritated.  He was definitely going to have to talk to 
Chloe about this.  "If these things are available 
everywhere, it'd be looking like a needle in a haystack."
     Finally Chloe looked at him.  "You're probably right," 
she agreed, her eyes meeting his but then slowly sliding back 
over to Nick, but only for a second this time.  "But I'm 
going to check it out anyway.  Want to come?"
     Mickey wasn't even certain she was asking him--she was 
facing him but looking at Nick.  But he answered anyway.  
"I'm sure you can handle it," he said carefully.  They had 
been partners for some time now, he trusted her and her 
instincts.  She *could* handle it.  But that didn't
mean he wouldn't still worry about her.
     "I have some other things to check into," Nick said 
with a shrug.
     "Right," said Chloe.  Mickey would have sworn her 
shoulders dropped an inch or so at Nick's answer.  What was 
going on?  he asked himself, thinking it couldn't be what he 
was thinking.  "See you later," Chloe said and started out of 
the room.
     "Chloe," Mickey called after her.
     "Yeah."
     "We need to talk later...okay?" he said, wondering if 
it was the right thing to do.  But he couldn't let this go on 
much longer...something was obviously eating Chloe up inside, 
and as her partner--no, as her friend--Mickey had to find 
out what it was.
     Chloe met his eyes for a long moment, looking almost 
worried. But then she nodded as casually as she could.  
"Sure."
     Mickey noticed that Nick was staring at him with 
strange, intense eyes.  He wondered why, but tried to ignore 
it.  "What're you up to?" he asked.  He needed to know.  Nick 
had said he had other things to check up on--if those were 
other leads that Nick was keeping from them, Mickey wanted to 
know about it, and wanted to know why.  He looked at the 
other man carefully.  He didn't trust the man.  Nick 
Shane was full of secrets, and that made Mickey suspicious.  
Especially because Chloe was working to keep some of those 
secrets, too.
     "I have other cases.  You  know how it goes," Nick 
replied tightly, then turned and left the room without 
another word.  Mickey frowned, watching him go, then went 
himself, checking his watch.  Ten thirty. Perfect.
     Just enough time to make the end of the symphony.

-----

     Nick switched on the computer in his office and rubbed 
his eyes while he waited for the machine to boot up.  All he 
saw when he closed his eyes was the interplay between Chloe 
and that partner of hers, and it made his shoulders tighten 
with anger.  "We'll talk later," Mickey had said to her.  
Nick ground his teeth.  When, he thought?  Over breakfast?  
Or before?  He hadn't missed the way Mickey had stared 
worriedly at her over the crime scene.
     He told himself that he wouldn't mind so much if her 
partner wasn't such a total clod.  Word had gotten back to 
him that the man had tossed his cookies in the middle of the 
autopsy of the first victim.  The grapevine reported that 
Mickey had been assigned to the X-Files as punishment for 
shooting his mouth off.  What does Chloe see in him?
Nick had to ask himself.
     He sighed, staring blankly at the computer screen.  
Then again, what did she ever see in me? he thought, knowing 
that Chloe had loved him intensely.  Had, he reminded 
himself.  That was the key word.  And what did she get in 
return?  Nothing. Less than nothing.
     Still, thought Nick, love like that couldn't just 
disappear.  Or be gotten over.  He loved her, always 
would...she had to feel the same way.  Somewhere in her 
heart, the love was still there.  He could see it in
her eyes every time she looked at him.
     The cursor blinking on the screen captured Nick's 
attention and his eyes focused on it.  Here we go, he 
thought, accessing the Bureau's personnel files.  He hit a 
snag when trying to spell Mickey's last name, but finally, 
finally, he found what he was looking for.
     He wasn't the only one.

-----

     At the soft knock on the door to the backstage dressing 
room, the woman almost dropped the manilla file folder she 
was reading from.  She frowned at the door and saw the knob 
turning in vain.  It was locked.  "Who is it?" she called, 
holding the open file against her chest.
     "Agent Callavelo--Mickey," came the answer.
     A small smile touched her lips as she quickly shoved 
the file into her music bag and she grabbed a manuscript to 
take its place in her hands.  Then she rose and unlocked the 
door.  "A surprise," she admitted, smiling mysteriously at 
him.
     "I thought you'd be playing," he admitted, standing in 
the doorway nervously.
     She placed a finger to her lips and ushered him inside, 
closing the door firmly and locking it behind him.  "This 
room is soundproofed, but the hallway is not.  And no, I'm 
not playing until the very last number.  I have a very 
special solo to perform."  She smirked as though amused by 
the lack of modesty in her words.  "My talents must 
be hoarded."
     "I'm sure," Mickey said.
     "Why are you here?" she asked, turning to sit back down 
on the folding chair in a swirl of long hair and black skirt.
     "Did you drug my coffee?" he demanded.
     Her calm expression didn't change.  "Of course not.  It 
was drugged?"
     She knew something.  A normal person, an *innocent* 
person, would have been surprised by the implication.  "Where 
did you go?"
     "When?"
     "When I fell under the table," Mickey said brusquely.
     "I went to get help," she said and looked like the 
Cheshire cat.  Everything about her expression and posture 
screamed, 'do you believe me?' with a mildly false innocence.
     But Mickey had no real reason to distrust her.  He had 
no reason to believe her, either, and he'd do well to 
remember that, he thought.  "Got another chair?" he asked, 
feeling uncomfortable standing.
     "So you've come to 'hang out'?" she said, hitting the 
words slightly as though they were foreign to her.  Even 
though she spoke with no trace of an accent.  Mickey frowned.  
She was a puzzle, all right.  
     One he intended to solve.  He nodded and leaned against 
the wall.  "Where are you from?"
     "You ask that like an investigator," she teased him.
     "Habit."  He waited for her to answer the question.  
She didn't.
     "What about you?" she said finally, after toying with 
her shiny silver flute as though adjusting it.  "Family?"  
Her hair fell heavily over one side of her face and she 
looked at him with one exposed eye.
     Mickey nodded, approaching her.  She seemed to sense 
the change in the air between them.  She straightened in her 
chair and set the flute aside as though she wasn't sure if 
she would have to defend herself.  "Why are you here?" she 
asked in a low voice, her eyes locked on his, her chin tilted 
at a high angle to see him standing so close beside her.
     "I was curious.  Intrigued."
     "Was?  That implies you're not any more."
     "Semantics."
     "So you are interested?"  The smile had returned.
     Mickey's hand reached down and slid her hair back, 
touching the damaged side of her face.  She jerked at the 
first contact of his skin with hers.  "What happened to you?" 
he asked.
     Her eyes darkened almost to black, a wall dropping into 
place. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, not looking 
away.
     Mickey didn't answer and watched tears fill her eyes.  
She blinked and they threatened to fall.  She tried to turn 
her head, but his hand held her firm, so she just looked 
away.  A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye.  "It 
was that bad," Mickey whispered, kneeling down to be on her 
level.
     Taking a deep breath, she nodded and swallowed hard, 
then met his eyes again.  "Yes," she whispered back, her 
voice breaking into silence.  She raised her chin and met his 
lips with hers, her arms coming up around his neck.  His hand 
threaded deep into the thick silk of her hair as he returned 
her kiss, heightening the sensation and level of involvement.
     With a groan, Purity pulled out of his arms.  "I have 
to go," she said, grabbing her flute from where she'd set it 
and almost running from the room, leaving Mickey staring 
after her with his mouth hanging open for nearly a full 
minute.
     His first thought was to go up and hear her play.  But 
then he realized opportunity was knocking, and turned to look 
around the room for some sort of a clue about this mysterious 
woman who felt so good in his arms.  He walked over to her 
music bag, which she'd knocked over in her haste.
     And saw the file.  His file.

-----

     Nick had finally managed to spell Callavelo and pull up
Mickey's personnel record, history, application, and resume.  
Being high man on the totem pole had its perks.
     He couldn't believe what he was reading.  A personal 
note of commendation from X-Files Division Chief Mulder on 
Mickey and Chloe's first case together--something about 
orphans and green blood.  Nick choked on his coffee when he 
read that.  He didn't know it got better.
     Mickey had been assigned to the X-Files as punishment 
for badmouthing the Bureau's actions in Waco in front of 
Janet Reno.  And to the press!  What the hell was he 
thinking?  Nick wondered, amazed.  That takes guts, he 
thought, or incredible stupidity.  And he was betting
on the latter.
     Then he read about Mickey's exploits in his one and 
only forensics course in the Academy.  "So he was the one..." 
murmured Nick, amazed and fascinated, scrolling back through 
the pages to see what else could possibly be there.
     When he read that Mickey had entered into the Jesuit 
priesthood but left it for the FBI, Nick started laughing so 
hard that he almost snorted coffee out his nose.  But as he 
set the cup safely aside, he looked at the screen again and 
realized it had to be true.  Weird, thought Nick. And that 
meant Chloe's partner was definitely deeper and more 
interesting than he'd given him credit for.
Nick didn't like that.
     What kind of guy is this? thought Nick, completely 
puzzled, as he leaned back in his seat and tried to stare 
down the computer screen.  Most of the priests Nick knew left 
the priesthood to marry and give their forthcoming offspring 
a name.  Of course, those were Catholic priests, Nick 
thought, but still...
     Nick's feet hit the floor with a dull thud as the 
connections found their way home, remembering Mickey's blush 
in the autopsy room when he and Chloe were discussing the 
victims, and Chloe's response--explaining but not really 
explaining.  Mickey looking confused and not laughing along 
with them.
     Nick was now completely convinced that Chloe and Mickey
weren't sleeping together.  He shut down the computer quickly 
and pulled on his overcoat.  He had to see Chloe.

-----

     Chloe lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the 
darkness.  She'd tried closing her eyes, but sleep refused to 
come.  It's late, she thought, looking at the clock again.  
It had been a hell of a day.  But she wasn't sleepy. She sat 
up when she heard the knock on the door.
     "Who's there?" she asked.
     "It's me."
     "C'mon in, Mickey," she called, and then squinted into 
the light as the door opened.  Chloe reached for the bedside 
lamp and turned it on, throwing back the blankets and 
exposing her striped cotton pajamas.  She crossed her legs 
and looked at Mickey, who lingered in the doorway.
     "Are you sure...I can come back tomorrow," he said, 
looking apologetic.
     Chloe shook her head.  "I wasn't sleeping.  Come in."  
He did as she said, taking a seat on the other bed across 
from her and removing his jacket.  "You haven't been back to 
your room?" she asked, looking at him, worried. He shook his 
head.  "Are you doing okay?" she asked, remembering that he'd 
been drugged only that afternoon.
     "Fine," he said.  "Did you turn up anything about those 
incense things?"
     "Nick was right," she said, hating the way she 
hesitated over his name. She glanced at him, trying to 
ascertain whether he'd caught it.  He had.  Damn.  "They sell 
those containers everywhere.  Street vendors even have them.  
That's no use."
     "We need to talk about Nick, Chloe," Mick said 
carefully. Mickey nodded as though he wasn't quite convinced.  
He felt sick suddenly, his stomach knotting and reknotting 
itself worse than it had been already.  And his head was 
beginning to pound.  "Got any aspirin?"
     "Sorry," Chloe said.  "I could ring down to room 
service--" She reached for the phone.
     "Never mind."  Mickey wasn't one for taking drugs 
anyway. "What's going on with you and Agent Shane?" 
     "It's a long story, Mickey, and I--"
     "I have time," he told her, stretching out on the other 
bed, kicking his shoes off onto the floor.  Then he began to 
undo his tie, still waiting for her to speak.  "You two used 
to be involved?"
     She looked at him, surprised.  "What tipped you off?"
     "Maybe it was the way the two of you can't take your 
eyes off one another," retorted Mickey.  "Honestly, Chloe, I 
may be dense about some things, but I'm not totally stupid."
     "I know," she said, biting her lip and trying to figure 
out what to say.  She had to be straight with him and tell 
him everything--she had to get it all out or go mad.
     "It's hard to explain about Nick," she began, and then 
realized that putting a frame on it that way only made it 
more difficult.  Chloe glanced over at Mickey and saw him nod 
his head slightly, encouraging her to continue.  She tried to 
relax and think back and not worry about how all of this was 
going to sound.  She trusted Mickey with her life; she
could trust him with this bit of her heart.  She looked away; 
regardless, she didn't know if she could get the words out 
with him looking into her eyes.
     "Nick was my first partner, when I got out of the 
academy. He'd already been with the Bureau for a year or so, 
and knew his way around.  From the first, he took me under 
his wing, showed me the ropes.  Hard to believe, but I was 
kind of naive then."  She smiled and looked at Mickey.  He 
wasn't smiling; he just continued to look at her. Damn, she'd 
been hoping for a laugh to make this easier.  She shifted
restlessly.  "He was just this amazing figure to me, handsome 
and smart and caring and determined to move up.  He was so 
set on his future, so...focused."  A shiver went through her, 
remembering it, but she fought it off.  "He was just so 
incredibly different from any man I'd ever met.
     "You know me, I'm used to getting what I want.  Nick 
was the only guy who ever put up a fight, and I guess that 
made him all the more attractive.  I knew he was attracted to 
me, but we were partners.  That made it more exciting, too," 
she sighed.  "We were so good together, Mickey, it was scary.  
How well he knew me...it was so perfect."
     "But it ended," Mickey said quietly, prompting her.  He 
didn't really want to hear about how great Nick was in her 
eyes.  He knew she needed to tell it, and he needed to hear 
it, but that didn't make the facts any easier to swallow.
     "We were both offered good positions in the New York 
Bureau. And there was no question of us taking them.  It was 
too good to pass up.  We wouldn't be partners anymore, so 
that risk would be out of the way, but we would still be 
working together.  It was ideal.  We made all the plans, 
about the move up here.  We were going to move in together.
But Nick was kind of worried the whole time--he said it was 
a woman, his superior.  She said she could help him move up, 
but there would be a price.  I told him he could get there on 
his own, but he wouldn't listen.
     "There's something you have to understand about Nick, 
and that's that he hasn't had the easiest time of it.  
Everything he's got, he had to fight for.  He started his 
life in a really poor neighborhood, with no advantages.  And 
he continues to fight, even when he doesn't have to."
     Mickey watched Chloe, wondering if she knew that she'd 
lapsed into silence, into thought.  Just when he was about to 
speak, she pulled herself out of it.
     "To make a long story short, he took her up on the 
offer.  I got home one day and found them in bed.  And that 
was the end.  He paid the price, but he lost me.  And it 
embarrassed him that I knew.  I walked out and I never let 
myself look back."  Her jaw was tight, but her chin
was high.  She'd done what she had to do.  Left him, joined 
the X-Files division, tried to forget him.
       "But I think I still love him, Mickey," she 
admitted finally,  "And I don't know what to do.  I don't 
know if I can hold it all in any longer.  Not if he wants me-
-" the words were too hard to think, let alone say, "--not if 
he wants me back."
     "You're stronger than that, Chloe," Mickey told his 
partner softly.  "You know that he's wrong for you, and you 
know that you're over him."
     "But it's not that simple," Chloe argued.
     "It is," Mickey told her.
     She wanted to argue some more, but couldn't see the 
point. They would just go round and round in the same circle 
until they were both arguing.  And she was so damned tired.  
Chloe looked away. Mick didn't say anything, and her gaze 
fell on her suitcase, lying open with her clothes tossed in.  
On top was the sweatshirt that Samantha liked to borrow from 
her.  A sharp pain stung in her chest when she thought of the 
little girl.  "I hope she's all right."
     Chloe didn't realize she'd spoken until Mickey said, 
"Who?"
     She looked at him, her eyes wide.  In all the 
confusion, she hadn't told him.  "Oh, God, Mickey, you don't 
know."
     "Don't know what?" he demanded, irritated.
     "Sam."
     "No."  He looked as though she'd struck him.
     Chloe nodded.  "Mulder called me--he was mad.  I don't 
know what happened.  Dana told me they'd handle it, and I 
haven't heard back."
     "We shouldn't have left her," Mickey said fervently.
     "She was with her *mother*," Chloe reminded him.  
"There's nothing we could have done."
     "We're FBI agents.  And she's just a little girl!"
     "I know.  Mulder and Dana are going to find her," Chloe 
said, positive.
     Mickey didn't have the chance to say anything because 
the door opened and they both jumped.  "Nick!" Chloe 
screamed.  "What are you doing here?"
     "Sorry to interrupt your little slumber party," said 
Nick bitterly, "but there's been another murder."

-----

     "There's no doubt it's our killer," Chloe said, 
frowning down at the grains that were all that was left of 
the body highlighted by her  flashlight beam, "But it doesn't 
make any sense.  Why go to all the trouble with the last 
victim and then this?"
     "The urge to kill is getting stronger," Nick said.
     "Did he really just say that?" Mickey muttered to 
Chloe, who elbowed him in the ribs.
     "Two murders in twenty four hours.  The last one was 
planned, obviously.  And this one wasn't.  Or maybe it was 
and the need was too strong, the killer wasn't able to hold 
back the emotions and the drive long enough to set it up to 
make a statement."
     "So you think the killer is trying to make a 
statement?" Chloe asked for confirmation.
     Nick nodded.  "Some people express themselves through 
art, writing, music..."
     "And some express themselves through killing?" Mickey 
said, skeptical, in his best 'give me a break' tone.
     "It's a psychologically documented fact, Agent 
Callavello," Nick snapped.
     "Well I think it's full of beans, Agent Shane," Mickey 
snapped back.
     "Do you have a better explanation?  I'd love to hear 
it," said Nick sarcastically, folding his arms and waiting.  
"Why don't you tell us how the killer turned the victims into 
dust, too?" he demanded.
     "Not dust," Mickey murmured, and then to Chloe's shock amazement,crouched
down and touched the body, crumbling a 
bit of the substance between his hastily gloved fingers.  
     "What's he doing?" Nick asked her.
     "I don't know," Chloe whispered back, watching her 
partner in amazement, her heart racing because she was 
certain he was on the edge of a breakthrough.
     "Not dust," Mickey said, looking up and meeting her 
eyes. "That's too biblical, that's not what's going on here."
     "You're implying you know what's going on here?" Nick 
asked doubtfully.
     "Not dust," Mickey repeated.  "Stone."
     Chloe gaped, staring at Mickey.  This was her partner, 
the man who had been brought to his knees by the sight of the 
crumbling white substance on the fingertips of her latex 
gloves during the first examination.  And now, here he was 
crumbling the substance on his own and not recoiling a bit.  
     "Stone,"  Nick said.  "Stone."  And suddenly laughter 
bubbled out of him.  Nick threw his head back and really 
laughed.  When he'd finished, both of the agents were staring 
at him.  He had to wipe his eyes.
     "He's got a point, Nick,"  Chloe said, thoughtfully.  
She began to walk around the body seeming to take in every 
aspect, trying to burn the image into her mind.  If she could 
soak up all the information, maybe her subconscious mind 
would come up with something...
     "Look, that substance," he pointed at the body, toeing 
it gently with his shoe, "is not stone.  It's sodium 
bicarbonate.  Do you know what sodium bicarbonate is, Agent 
Callavelo?  It's baking soda.  Not granite.  Not marble.  B-
A-K-I-N-G  S-O-D-A."
     Mickey just shook his head.  "I'm not going to put up 
with this.  If you don't like my suggestions, *don't* ask for 
them."   And with that, he disappeared out the door.
     "Well, then, be that way,"  Nick murmured to Chloe.
     "You're not making this easy for us, Nick.  We're 
investigative officers, just like you.  You should be 
cooperating."
     "Chloe, did you hear what he said?  Stone?  Please,"  
Nick laughed again, but the laughter died on his lips when he 
saw the pure, and ironically, stony look that Chloe was 
giving him.  "I'm sorry, Chloe.  I shouldn't have made fun of 
his theory.  I mean, after all, it's the only thing we've got 
going for us right now."  
     "You're right.  And you know what?  I think Mickey will 
forgive you.  We're all tired and we need sleep."
     "If I had my way, Chloe, neither of us would be getting 
any sleep right about now,"  Nick said, absently.  He wasn't 
even looking at her, he was staring at a stain on the wall 
with a far off, dreamy look on his face.
     "Besides," Chloe continued, ignoring his suggestive 
remark, "Mickey doesn't tend to stay mad for long."  If she 
kept talking, speaking of her partner, maybe the tingling 
sensation she was feeling through out her body would 
disappear.  Bad thoughts, Chloe.  Bad.  And to think you're 
in the middle of a sickening crime scene...
     "Right." Nick interrupted her thoughts. "I'll see you 
tomorrow."  It was as though he hadn't said anything.  Chloe 
breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling of desire 
lingered, even long after Nick had disappeared.

-----

December 5, 1996
Metro Hotel Restaurant
7:30 am

     Michael Callavelo stared at the white coffee mug before 
him.  It'd been a long time since he'd last been able to sit 
down with a steaming hot mug and just think.  Unfortunately, 
this morning he could only think of one thing: the case.
     He remembered the way Nick had mocked him, but more so 
he remembered the way Chloe had stuck up for him.  She'd said 
he'd had a point.  Mickey's problem now was discovering 
exactly what his point had been.  And this coffee wasn't 
helping.
     "Mickey,"  Chloe's voice startled him from his 
thoughts.  He looked up and smiled.
     Chloe, dressed in cut-off jogging pants and a light t-
shirt, was standing beside the table looking tired, sweaty 
and uncomfortable.  He nodded to the seat across from him.  
She shook her head.  "I'll have to change first, Mickey.  Be 
right back,"  she said.
     "What do you want for breakfast?  I'll order it while 
you change," he offered.
     Chloe looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Do you suppose 
they have Ginseng?"
     Mickey smiled.  Why did I think that was coming? he 
thought, then replied, "Nope, I doubt it.  Normal tea?"
     "Yeah, and a piece of toast.  That'll be great.  
Thanks, Mickey!"
     And with that, Chloe disappeared again.  Mickey sighed, 
flagging down a waitress to place his order, along with 
Chloe's.  Toast sounded good, it was light and wouldn't be 
too rough on him.  Right now the last thing he needed was a 
course of heavily-greasy foods like eggs and bacon.
     Mickey closed his eyes after the waitress had left, 
just thinking about Nicholas Shane.  Mickey could remember 
being a young boy and listening to his father's words of 
caution.
     "Mickey," he had said to the boy, one day after Mickey 
had come out of a fight at school, "you're going to have to 
work with people you don't like, one day.  When you're an 
adult, you can't just lift your fist and expect that person 
to agree with you."
     Mickey had asked why.  Why couldn't he solve his 
problems by proving he was stronger?  "Because, my boy, there 
are smarter, wiser ways to do it."  And his father had patted 
his head, sending him to his room to think over his mistakes.  
      His father had been right, of course.  Mickey could 
deal with Nick.  And he *would* deal with Nick.  Besides, he 
couldn't be that bad of a guy if Chloe was so in love with 
him.  *Is* so in love with him, Mickey corrected himself.   
He opened his eyes and shook his head, frowning at his cup of 
cold coffee.

-----

Providence Airport

     Samantha Mulder stared at the plane ticket in her hand.  
She smiled as she remembered how she'd obtained it.  "Never 
talk to strangers,"  Dana had said to her one day.  As if I 
don't know that already, Sam had thought.  But she'd bent the 
rule.  The woman who had given her the ticket wasn't really a 
stranger.  Samantha recognized her, although she wasn't 
exactly sure from where.
     The thing that stuck out most in Samantha's mind was 
the scars.  Mottled flesh covered the entire left side of the 
woman's face, setting her distinctly apart from anyone else. 
     She'd accepted the plane ticket and the small package 
that the woman had given her.  Apparently Sam now had money 
and directions to reach the location of Michael Callavelo and 
Chloe Grant.
     Her original plan had been to find Mulder and Scully, 
but Mickey and Chloe were the next best thing.  At least they 
would make her feel like she *belonged*.
     Sam yawned and stretched, looking around herself in the 
airport. She frowned out the window at the little men far 
below who were loading luggage into the large belly of a 
plane.  She knew it wasn't Mulder and Dana's fault.  They 
were on honeymoon, of course they didn't want a ten year old 
kid around to mess things up.  They wanted to be alone.  It 
didn't mean they didn't love her.  It didn't justify this 
feeling of abandonment that welled up inside her and brought 
tears to her eyes that were getting hard to fight back.
     Because she was scared.  If something happened to them, 
where would she go?  Not to her mother's.  She'd been there, 
and had to leave. It was so weird there.  Her mother wasn't 
the woman she remembered, not really.  That woman was inside 
her, somewhere, but buried too deep for Sam to find.
     What if her brother and Dana started thinking they 
didn't want a little girl that was already half grown up?  
What if they wanted to have babies of their own and there 
wasn't room in their hearts for her?
     Sam shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.  
She couldn't think that way.  They loved her.  Mulder had 
searched years and years for her.  They would always love 
her.
     But now she couldn't go back home.  So she had to find 
Mickey and Chloe.  The woman had told her where they were, 
and in a couple hours she would be with them.  Sam frowned 
again, trying to think where she had seen the woman before.
     She couldn't come up with anything, there was a fog 
around it, a thick hazy white light between her and the 
memory.  It had been a long time ago, she thought, somewhere 
like a dream....
     "Flight 1121 to New York will begin boarding at this 
time at gate 14," a voice overhead announced.
     Sam jumped up and couldn't help smiling.  She thought 
it was really cool that the flight number was the same as her 
birthday.

-----

     Mickey racked his brains trying to figure it out.  It 
seemed like answer was just out of his reach, the key to 
unraveling the whole case was held somewhere he just couldn't 
get to.  Bodies turned to stone, he thought, what could it 
all mean...
     He found his thoughts turning to other things.  The way 
Chloe looked at Nick.  The tale she'd told him the night 
before.  Mickey tried to understand, and couldn't.  It was 
all well and good; Chloe met the perfect man and fell for 
him.  Loved him still.  He shouldn't have a problem with 
that.
     But he did.
     And it only got worse when he put Nick into that role.  
Nick?  That arrogant, know it all, mocking *jerk*?  How could 
Chloe think she loved him, after what he'd done to her?
     But she did love Nick.  He could see it in her eyes.
     Mickey sighed.  There wasn't anything he could do.  You
couldn't make someone feel something.  It had been a hard 
lesson, but he had finally learned it.  You couldn't force 
anyone to do anything they didn't want to.  A small smile 
touched his lips.  Especially if that someone was Chloe 
Grant.  She certainly was stubborn, he thought.
     His mind moved on, to another woman, one with long dark 
hair and mysterious eyes.  Purity.  She was another mystery 
he had to solve. He found himself wondering, where does she 
fit in to this? even when he knew it was improbable that she 
would figure into the case they were investigating.
     "Earth to Mickey."
     He looked up when he heard his partner's amused tone 
and felt his face flushing.  "Sorry," he said, wondering how 
long she'd been back, waiting for him to notice.
     "It's okay," she said, sliding into the seat across 
from him and reaching for the toast on her plate.  "Looked 
like you were pretty deep into thought.  Any revelations on 
the case?" she asked, meeting his eyes.=09
     "Almost," he muttered.  He wished he'd kept his mind on 
the matter and come up with it.  Solved the whole thing.  But 
wait, now that he thought of it again, something was 
beginning to surface, something he'd read back in school...
     "I've got it!" 
     Both of them looked up in surprise at the man who had 
come to stand next to their table.  Nick, thought Mickey 
sourly, looking away.  He looked to Chloe, who gazed up at 
the agent with something akin to adoration.  Nick seized a 
chair from a neighboring table and drew it up between them.  
"I know what's going on," he said, his eyes burning fever
bright.
     Chloe looked at him carefully, with concern.  She knew 
that look.  That look said Nick hadn't slept yet; instead, 
he'd spent the night pulling books from the shelves in his 
office, rifling through them and tossing them on  the floor 
until he found the right one, the one that backed up his 
thoughts.  She fought the urge to look after him, as 
she had back then, to reach over and smooth down his ruffled 
hair or straighten his tie.
     "Well?" demanded Mickey, a tight set to his mouth.  
"Out with it?"  He crossed his arms over his chest, just 
waiting to hear Nick's theory so that he could cut it down.  
Mythology, he thought, close to the answer, remembering a 
black schoolbook, filled with dense print. Edith...someone 
was the writer.  What was it that went with this case...
     "Medusa," said Nick.  "The bodies haven't been turned 
to dust, it's stone!" he said as though it were a 
revolutionary idea. 
     Mickey looked at him, wide eyed, his face instantly red 
with anger.  He opened his mouth, but he was too furious, 
nothing came out. His fists clenched; he really wanted to 
punch Nick.
     "You're right," Chloe said, thinking about it.  "It 
makes sense." 
     "I said that last night!" Mickey roared, and both 
agents looked at him, in silent surprise, as though he were 
insane.  "I said that last night," he said again, "that the 
bodies were stone, and not dust and you made fun of me, 
you...you..."
     Chloe scooted her chair back, ready to be on her feet.  
She had a bad feeling about this, very bad.  She had seen 
Mickey angry before, but never this angry.
     Mickey was on his feet a second later, and the only 
thing he could see, right in the center of his red-edged 
tunnel vision, was Nick's smug face.  "You filthy bastard," 
he finished.  Nick rose to the challenge, and Chloe jumped to 
her feet, but she was too late.  Nick had already taken 
Mickey's fist hard to his jaw and fallen backwards to the 
floor.
     "Are you all right?" she asked, moving to Nick's side, 
trying to keep herself between Mickey and him.
     Nick tested his jaw and touched the blood in the corner 
of his mouth with his tongue.  "I'll be fine," he said, 
refusing Chloe's offered hand and getting back onto his feet 
by himself.  He managed to face Mickey with a cocky grin.  
"You'd better grow up, sonny-boy," he said, "and fast, if you 
don't want to find yourself stuck in the basement 
with the X-Files for the rest of your life."
     "Rather that than do what you did," Mickey held his 
ground, disgusted by the man who was standing before him.  
His fists were raised in front of him, ready to go another 
round, fueled by anger that he knew he should try to control.  
But he didn't want to listen to that voice in the back of his 
mind telling him to be rational.
     "Enough!" screamed Chloe, stepping in between the two
juveniles.  She put one hand on each of their chests, pushing 
them back, away from each other.  "That's enough.  We are all 
professionals here, I think, and we shouldn't be putting on 
show."  She forced herself to take deep breaths; she was 
already tempted to pop Mickey one herself.  What the hell was 
he thinking?  "Are you ready to be civilized or shall we
take this upstairs?"
     Nick threw his hands up into the air and dropped back 
into his seat.  Chloe turned to Mickey, who still looked 
angry but sat down as well, his hands still curled into angry 
fists in his lap.  "Okay," she said carefully, wishing she 
could just walk out and tell them both to go to hell,
but then she'd never find out what was going on.  "Now what's 
this about Medusa?"
     "I said that yesterday!" cried Mickey.
     Chloe silenced the rest of his argument with a look.  
"You are part of an investigative *team*, Mickey," she said 
carefully, her eyes boring into his with the seriousness of 
her message.  "We're working together on this and sharing 
ideas, that's the point.  I don't think  I need to
remind you that you could be suspended for what you just 
did."  Her voice turned softer.  "You need to gain control of 
your temper, Mick."
     He nodded,  looking down at the table, feeling his face 
and his ears go hot again.  She was right.  He could hear his 
father's words echoing through his mind again.  He was too 
quick to act sometimes, and he knew that it was bad.  He 
thought he'd had it under control, but Nick possessed an 
amazing power to make him angry.
     "Now, Medusa," Chloe said, turning to Nick.  "She was 
some woman who turned men into stone with a look, something 
like that, right?"
     "Not a woman; one of the Gorgons," Nick said, perfectly 
calm. His jaw was swelling into a bruise already.
     Chloe nodded, thinking.  "It fits with the condition of 
the bodies; a transition all over at once, done from the 
outside and moving in.  As though from a look."
     "But a look can't turn a person to stone," Mickey 
protested, using logic. 
     He almost wished he'd bitten his tongue when he saw the 
look Chloe gave him.  The one that reminded him of all the 
impossible things he'd already seen.  
     "How does that fit with the position of the body we 
found, the one that had been planned?" she asked Nick without 
a word to Mickey.  
"Obviously, the killer is trying to make a statement--
does that fit in with the legend?"
     Nick nodded.  "In a way.  Medusa was one of three 
sisters. She represented Vanity.  One sister, Euryale, 
represented sexual excess."
     Mickey could see the excitement in Chloe's eyes. 
"That's it, that's our crime scene!" she said.
     Nick nodded.  "The other, Stheno, represented 
perversion."
     "So now we're one step ahead," Chloe said, "We know 
where the killer will strike next."
     "Not necessarily, Chloe," said Nick, "there's a lot of 
kinds of perversion in this world.  Narrowing it down to one 
place and time when the killer would strike could be 
impossible.  Especially because she's killed so many times 
before making this statement.  But yes.  We're onto
her."  
     "Her?" Chloe and Mickey said at the same time.
     Nick nodded again.  "In light of the legend, I'm 
convinced that the killer is a woman."
     Mickey frowned.  He didn't buy it, but kept it to 
himself. 
     "Good," said Chloe, looking at Nick. "Have you written 
up a profile?  We should be well on our way to apprehending 
her. Especially with the evidence from the crime scene."
     "You're forgetting two things," Mickey said, and they 
both looked at him as though he were raining on their parade.  
But he had to say it--they were getting too optimistic.  Too 
unrealistic.  "One, the killer knows what evidence was left 
at the crime scene.  She--or he--" he was unwilling to 
concede to Nick on even that one point, "--may intend for 
us to pick up on the legend aspect.  Which would put us right 
where he wants us."
     Nick looked down his nose at him, as though he didn't 
believe a word of it.  Probably doesn't fit his profile, 
Mickey thought angrily. 
"You said two things," said Chloe.  "What's the other?"
     "The killer is getting desperate.  The murder last 
night was unplanned.  We have no way to know where he will 
strike next."  With that, Mickey got to his feet and left the 
table without another word.  He was still angry about Nick 
upstaging him, and everything the man said or did got further 
on his nerves.  So Mickey was going to fight back in the
only way allowed to him--he was going to show the other man 
up.
     "Mickey--" Chloe called after him, but he steeled his 
shoulders and didn't turn.  Chloe sighed and looked at Nick.  
"You shouldn't have antagonized him," she told him.
     "Who would have thought he'd get physical?" Nick 
shrugged.
     "You knew it, and that's why you did it," Chloe said.  
She wasn't stupid.  Nick had planned the whole little scene.  
"What are you up to?"
     "Up to?" asked  Nick with an  innocence she didn't buy. 
"Solving the case."
     She regarded him carefully, deciding if she could trust 
him.  She let her instincts rule her.  She did trust him; 
they'd been through too much together as partners for her not 
to.  "Just don't do that again.  We need Mickey, Nick.  You 
and I both know you wouldn't have come up with Medusa at all 
if he hadn't said the bodies were stone and not dust last
night."
     Nick nodded.  "I'll tell him I'm sorry--but later.  
Right now we need to talk, Chloe."
     Her eyebrows went up.  "About what?  Are you holding 
back information about the case?"  Her heart began to beat 
faster with fear for her partner.  "Mickey could get hurt--"
     "It's not about the case, Chloe," Nick said in that low 
voice she knew so well.  That she still heard sliding over 
her name in her dreams at night.  "We need to talk about us."  
He got to his feet and went to help her with her chair.  
"Shall we go somewhere more private?"
     As the two left the table and crossed to the elevator, 
they were completely unaware of the fact that they were 
being by a pair of concerned, dark feminine eyes.  Slowly, 
she turned and left the restaurant.

-----

     Chloe Grant unlocked the door to her hotel room.  She 
could feel Nicholas' eyes on her as she walked into the room 
before him.  For some strange reason, she didn't feel 
uncomfortable.  She realized the reason why, a few seconds 
later.  It was because she had been waiting for this moment 
for a long time--ever since she'd left him.  The moment when 
they would 'deal' with their relationship.  She had left so 
much undone that it was still floating around somewhere in 
her subconscious.
     She turned just as Nick was closing the door.  He 
leaned his back against it in a casual manner.
     "So, talk,"  Chloe said, trying to appear as though she 
weren't eager to hear what he had to say.
     "It won't happen again,"  Nick said.
     Chloe wasn't sure she liked his cryptic manner of 
starting off.  She wanted to hear him admit that he was 
wrong.  She stared at him, waiting for him to continue, 
burning holes in his forehead with her intense gaze.
     "I've made mistakes in life, Chloe.  God,"  he stepped 
away from the door, running a hand through his thick, dark 
hair.  "I've made so many mistakes.  But the worst, Chloe, 
the worst was when I betrayed you.  When I--"  he choked on 
the words.  He set his jaw, swallowing roughly before 
continuing, "When I fucked that woman so that I could further 
my career."
     "Is that all it was, Nick?"  Chloe asked, her voice 
indifferent.
     "That's all it was, I'll swear it to you, Chloe.  I 
haven't been able to touch another woman since then and feel 
like I can make love to her.  Anyone since then... Since then 
I only wished I could take it back.  The look on your face--" 
he broke off, walking closer to her.  She stood rooted to the 
floor, still staring at him.  He reached out and gripped her 
shoulders.  "That look haunts my worst dreams, Chloe.  The 
ones where I wake up feeling alone and deservedly so."
     "So, what exactly are you telling me, Nick?  You're 
talking, but I'm not hearing what you're saying."  Chloe felt 
like a bitch, but damned if he wasn't going to rot in hell 
for his recent behavior.
     "If you're not hearing, then you're deaf.  I'm 
screaming out for you, Chloe.   All I want is to be able to 
prove to you that I'm here for you.  I want you to be able to 
share your pain with me, Chloe.  I want to be here when 
you're needing."
     Chloe was stunned into silence.  She was hearing him 
all right.  She was feeling him, too.  His nearness, his 
heat, even his the warmth of his breath could be felt if she 
concentrated.  
     Silence hung in the air.  Nick's hands moved down from 
her shoulders to grasp her hands.  And there was no denying 
it, she knew he could see it in her eyes.  She did love him 
and he knew it. Plain as day, as it seemed.
     "You're a selfish bastard, Nick,"  Chloe said, a hint 
of a smile on her face, "but I love you for it."
     "You're looking at me like *that*, Agent Grant,"  Nick 
said.  He regarded her through hooded eyes, a smile touching 
his lips.
     She knew what he was saying.  That was one of his 
cryptic ways of telling her that she was being as transparent 
as glass.  Usually it was reserved for those times when they 
were alone, just like now, and he knew what he was supposed 
to do.
     And he did it.  Nick wrapped his arms around her waist, 
pulling her closer to him.  The kiss was tentative at first, 
then it deepened to express everything that had been missing 
from the last six months.  
     Minutes passed and Chloe knew that she wasn't going to 
try to break the kiss off.  It felt too good, too right.  She 
could feel Nick's hands at the small of her back, working her 
blouse out of waist line of her pants.  He moved his hands up 
and under, caressing her smooth skin.  Fire spread through 
her body as he moved his hands to her stomach.
     She broke the kiss then.
     "Wha--"
     She put a finger to Nick's lips.  She took his hand and 
led him to the bed.  "This is the way these things work, 
Nick," she said.  
     He nodded.

------

     Michael Callavelo was laying on his bed staring at the 
ceiling.  Medusa--he'd been thinking about what Nick was 
saying.  You can't turn a person to stone just by a look, 
that much Mickey was certain of.  Even if it were possible, 
how the hell could you fight someone like that?  Not to 
mention finding that person.
     No, Mickey would assume that the person hadn't used a 
'look' to turn his, or her--as Nick seemed to think--victims 
to stone.  This left other options to consider.  How had the 
person been transformed?
     His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of faint 
footfalls in the hallway beyond his door.  He had the 
instinctive feeling that Chloe had returned.  When he heard 
the voices, his stomach sank.  She wasn't coming to see him 
or to give him hell for what he'd just done.  She had another 
agenda.  He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could 
tell it was Nick that had accompanied her.  
     "Thank God the interior walls are sound proofed," he 
mumbled to himself.  He continued to stare at the ceiling, 
feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks and the goddamn 
jealousy flaring to life.  It soared with him, until he put 
his foot down trying to prioritize everything.
     "Focus, my friend,"  Mickey told himself.  He got up 
and walked around the bed to the table that was off to the 
side of his room.  He dropped into the chair and pulled his 
notebook closer to himself.  The first thing he wrote was the 
word 'Medusa'.  From there the list just seemed to flow from 
his mind.  
     He stared at his list.  It contained all the things he 
knew about Medusa and the other Gorgons, which wasn't much.  
He mostly wrote down the things that Nick and Chloe had 
mentioned earlier; the things he remembered hearing through 
his blind anger.
     If the next victim would supposedly be perversion, what 
kind of perversion would the person possibly attack?  Mickey 
couldn't help but think of the kind of perversion he thought 
most despicable--child pornography.  Was it possible that 
their killer might target that sort of perversion?  Or would 
it be something simple, like a whore house?  
     Even if it were either of those, Mickey had no idea 
where to even start looking for a place like that in New 
York.  There was a chance that Nick might know, given the FBI 
resources.  If he didn't know, perhaps he could find out.  
     Mickey pushed back his chair and crossed his legs at 
the ankles, leaning back.  He clasped his hands behind his 
head and stretched himself gently, still staring at the list.
     "It's a start,"  he said. 
     Finding himself stuck now, Mickey glanced at the 
adjoining door that lead to Chloe's room.  He brought his 
hands down and clenched his fists, refusing to think about 
what could very possibly be going on behind that door.  He 
had other things to worry about, such as figuring out where 
his 'friend' Purity fit into this whole mess.
     Jotting a quick note on his little notepad, he walked 
over to the door and slipped it under, telling Chloe that 
he'd call her later and that she shouldn't worry if he 
disappeared for most of the day.
     Not, he thought, bitterly, that she'd care.   

-----

Kennedy International Airport
New York, NY

     New York City was positively huge.  Samantha was 
dumbfounded when she stepped out of the airport only to be 
thrust into the busy world that existed here.  She gulped 
down the fresh air and struggled to hold her fears at bay.  
It was easier thought than done, but after a few moments she 
succeeded. Some of the people on the street regarded her 
curiously, thinking it odd for such a young child to be on 
her own.
     Sam had to agree.  It was odd.  Especially a young 
woman like her with an unbelievably small duffel bag at her 
side and a brown envelope tucked under her arm.
     She didn't pay attention to them, though.  She made it 
all into a game.  You're Tom Cruise's sidekick in another 
impossible mission, she told herself.  She'd opened the 
envelope that their operatives had given her and discovered 
where she was expected to be and when.  And she would be 
there.
     Glancing around, feeling a little better about her 
predicament, Sam decided to try and flag down a taxi.  After 
several unsuccessful attempts she finally politely asked a 
woman who was standing at the side of the road to give her a 
hand.
     The woman, looking suspiciously at Sam at first, 
finally agreed.  Sam watched as the woman walked between a 
few parked cars and right in front of a yellow car.   Sam's 
eyes widened.  She nodded with understanding.  
     "There ya go kid,"  the woman said before walking away 
and leaving the cab door open for Sam to climb into the back 
seat.
     "Where's you heading?"  the driver asked when Sam was 
safely tucked into the belly of the little vehicle.
     "Uhm, just a sec."  She reached for the envelope which 
she'd set on the seat beside her.  She pulled out the sheet 
of instructions and carefully read down the list for her next 
destination.  "The Metro Hotel, please."
     The driver nodded and Sam was pressed back in her seat 
as he shot out into the crazy traffic surrounding the 
airport.  Sam squeezed her eyes shut as she buckled her seat 
belt.  Better safe than sorry, she thought.

-----

Summer House
Quontochataug, RI

     "Please, mom, why weren't you watching her?  She's your 
daughter for crying out loud!"  Fox Mulder was much more 
upset than he managed to sound.  The thought of losing his 
sister *again* was nearly killing him.
     "Listen to me, Fox, I was watching her.  I don't know 
where she went.  And don't you *dare* talk to me like that!"  
Mrs. Mulder said angrily.  "I'm your mother too, Fox, and 
you'll treat me with at least an inkling of respect.  You 
know damned well that I love that child just as much as you 
do."  
     Both mother and son were red faced and angry now.  Dana 
stood leaning against the wall, watching the exchange.  
Finally she'd had enough. She stepped forward and gently 
pushed Mulder back.
     "Scul--"  Mulder stopped, glaring at his wife.  "Dana, 
don't get into this."
     "You're not going to find Sam by accusing your mother, 
Fox.  We have to think about this, not jump to conclusions."  
Dana glanced back at Mrs. Mulder.  Tears were streaking the 
older woman's face now.  She looked back at Mulder.  "Please 
go fix yourself a drink, or something."
     Mulder glared at her for a moment, his eyes blazing.  
He ground his teeth together to keep from biting at her, too.  
He knew she was only being rational.  He took a deep breath 
as she continued, "I'll join you in a minute, okay?"  She 
stretched up and kissed his cheek, surprised that his flesh was 
as hot as it appeared.
     "Fine,"  Mulder said quietly, slipping away.
     Only when he had disappeared did Dana turn to her 
mother-in-law. "I'm sorry,"  she said quietly.
     "It's okay, I understand his anger.  It is my fault."  
Mrs. Mulder's voice was low and anguished and filled with 
absolute loathing for the situation.  Dana's next move was 
impulsive.  She moved closer and drew the woman into a tight 
hug.  It felt strange considering she knew so little about 
Mulder's mother.
     "It's not your fault.  I think Sam is just confused,"  
Dana said as she released the woman.  
     "You're the voice of reason, Dana.  I think Fox has 
done well for himself.  I just wish he wasn't so damned 
dark," Mrs. Mulder said.  Dana nodded slowly.  Mulder still 
had his demons, despite whatever he might say to the 
contrary.  Twice he'd woken her in the early hours of the 
morning with screams of terror that could only be spawned from 
horrific nightmares.  And that had been in one short week.  
Scully had hoped it might get better, but she suspected that 
they had a long way to go yet.  "You must be someone 
extraordinary to put up with him."
     Dana shook her head.  "No, I'm just used to him."  The 
words didn't explain the half of it, but Dana knew that Mrs. 
Mulder would understand somehow.  "I want you to know that I 
don't think Sam was, uhm, removed against her will.  I 
haven't told Fox this yet, but I have this distinct suspicion 
that she's gone off on her own."
     Mrs. Mulder looked shocked.  "But how?  She's only a 
little girl!"
     "She's ten.  It's hard to explain, but Sam isn't just a 
'little girl'.  There's more to it.  She may have the body of 
a ten-year-old, but I think while she was missing she must 
have learned a lot of things, things that make her much more-
-"  Dana stopped, struggling for the words.
     Mrs. Mulder was nodding, though.  "I felt something 
like that.  You're suggesting that even though she can't 
remember it, she might have grown up faster than kids 
normally might in her age group."
     Dana smiled briefly.  
     "But that still doesn't make me feel better.  She could 
be anywhere," Mrs. Mulder said, dropping her head forward.  
     "It narrows it down, at least.  I have a few ideas."
     "Good.  At least someone around here has a head on 
their shoulders,"  Mrs. Mulder said, gazing at the doorway 
where Mulder had disappeared.  "Despite that fact, I still 
love him.  I just wish there was some way I could make him 
see it."
     "He knows,"  Dana said quietly.  
     "Go take care of him,"  Mrs. Mulder said.  Dana turned 
to leave, but Mrs. Mulder put a hand on her arm.  "You've got 
a long road ahead of you, Dana.  You have my best wishes."
     Dana flashed a smile, then turned and walked out of the 
room.

     She found Mulder in the bathroom. 
     "Hey,"  she said, leaning against the door jamb.  He 
lifted his head from where he'd been dousing his face with 
tap water.  He didn't smile, but looked away.  "Are you going 
to be an asshole to me, too?" she asked, but there was a 
touch of humor in her voice.  As far as she was concerned, 
Mulder could shove his self-pity right up his ass.
     Mulder suddenly straightened and grabbed the towel that 
he'd set beside the sink.  He dried his face and made a bee-
line for the door.  Dana stepped directly in his path.  She 
put both her hands on his chest and pushed him back.  Mulder 
was not happy, but she could care less right about now.  She 
closed the door, then stood before him, hands on her hips.
     "Dana--"
     "Not a word, Fox.  I don't want to hear it.  The way 
you treated her was uncalled for.  The first thing you do 
when we leave this bathroom is apologize to your mother.  The 
second thing you'll do," Dana paused for a moment, taking a 
deep breath.  "Is get on the telephone to the airport.  Tell 
them you're looking for a missing little girl and that you'll 
fax them a composite of her."
     "You--"
     "We've got to take action, Fox, instead of accusing 
your mother of losing her daughter.  I'm not really that 
impressed with you right now, but I've vowed to be yours 
until death do us part.  Unfortunately, that also means 
you're stuck with me."
     Finally, the smallest of smiles touched Mulder's lips.  
Dana smiled in return.  "I owe you an apology, too.  I've 
been an asshole."
     Scully nodded, but welcomed the hug that he gave her.  
"We'll work through this together, I've told you that.  Now, 
I'm going to freshen up and you're going to go do some ass-
kissing."
     Mulder looked shocked for a moment, then laughed.  
"Have I told you I love you lately?"
     Scully thought for a moment.  "Uhm, not since I can 
recall."
     "I love you," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. 
     "Ahh, now I remember," Dana said as Mulder strode past 
her to the door.  She planted a firm kick on his behind as he 
walked out.  He didn't look back, but jumped and covered his 
seat with his hands in the event of a second assault.  She 
laughed and waved a hand at him.
     "You're not worth the effort!"  she called after him.

-----

     Mulder walked into the silence of the kitchen feeling 
exactly twelve years old.  Why was this so hard? he asked 
himself, seeing the pain in his mother's eyes.  All he'd ever 
wanted was to do right by her and his sister.  And he'd 
messed that up, again.  He looked down at the floor, and 
brushed the hair out of his eyes.  It didn't help.  The 
stray lock tumbled immediately back down over his forehead.
     "I'm sorry, Mom," he said honestly, walking over to 
her.  He met her eyes, and she nodded, trying to smile.  "I'm 
really sorry.  We'll get her back safe, I promise."
     "It's all right, Fox.  I know," his mother said, and 
brushed his hair back, looking into her son's eyes.  He was a 
man, but in so many ways he was still her little boy.  
     He put his arms around her and hugged her then, tight, 
for the first time in recent memory.  It felt good.  Warm and 
loving, everything that coming home was supposed to be.
     Scully stopped short when she walked into the kitchen 
and saw mother and son hugging.  She didn't want to interrupt 
the moment, but after a second, she knew she couldn't just 
stand there.  Fighting back the huge urge to run and call her 
own mother, Scully delicately cleared her throat.  "Uh--
Mulder?"  she said, and watched her husband freeze.  
"I hate to have to say this--but we really ought to be 
going."
     He pulled away, touching his mother's shoulder.  "Are 
you going to be okay?" he asked.
     "Fine," his mother nodded.
     "I'll call you when we know something," he promised, 
and then turned to join his wife.  Who noticed, but didn't 
comment upon, the tears he wiped from his eyes with the back 
of his hand once they got out to the car.

-----

New York City

     She was waiting in the lobby, so when she saw Mickey 
emerge from the elevator, she sprung to her feet and followed 
at a discreet distance.  She had to speak to him, but not 
now.  Not yet.
     Soon though, Purity thought, frowning as he headed up 
the steps to the Public Library.  She lingered on the 
sidewalk a moment, thinking, trying to decide the best way to 
'accidentally' meet him on the street. Should I wait until he 
comes out? she asked herself.  An image flashed
through her mind of her, sitting on the steps near the door 
waiting for him.  Too planned.  Besides, it was cold and she 
had no way of knowing how long he would be inside.  She'd 
have to chance it and go in.
     She looked back over her shoulder as she pulled open 
the door to the library, a sudden chill across her spine 
giving her the distinct feeling that she was being watched.  
She didn't see anyone, and so she proceeded into the 
building.

-----

     He stood across the street, camouflaged between a group 
of homeless people wrapped in blankets and a news vendor.  He 
hid a grin as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his 
black windbreaker, but the grin faded when he saw her pause 
at the door and look around. She'd sensed his presence.  That 
meant he had to be careful.  And careful meant he would have 
to wait.
     He didn't have time to wait.  The urge to kill was 
getting strong.
     He chuckled to himself.  She had led him directly to 
the man. The man he wanted to kill.  The man who was hunting 
him.  A strong surge of excitement went through his body, 
thinking of it.  It was even better because she was involved.  
He frowned suddenly, wondering if she had told the man about 
him.  If she was inside telling the man about him now.  How 
he did his tricks, how he had acquired his powers.  The
powers that helped him to kill.  She was inside telling the 
man, the hunter, about him.  All the more reason to make his 
move now, he thought, stepping off the curb to cross the 
street, without even bothering to look for traffic.
     By the time he reached the other side, he was 
insensible, all of his attention turned to his need.  His 
need to kill.  He opened the door and went into the library.

------

     Mickey sighed and checked his number again.  He hated
libraries with closed stacks.  Too much waiting.  A bell 
chimed and a light went on over the circulation desk.  His 
turn.  He retrieved the mythology book and sat down at one of 
the long tables, pulling out his notebook and his pen, 
pulling the cap off with his teeth.  He thumbed through the 
well-used old book until he found what he was looking for.
     Medusa.  One of the Gorgons, able to turn men into 
stone with a glance.  Actually, all of the Gorgons had that 
power, Mickey noted, checking and seeing that Nick had been 
right about the names of Medusa's sisters and what they 
represented.  He wondered if Nick had sat in this very chair 
and held this book the night before.
     He wondered what Nick and Chloe were up to at that 
moment. 
     Mickey wrenched his thoughts away, feeling his face go 
hot, and turned his attention back to the book.  Medusa was 
vulnerable because she was human, and some king had decided 
her head would make a nice trophy.  So he sent Perseus out to 
kill her.  With the help of Athena,  he'd been successful.  
Interesting, he thought, skimming on.
     He leaned  in closer, scratching notes in his notebook. 
Apparently, Medusa's blood was magical.  Blood from the left 
side of her body was a poison, and blood from the right side 
of her body was an amazing cure.  He felt goosebumps rise on 
his arms and scalp.  Could this explain the little incense 
satchel of blood they'd found in one of the bodies?  Could 
the blood have been contaminated in such a way to  have
turned the body to sodium bicarbonate?  Mickey had a good 
feeling that it had been.  It didn't solve the case, but it 
was one step closer.  And he could rub Nick's nose in it.
     He rose, leaving the book behind, and headed for the 
door. Halfway there, he noticed a long, wet streak of ink 
down the side of his hand and frowned at it.  He pulled out 
his pen and discovered that it was leaking.  Irritated, 
Mickey discarded the pen and turned around, locating
the sign for the men's room.
     He set his notebook down on the edge of the sink and 
turned on the tap, looking disinterestedly at  himself in the 
mirror.  He glanced down to get some soap from the dispenser 
and when Mickey looked back into the mirror, he saw a man 
standing behind him. Too close behind him.  It gave him the 
creeps, but he tried to be friendly about it. "I'll be out of 
your way in a second," he said to the man, wondering why
he didn't just use the other sink.
     The man moved closer.  
     Mickey rinsed his hands and turned off the tap quickly, 
seeing the fever in the man's eyes reflecting in the mirror.  
This guy wanted to start trouble.  He turned quickly, hoping 
to startle him before he had a chance to act.
     The man punched him, at an angle to the jaw that sent 
Mickey reeling.  He put up his hands to defend himself as he 
recovered his balance, noticing for the first time the other 
man was dressed all in black. Could Nick have sent him to get 
even?  Mickey wondered, fighting back anger at the thought.  
All he wanted to do was get out of there, quietly
and without incident.  He'd gotten himself into enough 
trouble when he'd punched Nick that morning; an FBI agent 
punching a civilian could bring about charges of police 
brutality.
     The man went after Mickey again, pummeling, trying to 
subdue him.  Mickey fended him off easily, thankful for the 
training he'd received at his gym in DC.  Boxing for fitness 
came in handy.  Mickey got in a soft blow to the man's 
stomach, self-defense, he rationalized.
     And the man grabbed him with extraordinary strength, 
taking him by surprise.  Mickey felt the back of his head 
impact the porcelain of the sink and he groaned as everything 
swam in a sea of red and black before his eyes.  He blinked, 
fighting to stay conscious, and saw the man had a
knife.  Mickey tried to get up, to defend himself, to pull 
his gun to scare the guy, but his body wouldn't react to the 
command.
     He heard the door to the bathroom open and let out a 
weak cry that was supposed to summon help.  Then the world 
slid away into darkness.

-----

     "Are you all right?"
     The soft voice took Mickey by surprise as he woke hard.  
The floor seemed to tilt beneath his body, and his head 
throbbed unbearably.  "What--?" he tried to ask, hearing his 
voice come out as only a croak.
     "We have to get out of here," she whispered into his 
ear, her hair falling over her shoulder and into his face as 
she leaned down, trying to help him to his feet.
     "Purity, what are you doing here?" Mickey asked.
     "Saving you, apparently.  I noticed you in the library 
and was waiting for you to come out when I heard the ruckus," 
she explained quickly, helping him up.  "Lean on me.  We have 
to get out of here, and fast."
     "Why?" said Mickey, looking around.  "How--"  His head 
hurt too much when he tried to think.  He leaned against 
Purity, who was a lot stronger than she looked as she helped 
him out into the cold New York afternoon.  He dragged against 
her, wanting to take a seat on the icy steps, but she pulled 
him along.  
     "Not here, not yet," she cautioned him, hurrying down 
the street.
     They were headed against the wind and it stung Mickey's 
eyes and nose.  He opened his mouth and tasted blood on his 
numbed lips. He tried to remember what had happened.  A man.  
In the bathroom. Had attacked him, obviously, but Mickey 
couldn't remember any of the details.  He couldn't even 
remember what the man had looked like, except in the 
abstract, and every time he tried to focus in on the 
thought, the pain in the back of his head banged away more 
intensely.
     "We'll be safe in here," Purity said softly, pulling 
open the door to a small bakery cafe.  The warmth from the 
ovens inundated them, and combined with the scent of vanilla 
and bread baking, was pure bliss.
     "How did you scare the guy away?" Mickey said, blinking 
a few times to clear the tears of pain from his eyes, looking 
at his companion.
     "It was a simple mugging.  Being caught was enough," 
she said. The flat glint to her eyes told him that she was 
lying.
     "You know more than you're telling me."  
     "Why would I hold anything back from you?"
     "That's what I have to figure out," said Mickey.  
"What's your last name?" She shook her head, refusing to 
answer.  "I could get it from the symphony," he threatened 
lightly.
     "I doubt that," she challenged back.
     "I'm supposed to believe it just says 'Purity' on your 
Social Security card and your W-2 form?"
     "Are you threatening to sick the IRS on me?" she asked 
back, an amused gleam in her eyes that made Mickey irritated.  
"Artists are allowed their quirks."
     "Where do you live?" he asked.  She only smiled.  "I--" 
Mickey began, but broke off.
     "What?" she asked, playfully.
     He shook his head, forgetting what he'd been about to 
say.  "I think I might need stitches," he said, his voice 
going up in slight surprise. The world seemed to spin once 
too fast for him, and he closed his eyes against it.  And 
didn't open them again.
     Damn it! Purity thought.  It was getting harder and 
harder to save this man from his enemies and himself.  She 
got to her feet quickly and thrust a fifty dollar bill into 
the hand of the waiter who had started in their direction.  
"I was never here," she murmured, "Get him to an emergency 
room."

-----

     "I need to know what rooms Chloe Grant and Mickey 
Callavelo are in," Samantha told the desk clerk at the Metro 
Hotel.  It would have been easier if the room numbers had 
been written on the piece of paper she'd been given, she 
thought, but figured it was okay to have to do some of the 
work herself.
     "I'm sorry, I am not authorized to give out that 
information," replied the desk clerk.
     "But I need to know!" cried Samantha, but the desk 
clerk remained unimpressed.  "They're FBI agents!" she 
blurted out, and then looked around to see who had heard.  
Was she not supposed to tell that? she wondered.  A sinking 
feeling invaded her stomach.  What if they were undercover, 
and using different names?  How would she ever find them 
then?
     "Are they your parents?" asked the desk clerk.
     "No," Sam said, as though it was a crazy question.
     "Then I don't care who they are, I can't tell you 
anything. Sorry."  He said the word in a way that conveyed 
the fact that he wasn't sorry at all.
     Fine, thought Samantha, all the more determined.  She 
settled her bag more firmly on her shoulder and started for 
the elevator.
     "Where are you going?" called the clerk after her.
     "I'm going to find them, if you won't tell me!" she 
snapped back rebelliously.
     "I think not," said the clerk, motioning to the doorman 
with his hand.  "Antonio, please escort this charming young 
lady outside," he requested.
     "I won't go!" Samantha screamed, but it didn't do her 
much good as the very large Antonio lifted her off her feet 
and set her down outside the hotel doors, which he blocked 
with his body.  Samantha glared and pouted at him, and then 
stomped away, still looking at the hotel, thinking of new 
plan.  Except she was too hungry to think. All she wanted was 
Mickey and Chloe.  Or Mulder.
     "Run into trouble?" asked a sympathetic voice behind 
her.
     Samantha turned and looked at the man who stood there.  
In his nice suit and trenchcoat, he looked like her brother.  
Or, at least, like someone trustworthy.  Maybe even another 
FBI agent.  She *was* lost, she thought, and she'd always 
been instructed to seek the help of an adult, preferably a 
policeman.  "They won't tell me what rooms my friends are 
staying in," she explained.  "Do you think you can find 
out for me?"
     "Sure," said the man easily.  "I bet you're hungry, 
though, and cold.  When did you get into the city?"
     "This morning."
     "Came by yourself, huh?"
     "To meet my friends," she answered.
     "Why don't you come with me.  We can get a burger and 
some fries, and then we'll track down your friends, okay?  
What's your name, honey?" he asked.
     Samantha looked at him, a new suspicion blooming in her 
mind. "You're not a policeman, are you?" she asked.
     "Not exactly," he answered with a cool smile.
     "FBI?" She glanced at the unsympathetic doorman, 
suddenly feeling afraid.
     "No," said the man, taking a step towards her.
     Samantha turned and ran as fast as she could up to the 
doorman of the Metro Hotel.  She'd broken a big rule, and she 
was in trouble.  She'd talked to a stranger, and not just a 
stranger, a Bad Man.  "You have to help me," she said quickly 
to the doorman, but not quickly enough.  She felt the man's 
hand close on her shoulder.
     "I see you found your friend," said the doorman.
     "No!" cried Samantha, breaking away from the man.  She
looked at the doorman, but he would be of no help.  She 
dropped her bag and started running, as fast as she possibly 
could, in the opposite direction, hoping to catch the Bad Man 
by off guard and lose him.  She slowed, thinking it had 
worked.
     "Samantha."  She heard the familiar voice and stopped, 
feeling a chill wash over her.  She turned slowly, to see the 
woman who had given her the plane ticket.  "What are you 
doing?  Haven't you found your friends yet?" she asked.
     Sam shook her head, frowning.  The woman was familiar, 
and not a stranger, but that didn't explain why she felt 
something like fear or worry burning in her stomach.  "The, 
um--" She was *not* going to cry, she wasn't! "--the desk 
clerk wouldn't tell me their room numbers," she
admitted, "and they weren't on the paper you gave me."
     "It's okay," the woman told her.  "It's okay.  Come 
here.  I'll take you to them.  It's going to be all right, 
Samantha.  But they're not there right now, so let's go 
somewhere and get you something to eat.  Okay?"
     The same words the scary man had said to her to 
try to her.  This woman was much more safe, Sam knew, but she 
was still scared of her.  Just scared in different ways.  
"Where do I know you from?" she asked, and the woman just 
smiled.  "I don't know--I can't remember your name."
     "It's Purity, Samantha," she said softly, taking her 
hand and guiding her along the street towards the welcoming 
beacon of the golden arches.
     "Where do I know you from?" Sam whispered.
     "The time before."
     "Before what?"
     "Before Orangeburg," Purity answered.

-----

     The  phone rang shrilly, pulling Chloe out of one of 
the sweetest dreams she'd ever had.  She hadn't even realized 
she'd drifted off.  It took her a moment to struggle out of 
it, open her eyes, and realize that part of it was real.  She 
was here.  With Nick.  Back together, the way they were meant 
to be.
     He opened his eyes as she looked at him and smiled 
faintly at her.  She smiled back and grabbed the phone as it 
began to ring again. "Hello?" she mumbled.
     "Chloe?"
     She sat up, her heart racing instantly.  "Mickey?  
Where are you, what's wrong?"
     "I'm in the emergency room--um, New York General," he 
said.
     "What happened?" she cried.
     "It's a long story, anyway, they, uh, they won't let me 
go by myself.  They say someone has to come and get me."
     "Why?" Chloe demanded, scared.  "Were you in an 
accident?" Oh no.  "Did you get shot?"
     "No.  No," said Mickey, and his voice sounded weak in 
her ear. "Just some stitches, that's all.  Can you come get 
me?"
     "Sure.  Sure.  I'll be there as soon as I can.  Sit 
tight," Chloe promised, and hung up.  Nick was looking at her 
expectantly.  "What?" she snapped, not liking that look.
     "Your partner gets himself in a lot of trouble," he 
said.
     Chloe felt cold inside.  Her feelings for Nick hadn't 
changed, but they had been the only things.  He was 
different.  And snide when it came to Mickey.  She didn't 
like that, didn't like what it suggested, what it made her 
feel about him.  "You'd better lay off unless you want a
shiner to match your jaw," she cautioned, getting up from the 
bed.  "You staying here, or you coming with me?"
     "Where is he?"
     "Emergency room, New York General," she repeated, 
biting her lip with worry.
     "I'll drive," Nick offered, getting up.  He slung his 
arms around her waist impulsively and kissed her at the spot 
where her neck met her shoulder.  "I love you, Chloe."
     She wasn't impervious to the words.   "I love you, too, 
Nick," she replied honestly.  "But we have to get moving."

-----

     "Mickey, my friend, you seriously have a problem 
getting around New York, don't you?"  Nicholas Shane mocked 
as they walked back to the agents' rental car.  Callavelo 
simply ignored him.
     Chloe, on the other hand, shot Nick a look.  He smiled 
apologetically and opened the passenger door to the car, 
slipping in.  He watched through the window as Chloe caught 
Mickey by the arm and led him a safe distance from the car.  
She turned her back to him so that he couldn't read her lips.
     "Mickey, what's going on?  Why do you keep disappearing 
on me?"
     "I take it you didn't get my note?"
     "What note?"
     Mickey nodded.  "Look, Chloe, I'm not stupid.  I know 
what you're doing here."
     Chloe's eyes narrowed.  "Mickey, I asked you a 
question. Don't turn this around on me."
     "I'm at least trying to do something pertaining to the 
case.  I went to the library and I left a note in your room."
     "The library?  Why?  And what happened?"  Chloe glanced 
back at the car and noticed that Nick was staring intently 
through the window.  While she trusted him, it was quite 
clear that Mickey didn't.  Besides, she wanted Mickey to 
explain what was going on and he obviously wouldn't do it in 
front of Nick.  Chloe took hold of Mickey's arm and led them 
further away.  She turned her back so that Nick wouldn't be 
able to see her face.
     "I was attacked in the library bathroom.  I--Chloe, she 
was there." Mickey said.
     "Who?  Who was there, Mickey?"
     "Purity.   She helped me."
     "Mickey, I'm seriously beginning to think that Purity 
is a figment of your imagination--"  Chloe began, but was 
interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell phone.  She looked 
at Mickey, red-faced and so angry with her, and shrugged.  
She saw his jaw working angrily, but chose to ignore what it 
could mean.  
     Reaching into her blazer, Chloe pulled out the phone 
and quickly connected it.
     "Grant," she said.  
     "Chloe, it's Dana."  Chloe's eyes widened.  Mickey 
looked at her, narrowed his eyes and began to walk away.  
Chloe reached out and clamped a hand on his arm.  If looks 
could kill, Chloe would have been dead.  
     "Dana, hi.  Have you heard anything?"  Mickey seemed to 
relax a bit. 
     "Yes, Chloe, we found out where she's gone,"  Dana 
said.
     "She left on her own?"  There was a pause and Chloe 
could almost imagine Dana nodding her head.  
     "She got on a plane to New York City,"  Dana explained.
     "What?  You mean she's coming here?"
     "Yes, Chloe.  Mulder and I are catching the next plane 
out.  We'll be there soon enough."
     Chloe's eyes widened and she looked at Mickey, who 
seemed to be hanging off her every word.  "Look, we'll keep 
an eye out for her, Dana.  I'm afraid our case isn't going so 
well right now."
     "Thank you, Chloe.  I'll call you when we land,"  Dana 
said, then disconnected the phone before Chloe could get 
another word in.  She looked up at Mickey, who was looking at 
her expectantly.
     "Well?"
     "Dana said Samantha was on her way here."
     "Here?  As in to New York City?"
     "Yep.  I wonder how she knew we were here.  You didn't 
tell her when we dropped her off at her mother's, did you?"
     "No.  Why would I tell her?"
     Chloe only shrugged.  "I hate to say this, but we have 
more important things to deal with.  By any chance did your 
friend happen to give you back you ID?"
     Mickey breathed deeply and clenched his jaw shut for a 
moment. "No, I forgot to ask her.  I was too busy passing 
out,"  he answered after a moment of struggling for self-
control.  
     "Okay, look, let's get back to the car.  I want to hear 
what you discovered at the library,"  Chloe said, giving up 
on her attack on her partner.  She really didn't feel like 
pursuing it and Mickey didn't look like her would be able to 
contain himself if she slammed him with another verbal jab.
     Mickey didn't say anything.  He simply wandered back to 
the car, silently getting in the back seat while Chloe 
slipped into the driver's.  Mickey stared out the window, 
feeling the crackling of tension running through the enclosed 
space.  He kept his mouth shut as the scenery slowly began to 
move by.

-----

Metro Hotel

     Mickey dropped down into a chair in Chloe's room, 
trying hard not to notice the rumpled bed sheets.  They were 
like a traffic accident, though, it was almost impossible to 
tear his eyes away.  Until Chloe touched the stitches he'd 
just received and he jumped about a foot with a yelp of pain.  
He turned his head and glared at her.
     She was frowning.  "Mickey, how did this happen?" she 
asked and he could see the concern in her eyes.
     "I told you, this man attacked me in the bathroom at 
the library."
     "Unprovoked?"  her eyebrow went up, almost a challenge.
     "Yes," he snapped.  "We're getting close, Chloe.  To 
the killer.  I can feel it."
     "And you think this man attacked you because he knows
something?"
     "It's the only logical explanation.  Unless your good 
buddy Nick got someone to rough me up in return for the scene 
at breakfast."
     "Nick would never do that!" Chloe cried, shocked that 
Mickey would even suggest such a thing.  Mickey didn't say 
anything.  "You can't believe that--he's an FBI agent, for 
heaven's sake!  He's above that."
     "Yeah," he conceded before she got too angry.  He 
*didn't* actually believe it had been Nick.
     "There is one other option we haven't discussed."
     "What's that?"
     "Mick, every time you're with this Purity woman, you 
end up in the hospital," Chloe pointed out gently and waited 
for the explosion.  "I'm beginning to think it could be 
significant."
     "How could a figment of my imagination do this to me?" 
Mickey asked her coldly.
     She sighed in frustration.  "Don't do this.  I don't 
want to fight with you."
     "I don't want to fight with you either, Chloe, it's 
just..."
     "What?" she asked quickly.  He shrugged and didn't 
finish his thought.  "What do you know about this woman?"
     "Not much," he admitted.  "She plays for the symphony."
     "I don't think it's wise to trust her," Chloe said.
     "I know that!" Mickey cried.  He realized then, for the 
first time, that his emotions were severely tangled up with 
this case.  He didn't know if he should trust Purity, could 
hardly overlook all the strange things that happened around 
her, but at the same time he couldn't deny the attraction and 
the connection he felt to her.  And then there was Chloe to 
worry about, getting in over her head with Nick.  "I know," 
he said, more calmly.  "I'm being careful."
     "Not careful enough," Chloe said, glancing at his 
stitches with a rueful, sad smile again.  "I don't want to 
see you seriously hurt."
     He wanted to retort "Why?" childishly, but he couldn't.  
She was his partner.  They were each others' responsibility.  
     "What are you going to do now?" Chloe asked him.  
Neutral ground.  No more fighting.
     "I was going to try and sort out all the facts I've got 
in my head, try to make sense of this.  We have all the 
pieces, Chloe.  We just have to put them together," Mickey 
said.
     She nodded.  That was almost exactly what Nick had told 
her that he was going to be working on in his office.  "What 
about Samantha?"
     He looked stricken, and she knew that the situation had
momentarily slipped his mind.  "It's such a big city.  How do 
we find one little girl?" he asked, and she could hear the 
quiet fear in his voice.  "Are you going to look for her?  
I'll go wi--"
     "No," said Chloe and she had to look away.    "We have 
the police on it, and Nick was going to try to pull some 
strings with the kidnapping division, even though this 
doesn't appear to be a kidnapping.  We'd be looking for a 
needle in a haystack.  She's a smart girl, she'll be
all right."
     "Then what are you going to do until Mulder and Scully 
get here?" Mickey asked.
     She shrugged non committally.  "I--ah--thought I'd go 
over and see what Nick is up to," she lied.  Knowing he would 
believe it, and knowing that he wouldn't offer to accompany 
her.
     She saw the hurt flash in his eyes.  "I'll see you 
later," he said, rising to his feet and leaving the room.  
The door banged shut behind him and she stared at it, feeling 
guilty.  But she was doing it to protect him. Chloe sighed 
and tried to squelch the uneasy feeling in her stomach 
as she grabbed her coat and headed out.

-----

T h e  X - F i l e s
Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison

by Char Hall and Megan Reilly
[lazydark@aol.com & eponine@prodigy.net]

8/3/96-10/30/96
______________________________________________
 Part 3



     "Nick," muttered Mickey, irritated, as he went to his 
suitcase and pulled out his laptop.  He set it on the dresser 
and pulled up a chair. As it warmed up, he caught a glimpse 
of himself in the mirror.  He looked like hell.  His skin was 
gray and pasty and his eyes were red.  The shadows around 
them were deep, and his hair and clothes were dirty.  What he 
needed was a hot shower and a few hours rest.  They had 
wanted to keep him for twenty four hours' observation at the
hospital, but he'd refused.  There was a killer on the loose.  
If they didn't catch him, more people would die.
     And that was all that mattered.
     He stared at the small computer screen for a moment, 
trying to gather his thoughts, and then began to type.
     "The killer is a male, as determined by the method of 
killing demonstrated in the photographs of the double murder 
crime scene."
     Mickey stopped.  Was this even how a profile was supposed 
to be?  he wondered, never having written one before.  He 
pressed on.
     "The killer's leaving his victims as though on display 
indicates that there is a message he wishes to convey to the 
police, and possibly to the world.  Killing is his obsession, 
but he is also proud of it, as indicated by his flamboyant 
method of murder.  Quite possibly, he wants to be caught."
     It sounds so ridiculous, Mickey thought, no killer 
would want to get caught.  Wouldn't the thrill be in getting 
away with it?  But in so many cases that was simply untrue.  
It felt like a cliche for him to be writing that statement at 
all, but he genuinely believed it to be true.  He looked at
the cursor blinking on the screen.  The words and thoughts 
were not coming easily.
     "He wants to be caught because then his true motives 
will be revealed to the world.  The fact that the murders' 
strangeness has been kept out of the press and not revealed 
to the general public probably frustrates him.  This 
frustration feeds his drive to kill, with the hopes that
with the next murder, it will become impossible for the 
murders to be kept quiet.
     "The method of killing is one of the keys to this case.  
The victims are somehow transformed into sodium bicarbonate, 
possibly by the introduction of a human blood product as 
found in at least one crime scene, in the throat of the 
victim.  The nature of this substance is at this
time unknown.  The killer is almost certainly tied in some 
way to the scientific community--either he is a scientist and 
this is a product he has developed, or perhaps he is the 
victim of a genetic mutation, whether natural or artificially 
induced.  It is not clear as to whether the unidentifiable 
elements in the human blood sample located in one of 
the victim's throats was added to the blood, or is part of 
its inherent makeup.  Further study of this issue is being 
conducted.
     "The method of killing--turning living victims into 
mineral--is also indicative of the killer's obsession.  He 
identifies strongly with the mythology surrounded by Medusa, 
and the crime scene's purposefulness represents one of 
Medusa's mythological sisters, Euryale, who represented 
sexual excess.  Medusa's other sister, Stheno, represented
perversion.  The killer will almost certainly strike at least 
once more and leave a display for law enforcement's benefit.  
The killer definitely has some family issues which he is 
attempting to work out through these deaths."
     What am I writing?  Mickey wondered, I have no idea 
where I'm going with this.  But he continued typing.
     "He is attempting to express his feelings.  But the 
feelings are becoming too strong for him to control, and the 
killings are escalating."
     This doesn't tell me how to catch him, Mickey thought.
     "The killer is well educated.  He knows more about the 
myth of Medusa than the average person.  In some method, he 
has studied this tale.  I do not think that he is a Greek 
scholar, however, nor do I honestly believe that he is a 
scientist.  He is a man who has had contact with these 
factions in some undefined way at this moment."
     Mickey sighed.  Maybe he didn't know as much as he 
thought he did.  Good thing he didn't have to turn this in.
     "The only thing that is certain is that he will kill 
again. Soon.  He will almost definitely strike on some form 
of perversion.  As family is a motivating force in the 
killer's obsession, I think he willl strike in the
realm of child pornography or prostitution."
     Mickey saved the document and turned off the laptop.  I 
just hope he doesn't kill a child, he thought.

-----

NY FBI HQ

     Nick was absolutely engrossed in his work.  The sounds 
of the bustling workers outside his office door had faded 
from his consciousness some time ago, as had the honking 
horns on the street below.  He'd completely forgotten the 
coffee he'd been drinking to stave off hunger--indeed, he'd 
forgotten that he was hungry.
     His fingers touched keys on the keyboard, inputting 
information into the computer, but he was barely aware of it.  
His mind was working far away. In the mind of the killer.
     "She identifies strongly with Medusa.  She has been 
hurt.  She feels vulnerable because of her humanity, her 
mortality, and this drives her to kill others before they can 
kill her.  She is probably the victim of childhood sexual 
abuse by someone she trusted, very likely incest.  This
abuse was likely performed by another female, or more than 
one female.  She is afraid of other women, she feels that 
they are a strong threat to her.  She sees sexuality as a 
power, a power that she does not possess.  So she must kill 
instead.  She is obsessed with the legend of Medusa, afraid 
that a hero is coming to cut off her head and put her on 
display, but she also assumes the role of that hero in some 
ways, but victimizing those who remind her of her 
mythological sisters.
     "How does she kill?  The circumstances are unclear.  
Perhaps she is an unusual individual, different from humans.  
Like the semi-Godhood of the ancient Greek character Medusa, 
perhaps she produces powers that other humans do not or have 
not yet been able to tap. Perhaps she has mastered alchemy 
and is so able to transform her victims into sodium 
bicarbonate that way.  Perhaps her dementia has allowed her 
access to areas of the mind that you and I do not have. 
Perhaps her will has grown so strong that she is able to 
physically manipulate the substance of her victims with the 
power of her mind.
     "She will kill again.  She is afraid and she cannot 
control it.  She will not be easy to apprehend.  We do not 
comprehend how her powers work.  Her victims were killed 
quickly and without signs of struggle.  If closed in upon, it 
is possible she will kill us the way she has killed the
others, in order to protect herself.  It is even possible 
that she has turned her obsession away from the killing of 
her mythological sisters to the pursuit of those who offer 
her the most immediate harm--the Perseus of the myth who 
sought to kill her.  She may be after the FBI officials 
who are working to apprehend her."
     Nick blinked and pulled himself out of it, blinking and 
looking at the words on the screen.  He knew what he'd been 
thinking but he was barely aware of what he had written.  He 
felt weak, and ill.  He gulped down some of the sour, cold 
coffee and forced himself to swallow.  It made sense that the 
killer would turn on them.  He only wondered if  it she had 
been able to find them before they found her.
     He had to find Chloe.  She could be in danger.

-----

     Mickey had done her a big favor by mentioning that this 
Purity woman worked for the symphony, Chloe thought, as she 
knocked on the back entrance of the music hall.  There was 
more than one  symphony in a city this size, but it had 
narrowed her search considerably and given her a better place 
to begin than the DMV database, which could have taken hours.  
She was worried about Mickey and his involvement with this 
strange woman.
     A small, heavyset man opened the door.  "We are not 
open to the public.  The box office is around the front," he 
told her.
     "I know," Chloe said, displaying her badge.  "My name 
is Chloe Grant and I work with the FBI.  I'm looking for a 
woman who may play with the symphony.  Her name is Purity..."
     "Ah yes," said the man.
     "You know her?" This was easy, thought Chloe, relieved.  
The man nodded.  "What is your name and your affiliation with 
the symphony, sir?" she asked.
     "I'm Stanley Allen, I manage the facilities.  The 
building."
     "And what can you tell me about Purity?"
     "There's not much to tell, really.  What exactly is 
this about?" He was beginning to look at her suspiciously.
     "I need to learn what I can about her.  Starting with 
her last name, place of residence, past wo--"
     "She doesn't have one."
     "One what?"
     "Last name.  Or at least, if she does, I've never heard 
it.  Purity, that's all there is."
     "Uh-huh," muttered Chloe suspiciously.  Who does she 
think she is, Madonna?  The artist formerly known as Prince?  
Give me a break, she thought.  "And I suppose you don't know 
where she lives?"
     "No."
     He was being uncooperative.  "Can you tell me what she 
looks like?" Chloe asked, telling herself it was because she 
needed to know and not because she was curious about this 
woman who had seemingly captivated her partner.
     "Medium build.  Long dark hair.  You can't miss her, 
lady, she'd be gorgeous if not for the scars ripping up the 
side of her face.  Now if you'll excuse me..."  he said 
pointedly.
     "Of course," murmured Chloe, stepping back before he 
slammed the door in her face.  Very interesting, she thought, 
and not at all what she had expected to find.  She checked 
her watch and wondered what time musicians arrived to 
rehearse.  Probably not until later, she thought,
sitting down on a bench anyway to watch the entrance while 
she made her calls.
     Half an hour later, she was freezing and she'd learned 
little.  This woman had no driver's license, which wasn't 
uncommon in New York.  But she also had no birth certificate 
or Social Security records, either. At least, not under that 
name.  Which wasn't too much of a shock, it was obviously a 
cheesy stage name.
     But it left Chloe out of luck.  How could Mickey get 
sucked in by someone like that? she wondered.  He was 
normally so levelheaded and so practical, what could he 
possibly see in a show biz type like that? Even if she was 
allegedly gorgeous.  Mickey's head hadn't been turned
by anyone in the time that she'd known him, she'd thought he 
didn't notice women for their looks.  Maybe it's the scars, 
Chloe wondered, maybe they seem to make her vulnerable. Maybe 
he thinks he has to protect her...?
     She sighed and got up.  She'd never figure it out.  
There was never any point in trying to guess what was going 
on in someone else's head.  It was impossible, and pointless.  
She'd go and see what Nick was up to, and maybe get his help 
tracking down this mystery woman.  At least use the resources 
available to her at the FBI building.  She wasn't sure she 
wanted Nick to know about Mickey's friend.  More 
specifically, she didn't want him to see how much it bothered 
her.
     Her cell phone rang then.  It was Nick.  There had been 
another murder.

-----

     He watched from the shadows, unable to keep the grin 
from his face.  Killing always made him feel happy--in power-
-in control.  And this murder was his best.  A tiny giggle 
escaped his lips.  And it was only going to get better.  The 
patrolmen had responded quickly to his anonymous call.  He'd 
watched them as they phoned their superiors. The people who 
had been tracking him.
     They would be here soon.  His grin stretched wider.  
They were coming right to him.  On his terms.  Unsuspecting.  
     He could hardly wait.

-----

     Nicholas Shane stared down at the body.  Something was 
wrong.  Something about this body didn't fit the puzzle.  It 
just didn't jive. He hadn't said anything to the officers at 
the scene of the crime because they were so wrapped up in 
collecting evidence.  Besides, he didn't really know what was 
bothering him about the scene.  He wanted to wait until Chloe 
appeared, just to get a second opinion.
     Maybe she would see what it is that he had missed. 
     What he hadn't expected was for Michael Callavelo to 
appear first.
     "What have we got, Nick?"  Mickey asked, lifting the 
police line and striding on to the scene.  Nick fought the 
urge to roll his eyes.
     "Looks like another one,"  he said simply.   "Who 
called you?"
     Mickey looked up, sharply, wondering what Nick had 
meant. "Chloe did.  Why?"
     "Just wondering."  In truth, Nick didn't know why he 
hadn't called Mickey himself.  
     He watched as Mickey quickly discarded the question, 
obviously struggling not to cause trouble.  The other agent 
wandered around the scene looking at the surroundings.  
     This body had been left out in the open, contrary to 
the others.  That'd been the first thing to bother Nick.  
Their killer didn't leave the bodies out in plain sight.  
That was why they'd been able to keep the media out of the 
picture.  Not to mention the fact that most of the victims 
had been low-level people.  People that weren't exactly high 
in public relations.  Therefore they wouldn't really be worth 
the interest.  
     "There's something wrong,"  Mickey said.  He 
straightened from his examination of the body.  
     "What do you think?"  Nick honestly wanted Mickey's 
opinion on this one.  Since Chloe wasn't here to give hers, 
he might as well give the man a try.  I can always discount 
him later, Nick thought.  Then he remembered that Chloe had 
wanted him to try and get along with Mickey.
     Mickey looked a little surprised that Nick was actually 
asking for his opinion.  He took a deep breath and looked 
down at the body again.  "Have you got a pair of gloves?"
     Nick motioned for one of the other detectives to hand 
him the gloves, which he in turn handed to Mickey, genuinely 
interested in what the man was doing.
     "You're not going to get sick, are you?"  Nick asked.  
     Mickey looked up.  "No.  It's when you start to cut 
them up that I get sick.  Besides, if what I suspect is 
correct... Well, just wait and see."  
     The agent had just turned back to the body when Nick 
heard a voice from somewhere behind him.  "You two started 
without me?"
     He turned around to see Chloe lifting the police line.  
He smiled warmly and walked over to her, happy to get away 
from Mickey for a few minutes.  "You're late."
     "I know.  I'm sorry.  I had some things I needed to 
take care of.  Besides," she gestured towards Mickey, "I 
figured you two would be able to do something without me."
     Nick leaned closer.  "He's definitely on to something."  
He hiked a thumb over his shoulder in Mickey's direction.
     Chloe nodded and walked around Nick to stand over 
Mickey.  He was kneeling on the ground, staring at the body.  
Callavelo seemed lost in thought as he tapped on his knee 
with a gloved hand.  A second later he'd obviously made up 
his mind on something.  Both of the agents watched as Mickey 
reached out and stuck two of his fingers into the mouth of 
the victim.
     "Mickey, what are you--"  Chloe began, but she stopped 
when she saw what Mickey was doing.  She stared in horror as 
he yanked on the lower lip.  Even more surprising, however, 
was the fact that the lip broke off, tumbling into Mickey's 
hand.
     "A dud,"  Mickey said simply, standing quickly.
     "What?" Nick asked, still not fully understanding what 
he had just seen.
     "This is just a statue."  Handing the piece to Chloe, 
Mickey began to walk away, stripping his gloves away.
     "Hey!"  Nick called, following Mickey.  "How did you 
know that?" he asked when he caught up to the other agent.  
Mickey slowly turned to find that Shane was being completely 
serious.  He wasn't mocking this time.
     "The body didn't look right.  It doesn't fit the modus 
operandi.  For starters, as you noticed, the body is outside.  
Our killer has never once left a victim out in plain sight.  
Secondly, I think this is more than just an escalating 
murderer. There's something else here."
     Nick just stared at Mickey.  It was a complete minute 
before he could speak.  "So, what you're saying is that our 
killer set this up for public benefit?"
     Mickey shrugged.  "Draw whatever conclusions you like.  
I'm not sure what it means.  We may even be looking at a 
copy-cat."
     "We both know that's not possible.  This case has been 
kept tightly bottled.  Unless there's a leak somewhere, no 
one even has the most significant details of this crime," 
Nick said.  He was completely puzzled now.   
     "All I know is that I have to rewrite my profile,"  
Mickey said.  When he turned away, he felt Nick's hand on his 
shoulder.
     "Hold on a second," Nick said, pulling Mickey back.
     "What?"  Mickey snapped.  He hadn't intended on 
snapping, but he didn't appreciate being yanked around.  
Especially not by Chloe's boyfriend.
     "You wrote a profile?"
     "I dabbled one out, yes.  Why?  What now?"
     "I wrote one too.  I'm just curious to see how 
different they are.  Is there any chance we could sit down 
and compare them?"
     Mickey had the distinct feeling that Nick wanted to 
down-play him, and he wasn't about to let that happen.  But 
when Nick glanced back at Chloe then squared his shoulders 
and said, "Maybe we could meet somewhere without Chloe to go 
over them?"
     "She should be included, Nick."
     "I know.  It's just that we don't seem to get along 
very well, and I wanted a chance to buy you some lunch and 
see if we can patch our differences,"  Nick looked away for a 
moment, but when he looked back there was a seriousness in 
his eyes that told Mickey he really did want to try to 
reconcile. 
     "Look, I'm more than willing to try and put our 
differences behind us.  I'm going to agree, but I want Chloe 
to know that we'll be discussing a profile and that she's 
more than welcome to come along."  Mickey laid out the ground 
rules and waited for Nick to take them, or discard them.
     "It's a deal.  Now, what do you suggest we do about 
this little dilemma?"  Nick asked, turning back to face the 
scene.  Chloe was still fiddling with the body, making 
absolutely certain that it was indeed a dud, as Mickey had 
put it.
     "What do I look like?  An FBI Agent?"  Mickey asked, 
and Nick actually smiled.

-----

Kennedy International Airport
New York, NY

     Fox Mulder folded the picture and put it back in his 
pocket, disgustedly.
     "I can't believe no one has seen her!"  he cried as 
Dana joined him.  He gazed down at his wife, still marveling 
at that fact that she was by his side as his wife.
     "New York is a big city, Mulder," Dana said.  "Give it 
a bit of time and I'm absolutely certain we'll find her."
     "I hate it when you use that voice of reason with me,"  
Mulder said, putting an arm around her shoulders and dropping 
a kiss on her forehead.  "But as true as that is, I still 
can't stop searching and I can't wait.  I have to find her."
     "I know, Mulder."
     Mulder smiled down at his wife.  "Okay, if no one has 
seen her here, what would be the next course of action?"
     Dana appeared to think about it for a moment.  
"Assuming that Sammi came on her own, I would be inclined to 
think that she'd take a taxi, or the bus.  A taxi is more 
likely because it's private and she can get directly to where 
ever it is she wanted to go."
     "That's a good idea.  How about I make you a deal?"  
Mulder asked, smiling mischievously down at Dana.
     "What kind of deal, Mulder?"  she asked, giving him one 
of her playfully skeptical looks.
     "You have the composite faxed to all of the taxi 
companies and I'll load our stuff into the rental.  How's 
that for a deal?"
     "It's a deal," Dana said.  She smiled and put her hand 
in Mulder's pocket, fishing around for the picture he'd just 
folded.  When she found it, she pulled it out.  "Ah, there it 
is.  Now, go on.  I want that car sitting outside the door 
waiting for me when I'm done here,"  she said.
     Mulder nodded and kissed her again.

-----

     Samantha Mulder didn't like the feeling that had seated 
itself deep in the pit of her stomach.  It meant that she had 
made a mistake--possibly the biggest mistake she'd ever made 
in her entire ten years.  And the fact that she now knew she 
was in big trouble didn't settle anything.  
     She wasn't afraid of the woman driving the car, she 
trusted her--for some strange reason, their bond was 
extremely strong, although Sam wouldn't have been able to 
explain it for her life--it was more the fact that she had 
left her mother without even saying a thing.  
     Sam was worried that Fox was going to have a few words 
with her.  She hated disappointing him and Dana.   What made 
it worse was that she also knew Chloe and Mickey would have 
something to say about it, too.
     The window of the car afforded a glorious view of the 
big city, spreading the fear even faster.  Sam wondered, for 
the first time since she had started her adventure, what she 
would have done if she hadn't been able to find Mickey or 
Chloe.  
     Pressing these horrible, scary thoughts from her mind, 
Sam leaned back in her chair and took a deep, unsettled 
breath.
     "Samantha, you should try to relax, you know.  I'm not 
going to hurt you, I promise,"  Purity said.
     "I'm sorry,"  Sam whispered.
     "You know, honey, we have a lot in common,"  Purity 
said quietly.  Her voice seemed distant and reminiscent.
     "What do you mean?"  Sam asked, curiosity helping to 
ease her other fears.  
     "I can't explain most of it, but I want you to know 
that you recognized me for a reason.  You're not old enough 
to understand--and even when you are old enough, I don't 
expect that you would--but suffice to say that a lot of 
things have happened during that gray spot of your life."
     Gray spot?  How had she known about the missing part of 
Samantha's memory?  
     "I don't understand,"  Sam said.
     "I know,"  Purity said.  She reached out and put a hand 
on Samantha's shoulder.  "Don't worry about it.  Some day 
I'll be back to explain it all to you.  I'm not going to let 
anyone hurt you.  Not *anyone*."  
     Sam sat back, her confusion much more compound.

-----

     He watched them come and go.  
     They were too smart.  They had seen through his little 
trick much too quickly.  However upset he was over that fact, 
he grew more excited by the moment.  This meant that they 
would be even more of a challenge then he thought.  
     He wandered away from the scene, easily blending in to 
the crowds of people and making a clean emergence on the 
other side of the street.  He found his car and climbed in, 
already scheming his next kill.
     The kill where he would finally sacrifice the last 
Gorgon and then he would move on to Perseus, the one whom had 
been hurting his games, coming too close to home.
     This one would die the most hideously of them all.

-----

Metro Hotel

     Mickey was too busy reading the profile to take much 
notice when Chloe appeared and slipped into the restaurant 
booth beside Nick.  It was only when Chloe kicked him under 
the table that he looked up.
     "Mickey, look who's here,"  Chloe said and pointed to 
the entrance of the hotel cafe.  Mickey turned around and saw 
the diminutive form a very familiar woman.
     Long coat billowing her, Dana Scully Mulder made a bee 
line for their table.  She smiled and took a seat beside 
Mickey who happily moved over to provide room.
     "Dana," Mickey said, nodding.
     "Mickey,"  Dana said.  She nodded to Chloe and then 
turned to Nick.  "Agent Shane?  Nice to see you again."
     "Likewise, Agent Scu--er, Agent Mulder,"  Nick said, 
stumbling on her last name.
     Dana laughed.  "I have the same problem.  Make it Dana, 
okay? How have you been?"  she said.
     "Things have been going okay.  This case has been 
taking a lot out of us, and sometimes we're not agreeable, 
but I think for the most part we're reconciling our 
differences,"  Nick said.  Dana missed the glance between 
Shane and Callavelo, one that was still a little poisonous.
     "Dana,"  Chloe broke in, trying not to wonder when Nick 
had actually met her superior agent.  "How's the search 
coming along?  And where is Mulder?"
     Dana took a deep breath and sat back.  "Mulder's 
upstairs showering.  I had heard that you were here so I told 
him I would come down and explain everything to you before he 
came down," she said. "Simply put, we haven't found her yet.  
We're waiting for faxes from some taxi companies to see if 
they can come up with a location.  We've also put out 
composites for the Metro drivers just to make sure she didn't 
catch the bus somewhere."
     "It's taking a lot out of Mulder, isn't it?"
     Dana's silence was all the answer Chloe needed.  After 
all they had gone through to find her and she disappears 
again, it must be horrible for the man.  Not to mention for 
Dana who had been by his side for much of the bumpy ride.
     Chloe couldn't help but think of Mulder and Dana as 
role models.  Her problems with Nick paled in comparison to 
those of the two older agents.  And yet, Chloe knew that it 
still wasn't going to be easy for any of them.
     "Don't worry, Dana,"  Mickey said, setting aside the 
profile.  "We'll find her."
     Dana nodded, hoping they were right.
     "Mickey," Nick said, after a few moments of silence, 
"can we discuss the profiles for a moment?  I'm sure Dana 
won't mind."
     "Oh, by all means, don't let me interrupt,"  Dana said.
     "Sure, something you wanted to ask?"  Mickey asked.
     Chloe, on the other hand, was enjoying watching her 
fellow agents completely cover their differences in order to 
impress the older agent.  Too bad they hadn't done that for 
me, Chloe thought.
     "Yeah, you noticed that our profiles are radically 
different, usually profiles are *very* close in that respect 
when they come from two different agents that have not 
discussed them together.  Now my question for you, is why do 
you think the UNSUB is male?"
     Chloe had to smile at the use of the word "UNSUB".  
Nick definitely was trying to earn brownie points with Dana.  
Grant studied the other woman and knew that the jargon for an 
"unknown subject" was pretty far from the first thing on her 
mind.
     "Dana, these two have a bit of work to do, would you 
like to take a walk with me?" Chloe suggested.  "I'm sure 
they'll give Mulder the message that we'll be back in a few 
minutes."
     "Sure, let's go,"  Dana said.  She seemed kind of eager 
to get away anyway. 

-----

     Chloe Grant enjoyed the change of atmosphere that 
Dana's presence created.  It had been getting much more 
difficult for her to deal with Callavelo and Shane, even 
though they seemed to be getting along much better lately.  
As far as Chloe was concerned, it was about time.
     "Chloe, let me ask you a question, if I may,"  Dana 
said, once they had broken into a brisk pace away from the 
hotel.
     Chloe's brow furrowed at the tone of Scully's voice.  
She shrugged and said, "Sure, what is it?"
     "You and Agent Shane are lovers, are you not?"  Dana 
asked.  
     Chloe stopped dead in her tracks.  Dana had taken a few 
steps more and had to retrace them back.  
     "Did I say something wrong?" the older agent probed.
     "No.  I just didn't think I was being so hopelessly 
transparent," Chloe said.
     "Not hopelessly transparent," Dana said.  Then she 
laughed.  "You may not believe me when I say this, but I 
noticed something that gave it right away."
     "And that would have been?"
     "Agent Shane had lipstick on his finger,"  Scully said.
     Chloe first blanched and then a deep red colored her 
cheeks.  She reached up and touched her own lips, nodding.  
"Oh," she said.
     "Sorry, I don't think anyone normally would have 
noticed that, I just happened to notice because of the way he 
waved at me."
     "Which reminds me.  You've met Agent Shane before?"
     "Yes.  And it never occurred to me to put two and two 
together, Agent Grant.  I had actually met him before I met 
you.  And I had heard rumors that he'd been seeing a near-
graduate.  When you told me, on that case in Orangeburg, that 
you'd just had a horrible break-up, I didn't think much of 
it,"  Scully explained.
     "How, if you don't mind my asking, did you meet him?" 
Chloe asked.
     Dana took a deep breath and guided Chloe to a bench.  
"Agent Shane came to see me because he said that he'd lost 
someone very important to him recently and he'd known that I 
was one of her idols, or something.  He made it seem like the 
ex-girlfriend was dead.  And this was about a week before I 
met you."  Dana paused, taking a deep breath.  By this time, 
Chloe was completely entranced by what the older agent was 
saying.  
     "I don't understand," Chloe said after a few moments of 
silence.
     "It's very hard to explain, Chloe.  I'd heard of Agent 
Shane before--the man is a brilliant agent.  He desperately 
wanted me not to think him weird and I think he knew that I 
might understand.  I mean, considering my relationship to 
Mulder at that point."
     "So Nick came to see you because he knew that you were 
one of my favorite agents?"
     "Yes.  I think he wanted to try and make amends and 
this was the only way he knew how.  I assumed it was because 
he could not speak with you, but I had assumed that for the 
wrong reasons."
     "Oh," was all that Chloe could say.  With this strange 
new revelation, Chloe thought she now understood why Nick had 
been so delighted when she'd come back.  He sincerely wanted 
to try again.  Finally, Chloe found enough sense of mind to 
ask Dana about how she and Mulder were holding up.
     "The man tried to ditch me again,"  Dana said and 
shrugged her shoulders.  "But I managed to hang on and he 
knows that I'll kill him if he tries it again.  I'm okay, but 
it's just as tough on me as it is on him."
     Chloe nodded.  "I can imagine.  I have faith that we'll 
find her.  I just wish I could say the same about this damned 
killer."

------

Metro Hotel

     Mickey and Nick were getting nowhere.  They couldn't
agree on anything.  So it was a good thing when Mulder came
downstairs, freshly showered and looking exhausted.  Mickey
waved and Mulder came over to their table.
     "Where's my wife?" he asked.
     "She and Chloe went to check up on something,"
Mickey answered.
     "Agent Mulder.  It's good to meet you.  I'm Nicholas
Shane," Nick said, sticking his hand out for the other man to
shake.
     "Hi," said Mulder, looking slightly uncomfortable and 
as though he wasn't sure what to do.  He shook Nick's hand 
and sized him up.  He was attractive in a dark way, clean 
cut, wearing an expensive suit.  His tie was a bit oddball, 
but not too much so.  The epitome of an FBI agent on his way 
up, which was what Mulder had heard Nick Shane was.  A 
brilliant profiler with the added benefit of not being too 
spooky to deal with.
     "I've heard a lot about you, and I'm thrilled to have 
to opportunity to consult with you on this case," Nick 
continued.  The words sounded like brownnosing but they were 
spoken honestly, straightforward.  He meant them.
     Mulder was tired and pissed off.  All he wanted was his
sister back, safe.  He couldn't rid himself of the nagging 
fear that this was all his fault.  The last thing on earth he 
wanted to deal with was a killer playing games.  He glanced 
around again. Dana was nowhere to be seen, his lifeline, and 
he needed her. Maybe this would take his mind off of things.
     He sank into the chair, pushing his hair back out of 
his eyes.  "All right, tell me what you've got."

-----

     Chloe and Dana swung around the corner and started
back to the hotel in silence. Chloe fought to tear her 
thoughts away from Nick and Mickey and the case and think of
something to say.  "How's Mulder?" she asked.
     "This is tearing him apart." Dana answered plainly.  
"He has all of these unresolved feelings tied up with his 
sister and her disappearance and for this to happen 
again...he blames himself."
     "We'll find her."  Chloe had never noticed before how
incredibly empty the words were.
     "I know we will," Dana said, determined.  "I'm just
worried about what will happen in the meantime."
     "Samantha's a smart girl.  She can take care of 
herself." Chloe said stubbornly, the words she'd been 
repeating over and over to herself since she'd first gotten 
the news.  She would be crushed if something happened to 
Sammi.
     "I know," Dana said.  "Chloe, do you..." she began and
then stopped herself, as though she were fighting what she 
was about to say.  Chloe waited.  "We don't know what 
happened to her in the years that she was gone.  Or why when 
she was returned, she was still a child.  Do you ever think 
that maybe...somewhere...she remembers her experiences?  That 
she carries them around with her, even though it's like a 
blank spot in her conscious mind?"
     Chloe thought about it for a moment.  "I thought you
didn't share Mulder's views on deep regression hypnosis."
     "I don't," Dana answered.  "And even he never
suggested that she be regressed.  I think he was afraid of 
what she might remember."
     "Do you think they hurt her?"  Chloe asked, not wanting
to think about it.  Wishing something could be done about the
nameless, faceless 'them' regardless of whether they were 
little gray men, as Mulder believed, or government 
conspirators, as Dana believed.  She remembered the 
mysterious cigarette smoking man and shivered.
     "I don't  know," Dana answered.  "I think it's 
possible."  She felt sick thinking of it, and the untapped 
memories of her own abduction.  "It's just that she's so 
smart, so wise beyond her age.  I can't help thinking 
sometimes that she carries those missing years with her 
somewhere.  Do you know what I mean?"
     "Yeah," said Chloe, "I think I do."

-----

     "I think you're both right," Mulder said after a long
silence in which he'd studied Mickey's and Nick's profiles of 
the killer, along with their case notes.  The two men relaxed 
visibly and exchanged a look.  Mulder didn't miss it and 
couldn't help wondering why they seemed to be in rivalry with 
one another. "The killer's obsession with this myth is 
obvious."  He glanced over the profiles again.  Nick's leaned 
heavily on the paranormal, the sort of thing Mulder himself 
might have come up with.  But it didn't all seem right to 
Mulder, not in this context.  He liked some of Mickey's ideas 
as well.  
     "The killer must be terrified of the Perseus figure in 
all of this.  And that is us.  He--or she--is taunting you 
with this latest statue stunt.  The killer knows who you 
are," said Mulder, "and is planning an attack."
     "What do we do?" Mickey asked, willing to accept the
advice of his supervisor.  The voice of wisdom.  Even though
Mulder looked about ready to put his head down on the table
and pass out.  He'd been through hell,  Mickey thought, and 
it wasn't over yet.  He hoped Sammi was all right.
     "That doesn't bring us any closer to knowing who the
UNSUB is." Nick said.
     "You have one more murder.  The perversion one.  I
think you're on to something with the child pornography 
idea," Mulder said.  "And then the killer will be coming 
after you."
     "Should we take precautions?" asked Nick.
     "You're safe until after the next murder," Mulder 
stated, reaching for the thick case file.  "Now, let's go 
over this again..."

-----

     He couldn't keep still.  He trembled with excitement, 
his hands shaking so violently he could barely do his work.  
The blood pounding in his head nearly obscured his thoughts.  
He struggled harder to focus his thoughts on the matter at 
hand.
     The body was not so easy to manipulate as it had been
in its corruptible mortal state.  It was perfect now, 
untouchable. No longer flesh.  Immortal, although that made 
his work more difficult.  He twisted the limbs into the 
positions he desired as a child moved a doll, bending it at 
the hips and forcing it to sit in the chair behind the large, 
regal desk.  He'd removed the clothing beforehand, discarding 
it haphazardly in a trail from the open bathroom door.  He's 
also removed the man's head, but he was not so careless about 
its placement.  It went under the desk, trapped by the man's 
own dead body.
     Artwork.  He was so excited by its exquisite message
that he could barely breathe.  He made sure the photographs
were neatly arranged on the desktop, the underground
magazines and Polaroid snapshots of children that one would 
not think a man of such political power would have in his 
possession. He placed the corpse's loving hands on top of the 
pictures, caressing.
     Finally, on his way out of the room, he popped a tape
into the VCR and turned on the television, which was hidden 
in a mahogany cabinet across from the heavy desk.  He pressed
'play' and glanced at the screen for a moment.  He left the 
room with the image of the politician and a small child fixed 
in his mind.

     He had other things to do now.  Important things.  He
had to slay Perseus.  He had the advantage; he knew the myth. 
Perseus was going to be trying to kill him.  So he had to 
kill Perseus first.

-----

     "What did you come up with?" asked Chloe, taking the
chair next to Mickey, across  the table from Nick.  She tried 
to avoid looking at Nick, but she couldn't help it.  Their 
eyes met and locked.
     "Not much," he answered, gazing at her.  He was so
lucky to have found her again, Nick thought.
     Mickey looked away, not wanting to watch his partner
make googoo eyes at Nick.
     "And you?" asked Mulder, looking at Dana, barely
daring to hope.  
     She shook her head, and his face fell.  She took his
hands into hers.  "We will find her," Dana promised her 
husband.
     "I know." Mulder whispered, feeling hot tears in his
eyes.  "I know," he repeated, nodding, trying to believe.
     Dana squeezed his hands tighter and kissed his lips
lightly.  He leaned in to her warmth and life and tried to 
cling to her when she moved to pull away.
     Mickey stared at the tablecloth thinking that maybe he
should excuse himself.  Go and find himself a girl.  He 
couldn't help but sneak a glance at Chloe.  Her blond hair 
was falling into her eyes and she looked pale.  This case was 
taking its toll on all of them.  As though she could feel his 
eyes on her, she looked at him.  "Mickey?" she said.
     "Mulder thinks the next murder will represent Medusa's
other sister, and perversion.  And then the killer will be 
coming after us."
     "Why us?" asked Chloe.
     "It's in the myth," Nick said, taking control.  "We
represent the force that will bring the killer down."
     "All of us?  I didn't think the killer was into the 
group scene," Chloe commented wryly.  "Besides, how would the 
killer know who we are?"
     "He knows,"  Mickey said, convinced.  
     Chloe looked at him sharply.  "Do you think that all of
your injuries on this case might be related?" she asked 
incisively. "Maybe this woman--the one who's always there 
when you get into trouble--could she be involved?"
     "What woman?" asked Nick and Mulder at the same
time.
     "Her name's Purity.  She's not involved,"  Mickey
insisted.
     "The killer is a woman," said Nick.
     "The killer's a man," snapped Mickey.
     "How do you know?" Chloe asked gently, her eyes fixed
on her partner.
     "I know, Chloe.  I'm not stupid.  She isn't involved." 
Mickey insisted.  "I can't explain it."
     "She doesn't have any records on file anywhere," Chloe
said quietly.
     "What?" asked Mickey, his eyes widening.  She couldn't
have said what he thought she'd said.
     "No birth certificate, Social Security...the man at the
symphony doesn't even know anything about her.  It's like she
dropped out of the sky, Mickey."
     "You investigated her!" Mickey shouted, feeling the
anger building inside him.  His face was hot.
     "You would do the same thing!" Chloe said loudly, 
trying to reason with him.
     "I would not!"  screamed Mickey.  "I've sat back and
watched without saying a word while you and *Agent Shane*
here--"
     "Mickey!" Dana said sharply.  He ignored her.
     "--carry on your little affair.  I've turned my eyes 
away without saying anything."
     "Your life may be in danger!" Chloe shouted.  They were
both on their feet now.  "You don't know anything about this
woman and every time you see her, you end up in the hospital! 
She may be the killer, Mickey."
     "The killer's a man," he repeated.  "And what do you
know about Nick?  You don't know what he's capable of, you
haven't seen him in six months--"
     "You're jealous, you--" Nick cried, jumping into the 
fray.
     "So what if--" Mickey began.
     "That is enough!"  Dana said commandingly and the
three younger agents stopped to look at her.  She looked
furious.  "If you children can't behave yourselves properly, 
I'm going to send all of you to your rooms without supper!"  
She didn't realize how incredibly stupid her words were until 
Mulder began to laugh.  "Don't laugh at me," she snapped at 
her husband.
     He shook his head, holding back his smile.  He reached
out and pulled her against him.  "I love you so much," he 
said, hugging her.  Chloe was shocked to see Dana blush.  
Mickey and Nick took the opportunity to slide, embarrassed, 
back into their seats.
     "So, the killer is coming after us," Chloe said, 
bringing them back to the matter at hand.  Out of the corner 
of her eye, she saw Dana move off of Mulder's lap and back 
into her own chair.
     "That's what this morning's fake murder was about.  The
killer bringing us out into public view," Mickey said.  "So 
he can find out who we are."
     "If she didn't already know," added Nick.
     "Well, we have some time to figure out who
this...person...is." said Chloe.  "Maybe we can find a way to
prevent the next murder."  Her cell phone began to ring at 
that moment and she answered it.  "Grant."  The door to the
restaurant opened.  "Damn it," Chloe said into the phone, and
hung up.
     "Purity?" said Mickey, his eyes fixed on the woman
who'd just entered.
     "There's been another murder," Chloe said, tucking her
phone away, and then looked up.  "Oh my," she said.
     "Samantha?" Mulder's voice broke on the name.  He
pushed his chair back and it fell over, but he didn't care.
     "Fox!"  Samantha threw herself against her brother,
who'd knelt down to her level and they hugged tightly.  
"Please don't be mad,  I just missed you so much!"
     "You're Purity?" asked Chloe, her eyes on the small
woman standing off to one side and looking uncomfortable.  As
though she wanted to run.  Chloe had no doubts about the
woman's identity, however, based on the description she'd
received at the symphony.  The man's words had been true.  
She was beautiful, and even the scars on her face and hands 
could not mar that.
     "I think you have some explaining to do," Dana said
coldly, looking from Samantha to the woman who had
accompanied her.
     "This can't be how it looks," Mickey said, meeting
Purity's hazel eyes, daring her to say different.  His 
stomach felt as though it were tied into knots.  He could 
already feel her betrayal and it hurt.  A lot.
     "Mickey, I--" Purity said, taking a step toward him.
     "Hold it right there."  Nick ordered, drawing his gun 
on her.
     "What the hell are you doing?" Mickey demanded.
     "The killer is a woman," he said.  "Chloe's suspicions
may be correct.  And apparently, this woman's a kidnapper."
     "I'm not--" she began.
     "Are you all right?" Mulder asked Samantha, examining
her with his eyes.
     She nodded.  "I'm fine," she said.  "Well, hungry.  And
she didn't kidnap me.  She helped me."  Samantha looked down,
feeling guilty.  "I ran away, Fox.  I missed you and Dana, 
and it was so strange at home with Mom.  She's not...like I 
remember her."
     "It's all right, Sammi," Mulder said, stroking his 
sister's hair.
     "Put the gun down," Chloe told Nick without taking her
eyes off Purity.  She still looked ready to bolt.
     "Not until I get some answers," said Nick.
     "Nick--" 
     "All right," he agreed, slipping the gun back into its
holster.
     That was when all hell broke loose.

-----

     The door to the restaurant opened violently, slamming
against the wall.  A wild-eyed man strode in. He was 
trembling and sweating and he had blood on his hands.
     "Get down," Mulder ordered, pushing Samantha to the
floor and encouraging her to crawl under the table.  He 
wanted her safe and the insanity in the man's eyes reminded 
him of Duane Barry.
     "I've come for you," the man said, but his eyes roamed
wildly.
     Purity took the opportunity to slip out the door.  
Mickey saw her go and wanted to run after her, but he 
couldn't move.  This man was the killer.  There was no doubt 
in his mind.
     "Perseus, we meet at last," said the man.  "But this 
time I will triumph!" he cried.  He blinked back the darkness 
at the edges of his vision, his focus so intense he 
threatened to black out.  He could feel his heart pumping the 
blood so powerfully.  He could barely breathe with the 
excitement of it all.  His triumph.  At last.  He would gain 
his immortality by this.
     He moved toward the man, feeling the powerful
implement he held in his pocket.  He stroked it with his 
fingers, feeling the almost electrical surges it sent through 
his body.  He could barely stand the excitement.
     Nick thought the man was staring at Chloe.  He was
terrified.  He'd been wrong about the killer's gender, but he
remained convinced that the killer feared women.  And he 
could not let the killer hurt Chloe.  The man began to 
withdraw his hand from his pocket and Nick's FBI training 
kicked in.  The adrenaline shot through him with the fear 
that that man would blow Chloe's brains out before she had a 
chance to react.  Nick screamed as he threw himself at the 
killer.
     The killer turned his head, tearing his eyes away from 
the dark-haired man he had been trailing through the city.  
The man he had attacked in the library.  The man he had 
thought to be Perseus.  He had been wrong.  He turned his 
body and knocked Nick to the carpeted floor of the 
restaurant.  His hand came out of his pocket quickly as his 
other hand forced Nick's jaw open.  He struggled but the 
killer was too quick.
     "Nick!" Chloe screamed.
     A gunshot rang out and the acrid smell of gunpowder
filled the room.  The killer flew backwards, stumbling for 
only a second before he fell dead on the floor.  Samantha let 
out a small squeak of horror.  She'd never seen her brother 
kill before.  She wished she'd stayed hidden under the table, 
her face buried against the carpet.  But she hadn't.  She'd 
seen her brother kill.
     Fox sank to his knees, sobbing, and Dana was right
there to hold him.  She didn't know why this man had such a
profound effect on her husband, but she had seen it in his 
eyes from the moment the killer walked in.  Fox buried his 
head in her shoulder and cried.
     "Nick!" Chloe screamed again, scrambling across the
floor, instant hot tears flowing down her cheeks.  She hadn't
done anything, she hadn't reacted, she hadn't been fast 
enough.
     Sirens began to scream outside, too soon, and the
flashing red and blue lights filled the room psychedelically.  
Purity had called for help, Mickey thought, taking a deep 
breath.  He felt sick.  He'd watched a man die.

-----

     "Nick!"  Chloe cried again.  He was laying flat on his 
back, a look of pain permanently frozen on his face.  She 
immediately reached out and found the base of his neck, 
searching desperately for a pulse, although she knew, deep 
down, what was really happening to him.  She could feel a 
weak, very thready, pulse.  Seconds later his body began to 
twitch.  "Oh my God, somebody do something!"  A state of 
panic washed over her and all Chloe could do was run her 
hands through his hair and wait for the inevitable to happen.
     Chloe's heart pounded in her chest, feeling as though 
it were about to burst.  She was watching him twitch, caught 
in a daze.  It was seconds before she realized that Dana 
Scully was yanking the device out of Nick's mouth.  From 
behind, someone was calling her name, but she was just 
watching Nick.  She saw his facial muscles, his beautiful 
face, twist in a gruesome expression.  His eyes fluttered and 
as the solidification of his body continued, Chloe watched as 
Nick slowly slipped from their world.  Eventually his body 
lay still.  And it was then that Chloe saw it.  His leg was 
crystallizing, just like all the other victims had.  He had 
been taken from her in the most hideous way possible--he'd 
been turned to stone.
     Chloe lost it then, slumping forward and hugging Nick's 
body to her chest while the hot tears streamed down her face.
     She felt someone take a hold of her shoulders, slowly 
prying her away from the body.  Paramedics had arrived on the 
scene, and Chloe missed the horrified looks on their faces as 
she focused on her partner's face.  Michael Callavelo, her 
partner and friend.  And he was here for her.
     His embrace was so warm and strong.  It was on his 
shoulder that she wept the rest of her unfinished tears. 

-----

     Chloe sat on the edge of her hotel bed, staring numbly 
at the wall.  She heard the knock on the door, but chose to 
ignore it.  Another knock was followed by another, until 
finally she could stand it no longer.
     "What the hell do you want?" Chloe snapped, not caring 
who was at the door.
     "Chloe, it's Mickey.  Can I come in?"  
     Mickey.  The man who had hated Nicholas so much that he 
could probably taste it.  He was the one who had nearly 
killed Nick himself on more than one occasion.  But he was 
her partner, and friend.  And Chloe knew that even as she was 
trying to formulate some way to hate Mickey for everything 
that had happened, there was no possible way she could.
     "Yeah, it's unlocked," she said, curling up on the bed 
and hiding her face.
     Michael Callavelo entered her hotel room only to be 
shocked by the sight of his partner.  She wore blue silk 
pajama's and was curled up on the bed opposite from the one 
he knew she normally slept in.  He could not see her face, 
but Mickey knew that she would prefer to stay curled up.
     He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and put a 
hand on her shoulder, unsure of what to say now that he was 
actually here.  He knew there was nothing he could say that 
would make her feel any better--nothing that would take the 
deep remorse away.
     "I wanted to say I'm sorry, Chloe,"  Mickey began, 
feeling his own eyes burning.  Even though he had not 
particularly liked Nick, the man had been a good agent and 
one that the Bureau had been proud of.  It was literally a 
waste.  Someone could have stopped this from happening, if 
they'd just draw their guns a fraction of a second earlier.
     It had been too late.  Nick was now a solid statue, due 
to be cut into pieces by one of Chloe's closest friends--Dana 
Scully Mulder.  But Mickey was not here to tell Chloe that, 
he was here to apologize, even though it was too late.  Far 
too late.
     He would not have detected the sob if his hand hadn't 
been on her shoulder.  It was a light little intake of air 
that alerted him to the fact that she was crying.
     "I'm so sorry," he repeated.  And he meant it.  Nick's 
death could have been avoided.  Mickey had been the closest 
to the man, could have easily done what Mulder had done.
     But that, Mickey knew, was just wishes and regrets.  No 
matter how sorry he was, how much he *wished* he could go 
back and take those few seconds into his own hands, Mickey 
could not change things.  He couldn't do a damned thing.
     Mickey found himself facing his own emotions for Chloe 
too.  He found that he'd been jealous of Nick because he had 
Chloe.  In a sense, Chloe was Mickey's too, but not on the 
spiritual level.  Not like *that*.  Even if Michael had felt 
the urge to tell Chloe this, he was absolutely positive that 
now was not the time.  There would never be a time.
     He sniffled a bit himself, patting her shoulder gently 
and rising off the bed.  He allowed his hand to trail down 
her arm in a comforting gesture, but before he could take his 
hand back, Chloe had reached out and grabbed it.
     He felt the lightest squeeze, and when he looked back, 
Chloe was looking up at him.  He knew that this was an act of 
trust.  She was revealing her emotions to him one last time 
before she replaced the mask and went on with her life.  He 
saw the tears streaming down her face, the puffiness beneath 
her eyes.  He offered her one of his most sympathetic smiles 
and knew that she had forgiven him, for whatever sins he had 
dreamed up for himself.  For whatever burdens he carried 
buried deep in his heart.  He knew that she had forgiven him 
for his guilty feelings.
     "Michael, you couldn't have changed it," she said, 
quietly.
     He felt the tears sting his eyes again and he turned 
away, letting go of her hand.  "I know," he said, and then 
briskly extracted himself from her room. 
     You couldn't have changed it.  The words echoed in his 
mind as he entered his own room, finding sanctuary to shed 
his own tears.

-----

Medical Examiner's Office
New York, NY

     "How's she holding up, Mulder?"  Dana asked as her 
husband wandered into the autopsy room.  She didn't like the 
fact that Chloe hadn't been told about Agent Shane's autopsy, 
but Skinner had insisted on it when she and Mulder had called 
him.
     "Chloe?" he asked.
     "Yeah,"  she answered, concentrating on the cut she was 
just about to make.
     "I just talked to Mickey and he said she's okay.  She's 
a little shaken up, but he said she would survive.  Like she 
always does, he said."  Mulder wandered around to the other 
side of the autopsy table, gripping the edge until his 
knuckles turned white.
     "Mulder?"  Scully asked, knowing that something else 
was bothering him.  She had a pretty clear idea what was, but 
she wanted to hear him say it.
     "Samantha watched me shoot that man, Dana,"  Mulder 
said quietly.
     Suspicions correct, she put down the scalpel and peeled 
off her rubber gloves.  "I can do this later, Mulder,"  Dana 
said quietly.
     "No.  This is more important," Mulder said, shaking his 
head.  "I just wanted you to know the score.  My little 
sister watched me shoot that man and now she's having 
nightmares.  Nightmares that *I* created."
     "Nightmares that any child would have," Dana told him.  
She slipped her hands around his waist and looked up into his 
hazel eyes. "Nightmares that will go away with time."
     "Is that the voice of reason I'm hearing again?"  
Mulder asked, his eyes gazing down at her lovingly.
     Dana got up on her tip-toes and planted a kiss on the 
corner of his mouth.  "I think so, although sometimes I can't 
be sure."
     "Well, I suppose you should take some time to find 
yourself sometime, huh?"  Mulder said.
     "Nah, I'd rather find you when I'm done here.  You up 
for coffee or something?"  Dana asked.
     "Sure.  You have two hours tops," Mulder said and 
winked.
     "Are you trying to rush an official autopsy, Agent 
Mulder?"
     "No, I'm testing your skill, Agent Mulder," Mulder 
mocked.  He bent down and kissed her again, this time longer 
and harder.  "I'm rather hungry, too,"  he added, smiling 
mysteriously.
     "We'll see what we can do about that, now get out of 
here," she said, swatting at his chest.  She wandered back to 
the scrub sink to wash up again before putting on some fresh 
latex gloves.
     Mulder watched her for a moment, knowing that he 
probably wouldn't have been able to make it through this 
without her.  He smiled once more and slipped out the door.

-----

Three Days Later
New York City, NY

     Chloe Grant felt numb.  It was as though part of her 
had been stripped away from her and she had been left 
exposed.  Things happened in a blur.  Mickey had ended up 
filling out much of the reports and had made sure that Chloe 
only had one thing to do--concentrate on what she had to 
do and then get herself back into control.
     She had wondered, over the past couple of days, why she 
had been so affected by Nick's untimely death.  After all, 
she asked herself, hadn't she hated the sight of him when she 
first arrived here?  Hadn't she wanted nothing to do with 
him?
     Yes, she told herself.  But the tables had turned and 
he had become, once more, the man that she found herself 
trusting as the special one. 
     Chloe thought about all these things as she stooped and 
ducked into the back seat of the rented sedan.  Mickey was 
driving, but she didn't want to occupy the front seat, not at 
a time like this.  He seemed not to care, or if he did he 
said nothing.  Accommodating, Chloe thought.  
     "Chloe, are you ready to go home?"  Mickey asked, 
turning around in his seat to look her squarely in the eye.
     Having shed no tears that day, Chloe's answer could be 
heard loud and clear.  "Yes, Mickey, let's go home."
     Mickey Callavelo nodded to his partner and turned 
around. He slid a pair of shades down on his nose and put the 
car in gear.
     She was ashamed that they had to catch the flight so 
soon after Nick's funeral, but sometimes these things just 
happened.  Chloe suspected that it would best if she forgot 
New York all together.  Too much had happened here to make 
that an easy task, but maybe--just maybe--with Mickey's help, 
she'd be able to do it.  Just until the pain healed.  Just 
until she moved on, like she always managed to do.

-----

Medical Examiner's Office
New York City, NY

     Finding the killer had cleared the FBI agents of the 
investigation.  But the Medical Examiner was always on duty.  
Although the older FBI Agent had conducted the last autopsy, 
the one on the male FBI Agent, he was left with the final 
victim of the crazy "Medusa" murderer.
     While he worked, he thought about motives and how 
strange the case had been--or what little he knew of it.  By 
the time they found the statue the press had been around, 
possibly alerted by the killer himself.  The case was no 
longer hush-hush.  
     Those FBI, he thought, should be damned thankful that 
the killer had been caught before the press had the chance to 
mess around in the case.
     Somewhere, someone had horseshoes where the sun didn't 
shine.  Except for that poor FBI Agent who had ended up just 
like all the others--exactly like this man before him on the 
steel table.
     After what he and the young blonde FBI Agent had found 
in the throat of the one victim, he wasn't surprised when he 
found the pouch in this one's.  
     This pouch held the same red liquid, leaking from its 
center, reminding him of the blood that *should* have been 
rushing through this man's body.
     Careful not to let any of the substance touch him in 
any way, the ME deposited it in an evidence bag which was 
ready to be placed in the box to be sent to those FBI Agents.
     He shivered only once, before continuing with his work.  
Precise cuts and careful measurements followed as the ME did 
what he was trained to do.
     His training didn't allow him to ponder the myth.  It 
didn't make him wonder what, if the other pouch was a serious 
poison, this new ruby-red substance could possibly be.  

-----

Summer House
Quontochataug, RI

     Samantha Mulder pulled the covers right up around her 
chin.  Her brother sat on the edge of her bed, and Dana stood 
close beside, her hand on Fox's back.
     "Sammi," Fox said quietly, leaning closer to her to 
whisper conspiratorially, "I think you're in for a big 
surprise tomorrow."
     "Really?" Sam whispered back, a huge smile on her face.
     "Yeah, can you guess what it is?"  
     Sam could only shake her head.  She had no idea.
     "Breakfast, Sammi!  I'm cooking breakfast,"  Fox said 
quietly.  Sammi immediately screwed up her face and made a 
grotesque noise that simulated throwing up.  
     "Gross!  Remind me never to wake up,"  Sam said.
     Dana chuckled and Mulder shot her a mock-hurt look.  
"Samantha, dear, are you dissin' your brother's cooking?"
     "No.  Let's just say that I'll make sure I'm up first."
     "That was really the plan,"  Fox whispered.
     "Hey, that's an unfair scheme--" Sam complained, 
happily.
     "Serves you right, Sammi.  Now, I think it's time for 
some sleep," Fox said.   He smiled and then leaned the rest 
of the way forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.  
     Getting up and moving to the side, Fox allowed Dana to 
move in and whisper, "Don't worry, Sammi, I'll cook."   She 
winked at the little girl and kissed her cheek too.  "Sweet 
dreams, hon," Dana said.
     A few moments later they were gone, leaving Samantha to 
the dreaded darkness.  It seemed to consume her, paralyzing 
her heart with fear.
     But tonight, her bedroom door crept slowly open.  Her 
mother stood at the door, the lamp-light from the hallway 
beyond illuminating her frail body.
     "Samantha?"  her mother called quietly.  "May I come 
in, dear?"
     Samantha smiled warmly, although the darkness covered 
it. "Please," Sam said quietly.
     "I brought you something," her mother said, walking 
carefully into the room and navigating her way to the lamp 
beside Sam's bed.  When the light was turned on, Sam saw the 
softness in her mother's face--a softness that she hadn't 
seen in a long time.
     Sam sat up and reached for the older woman's hand, 
watching her mother's eyes light up.  Sam didn't know what to 
say, so she just squeezed her hand.
     Mrs. Mulder's eyes filled with tears of happiness and 
she had to take a moment to choke them back before saying, 
"It's a night light.  I've had it for years, since you were 
little."
     Samantha studied her mother's face and realized the 
happiness that the woman was experiencing from the fact that 
she could offer this one little gift.
     "It's a small thing, but when Fox told me of your 
nightmares, I knew it would be the perfect remedy."
     "Thank you," Sam said, squeezing her mother's hand 
again.  "Mom?"
     Mrs. Mulder looked surprised.  "Yes?"
     "I love you,"  Samantha said.
     This time the tears did spill.  They were silent, but 
they spoke volumes to Samantha.  Her mother gave her a quick 
kiss on the cheek and stood up.  She found a small wall-plug 
for the night light and gently plugged it in.
     "Samantha," she said, turning to face the young girl, 
"you never know what you're missing until it's gone.  Please 
don't ever leave me like that again.  I realize my mistake 
and never want to make it again.  If you can forgive me, I'd 
like to start again.  I'd like to be your mother."
     Sam smiled warmly and slipped out of the bed.  She 
padded across the room to her mother and said, "You'll always 
be my mother."
     "I love you too,"  Mrs. Mulder said, dropping a kiss 
into Samantha's hair.  "Perhaps you should get some sleep 
now."
     Sam nodded.
     Mrs. Mulder tucked her in again, then disappeared.
     When she was gone, Samantha was able to close her eyes 
for the first time without seeing the image of that horrible 
man flying back--a gaping hole in his chest.  And she knew 
that love, perhaps combined with that little night light, 
would see those nightmares turned to dust and vanish.
     Sam's last wish, as she dropped off into a 
nightmareless sleep, was that perhaps it would work just as 
well for Fox too.

-----

Summer House
Quontochataug, RI
Early the next morning

     When Samantha opened her eyes, it was still dark.  For 
a moment she was afraid until she saw the night light that 
her mother had brought her the previous evening.  The small 
token made her smile sleepily as she sat up in bed, trying to 
remember what she had dreamed.
     It had been about that woman, the one who had helped 
her in New York.  But she couldn't remember what the dream 
had been about. There had been a lot of darkness, so she 
should have been afraid-it should have been a nightmare--but 
it wasn't.  Sam shook her head.  She didn't remember.  There 
were a lot of things she didn't remember.  Dana told her not 
to worry about it, so she didn't.
     Deciding she wasn't going to be able to go back to 
sleep, she slipped out of bed and walked quietly through the 
house in her pajamas. The wood floor was cold under her feet, 
reminding her of Christmases in the other house, with Fox.  
Christmas was coming soon, she thought as she entered the 
living room on her way to the kitchen.
     A cold wind fluttered the curtains around the sliding 
glass door, which stood wide open.  Samantha's heart began to 
pound and instinctively she looked behind her, although she 
wasn't sure what she was expecting to see there.  Maybe she 
should go wake up Fox...
     She looked back outside.  Pink streaks were beginning 
to brighten the sky, and in the pale light of the fading 
darkness, she saw someone outside in the yard.  Squinting, 
Samantha approached, slipping out through the doors with a 
final look back into the house.
     Dana wasn't started when Samantha suddenly appeared by 
her side.  She simply pulled her robe more tightly around 
herself.  She glanced at the girl quickly and then returned 
her gaze to the ocean.
     "You had a bad dream," Samantha said.
     Dana nodded silently and Sam could see the tension in 
her shoulders and her face.
     "It's all right," she said, sounding much too old for 
her ten years suddenly.  "It isn't real."
     "But it is," Dana said softly and put her head down.  
Samantha was shocked, and scared to see that she was crying.  
More scared than she'd been when she thought there might be 
an intruder in the house, more scared than when she'd been 
all alone in New York City.  She didn't know what to do.  Sam 
touched Dana, thinking maybe she should hug her, but then she 
didn't think it would help.  So she did the only other
thing she could do: ran inside and woke up her brother.
     The warmth of Fox's arms sliding around her body roused 
Dana and it almost broke through the cold that she felt down 
to her very soul. "What's wrong?" he murmured softly against 
her ear and she could feel his breath on her neck.  For a 
moment she let her eyes slide closed, savoring the feel of 
this man, so strong and so alive, holding her with
love.  "Samantha said you had a bad dream...?" he tried.
     Dana nodded and reluctantly pulled out of his arms so 
that she could face him.  "I remembered something," she said.
     Fox knew from the tone of her voice and the fragile, 
vulnerable look on her face what she was talking about.  
Tenderly he brushed the hair out of her eyes and wiped a tear 
away, waiting for her to speak when she was ready.
     "She was there...that woman, the scarred one from New 
York.  She was younger.  They were...um..."  Dana didn't have 
any words to describe any of it.  "There was an injection, I 
think...it was given to all of us, I..."  She searched her 
memory but came up short.  This was so frustrating and so 
hard.  She wiped another tear away and wished she
could stop crying.  She didn't even know why she was, but 
there was an ache deep inside her and it kept the tears 
welling up and she couldn't make them go away.  "They burned 
her.  On purpose, a test or...something.  She looked the man 
in the eyes before he did it, but then...when they 
started...she couldn't help it...she turned away and put
her hands over her face to...I...They stopped right away.  I 
don't think it was supposed to hurt her.  I don't thi--I 
don't know."
     "It's all right," Fox told his wife, pulling her 
against his chest and stroking her hair, although he knew 
that the words were meaningless. "The man who was responsible 
is dead."  And if he hadn't been, Mulder would have murdered 
that goddamned son of a bitch personally.
     "The women...in Allentown...they said this would 
happen.  They said it would start coming back to me,"  Dana 
sobbed.  "But I don't want to remember.  I don't want to 
remember it."
     There was nothing Fox could say, although he had a 
thousand questions in his mind.  At least she hadn't 
remembered them doing anything to her.  They hadn't hurt her.  
Not yet.  There was nothing he could do but hold her while 
she cried.
     Samantha watched from inside the house, where her 
mother made breakfast and tried to pull her attention away 
from the silent scene on the other side of the glass.  She 
wondered what Dana had dreamt that upset her and it sent a 
dark chill through her body.  As though she already knew.

-----

Angel's Wing Rest Cemetery
Washington DC

     Something had been calling Chloe to this spot and she 
hadn't resisted this time, as she had all of the other times 
in the past three weeks that she'd thought of visiting.  
Every time she thought of him, every time she remembered 
something, she felt that knife of loss go through her again.  
And she wanted to come and see.  But she'd stayed away. 
Until now.
     "All right, Nick. What do you want?" she cried out into 
the still, foggy air of the late morning.  She looked down at 
the headstone next to her foot.  He wasn't going to answer.  
He hadn't called her here.  His spirit was just with her 
today, that was why she thought she could feel his
presence and why she kept thinking about him.  Of course 
there was no answer.  He was dead and buried, under the 
ground that was just beginning to freeze with winter.
     She waited, listening in the quiet.  There were no 
other mourners around.  It was a quiet place for him to rest.
     Chloe felt she should be doing something, but she 
didn't know what.  She'd feel silly talking to him and she 
didn't have it in her to cry again.  So she stood there, 
wondering what to do.  She'd never been close to someone who 
died before.  She had no ideas.
     She was just turning to leave, thinking that she had 
been stupid to come, when she saw the figure approaching her 
with a determined stride.  Chloe recognized the flame orange 
hair first and the silly high heeled shoes second.  Dana 
Scully Mulder.
     "How are you doing?" the older woman, her mentor and 
her friend, asked with concern.
     "I'm all right," Chloe replied, nodding.  "I 
just...felt like I  should come here today."  The look in 
Dana's eyes told her that she understood.  "It sounds stupid, 
but it was almost as though he was calling to me."
     "I know," Dana said, surprising her.  "I could feel it 
too."  A silent look passed between the women.  "I found this 
in my desk today. It's addressed to you, so I thought you 
should have it.  He left it in keeping for you with me.  I 
don't know why."
     "Thank you."  Chloe said, accepting the heavy white 
envelope with stiff fingers.
     "I'll leave you to it then," Dana said after a moment, 
looking uncomfortable.  "Unless you'd rather I stayed...?"
     "No, that's all right," Chloe answered.  "I'll be all 
right here."
     "I'll see you later then," Dana said and really meant 
it.  It was almost an order.  Chloe nodded and watched her 
walk back to her car.
     Alone again, she looked at the envelope.  She didn't 
know if she wanted to open it. It would open the wounds again 
that were just beginning to heal.  She felt the heavy bond of 
its paper in  her hand.  But he wanted her to have it.  She 
looked over at the tombstone and then back at the scrawl on 
the envelope.  Her name.  The way Nick always wrote it.  He 
did want her to read it.  She couldn't disobey, not now.

     There was a letter on the same heavy bond paper.  Nick 
hadn't even bothered to try to make his writing legible.  He 
knew she could read it even when no one else could.  "My 
dearest Chloe," it read, "If you're reading this, it means 
I've been stubborn.  And very probably stupid.  I'm sorry, 
Chloe.  I'm sorry for everything I did and I hope I was
able to tell you before it was too late.  Words come hard in 
writing, you know that.  I love you, Chloe, and I should 
never have done anything to hurt you. I know, too late, that 
you meant more to me than a thousand promotions.  I sincerely 
hope it is not too late, that I was able to find you and tell 
you myself.  That maybe a spark of that love remained for me,
the love that continues to burn within me.  Because I have 
seen the future, Chloe, and without you it is bleak."
     It was signed, "I love you, Nick."
     Chloe looked down at the tombstone, not certain what 
she should do.     "You know I forgive you, Nick.  And I love 
you," she whispered.
     There was something else inside the envelope.  A small 
band of gold, worn with age, had hidden itself into one of 
the tight corners. Chloe pulled it out with shaking fingers, 
looking at its familiar filigree design and the small gem set 
into the center.  Nick's grandmother's engagement ring.  
Passed down through the family.  It had come to Nick
when his mother died, and Chloe remembered encouraging him to 
wear it on his smallest finger to remember her.  He'd 
refused.  He told  her to wear it, but she'd been stubborn 
and ignored his implications.  They weren't ready to marry, 
she knew, it was Nick's mother's ring and Chloe didn't know 
her.  It wasn't right.   
     Now it was right.
     Chloe slipped the ring onto her finger.  She could face 
the future.  But she would always remember him. 
     She turned away from the grave and was startled to see 
her partner standing a few feet away, his hands in his 
pockets against the cold day, looking very uncomfortable.  
Obviously waiting for her.  Chloe took a deep breath and 
straightened her shoulders.  "Mickey," she said.
     He approached, coming to stand next to her near Nick's 
grave. She saw his eyes flicker over the headstone and turn 
dark with guilt and something  more.  Regret?  Sorrow?  His 
eyes fixed on her face and she met them boldly.  "Chloe," he 
said in a soft voice she wasn't sure she'd ever heard from 
him before.  "How are you doing?"  His hand moved as
though he wanted to touch her and then thought the better of 
it.
     She nodded, self consciously wiping her eyes to make 
sure there weren't any tears lingering.
     Mickey caught her hand with his.  His skin was warm and 
rough against hers as he turned her hand over and looked at 
the ring she wore. "It's beautiful,"  he said in a tight 
voice.
     "It was Nick's.  His mother's.  He...wanted me to have 
it." Chloe explained awkwardly but let him continue to hold 
her hand.
     He touched the ring and then let her go.  "It's such a 
shame that he's gone, Chloe.  A waste.  I should have done 
more."  Mickey's eyes went to the ground again.  "I've been 
meaning to say something but I--"
     "No," Chloe said.  She didn't want to hear it.  "There 
was nothing you could have done.  There was nothing anyone 
could have done."  It cast a creepy feeling through her, but 
now she knew.  Nick had known, before the case had even 
begun.  Somehow, with that odd sense he had, he'd known.
     "I'm sorry," Mickey said with such a terrible look that 
she actually wanted to hug him to try to make him feel 
better.  But she didn't move and for a moment they were 
silent in the cold cemetery.  "I got some information today," 
Mickey said, his manner sliding into a more professional 
mode.  He paused, as though trying to find the best way 
to tell her, one that wouldn't hurt.
     "Just say it, Mickey, I'm all right," Chloe said.
     He looked at her and nodded.  "A report appeared on 
Agent Pendrell's desk this morning."
     "Appeared?" asked Chloe.
     Mickey nodded.  "Someone knew he would get it to us." 
Agent Pendrell had come to be very useful to them in recent 
months, devoting a great deal of his time and talents to the 
X-Files. "Information that was covered up by the 
disappearance of the killer's body and the Medical Examiner 
before the autopsy report could be finalized."  Chloe waited.  
"The killer's name was John Stavros.  He emigrated to America 
from Greece as a small child with his father."
     "What happened to the mother?" Chloe asked.
     "She died, that was all it said.  He had a history of 
mental illness following after his father's death ten years 
ago.  In between hospital stays, he found time to become a 
scholar of the classics and a professor of mythology at one 
of the smaller universities in New York City."
     "So he was psycho?" Chloe asked.  It made her feel cold 
inside for reasons she couldn't explain. Maybe it was better 
to think there was some sort of paranormal cause, to make 
this case special, distinctive. Not just another damned 
psycho out on the streets.
     "There's more to it than that, Chloe," said Mickey.  
"The killer had one of those blood filled packets in his 
throat at the time of autopsy."
     "But..."  Chloe's mind whirled with thoughts.  How did 
it get there, if he'd been shot?  Had someone placed it there 
after the time of death?  Or was he some kind of freak, had 
it been there all the while?
     "The analyzation of the blood was detailed in the 
report we received.  It's not like the blood that 
killed...that he used to kill with. This blood had a 
different unidentifiable element in it.  With the 
capacity to heal rather than kill."
     "It what?"  Chloe's eyes widened.
     "Heal.  It's amazing, Chloe.  The scientists have never 
seen anything like it."
     She grew very quiet for a moment.  "He could have 
helped people," she said.  "But instead he chose to kill.  
Why?"
     It was a rhetorical question.  It was likely they would 
never know the answer, or why the men had died, beyond the 
twisted legend of Medusa.  "Everything's just...gone."  
Mickey said, feeling frustration well up within him.  Always, 
the vital clues slipped through their fingers. It didn't 
matter that the conspiracy had seemingly gone down.  There
was always another one waiting around the corner, another 
bureaucratic cover-up with unknown agendas.
     "Then how did we get the report?" Chloe challenged him.  
There were answers out there, somewhere.  For them to find, 
no matter how hard it would be.
     "Someone's looking out for us.  Trying to make sure the
information is known."  Mickey said.
     "We have a friend, Mickey," Chloe said, looking at her 
partner and feeling a strange ray of hope.  Maybe not 
everything was bad.  Maybe someday they would be able to know 
the things that were being kept from them, and learn who was 
doing the keeping.  She managed to smile at him and he put 
his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him as they 
started back to the road.  Knowing that there was work to be 
done.  And they were the ones who had to do it.

-----

The End

-lazydark@aol.com                                    charhall@juno.com-
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