Disclaimer: The X Files and its characters belong to Fox, 1013 and Chris
Carter.  They are used without permission.
The original characters of Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo were created
by Char Hall and Vickie Moseley in "Bed Springs."  They are used here
with permission and great thanks.



Bed Springs III 
By Megan Reilly and Char Hall
November 28, 1996 - November 28, 1997

Part One
-----

Reflecting Pool
5:45 am


        A light breeze carried fragments of a weathered old 
newspaper through the air.  They swung in a carefree fashion, 
until something seemed to reach out and snag it.  If you looked, 
you'd probably be able to find the entire newspaper.  Part of the 
business section clung to a fence; the sports section was hanging 
from a tree branch.
        Just her luck, the comics section had a fixation with her 
leg. 
        Chloe Grant bent down and plucked the lonely newspaper 
page away from her leg.  She sat back on the bench and folded the 
page in half, tucking it under her arm. 
        She been sitting on the bench for nearly twenty minutes, 
just observing the early-morning joggers.  Well, that wasn't 
entirely true.  She was actually watching one man in particular, 
but he seemed oblivious to her relaxed gaze.  Either that, or he 
chose to ignore it.  He continued to run around the pool, like he 
was running from the demons that she knew still existed within 
him.
        Fox Mulder, to her, was a frightening man.  He had 
intimidated her from day one--not that she ever let anyone know 
that--and still remained something of a wonder. 
        His brilliant mind was incomparable to other men who
were 
in his age group, and she knew he had a knack for frightening 
away most people that were in their line of work.  
        Most people, of course, did not include the woman Chloe 
held the most regard for--Doctor Dana Scully Mulder.  With Dana, 
Fox Mulder had found happiness, and a sense of security.  He had 
found love.
        Chloe smiled as she watched him approach again.  He was 
concentrating on something, and she knew that he wouldn't notice 
this time around either.  She watched him pass, but this time she 
stood quickly and followed.
        Dressed in a pair of cut-off jogging shorts, Nike running 
shoes, and a light T-shirt, Chloe looked just like any other 
jogger who had graced the beaten path.  
        It wasn't much of a struggle for Chloe to catch up to her 
boss.  His long legs carried him swiftly, but her equally long 
legs had won her many athletic awards while she had been in 
training at Quantico.
        And so, when Special Agent Chloe Grant came up beside
him, 
Section Chief Fox Mulder only glanced sideways at her.  They 
shared a similar adoration for a little bit of adrenaline to 
start off a fresh new day.
        "Chloe," he said, nodding.
        "Mulder,"  she said.  She realized that she'd been running 
oddly, one arm still pressed tightly against her side.  The 
newspaper. He must've thought she was a nutcase.  
        She pulled the newspaper out from under her arm and 
crumpled it into a little ball.  She kept the ball in her fist, 
refusing to return the newspaper back to its original carefree 
form of blowing in the breeze.
        "What've you got there?"  Mulder asked, barely glancing 
her way.
        "Just a page from a newspaper,"  Chloe said.
        "It's the comics, isn't it?"  Mulder asked.  It was the 
mark of a keen observer.  And it was classic for the man she had 
recently come to call a friend.  It was also something she found 
fascinating about him.
        She had often asked herself how she could be so 
intimidated by the man, while still holding an intense 
fascination for him.  And the answer was simple--she could learn 
from Mulder.  She could learn the vital tricks for to use when 
out in the investigative field.
        "Yes," she answered simply.
        To her surprise, Mulder stopped running and began to jog 
on the spot.  Chloe had to back-track to where he stood.  He held 
out his hand.  She placed the crumpled ball of paper in his 
outstretched hand, and watched him curiously.
        Her observation skills kicked in.  His ruffled brown hair 
was sweaty, tousled, and looking like he hadn't even bothered to 
brush it before hitting the pavement.  He was wearing a light 
gray sleeveless shirt, and a pair of dark blue jogging pants.  
His hazel eyes had that feverish look to them that instantly told 
her that he'd had a nightmare the night before.
        She heard him chuckle at one of the comics, and smiled.  
So complex, yet so simple.  That was the thing with Mulder--he 
was contradictions within himself.
        He looked up when he sensed her eyes on him.   
        "Was there something bothering you, Chloe?"
        Chloe swallowed.  Here it comes, she thought.  The real 
reason she'd come out here.  
        "Sort of," she answered.  She still hadn't sorted through 
it herself, and she had avoided thinking about it, but she had 
come here with the intention of mentioning it to her superior, 
and she was determined to do it.  "Mickey's gone and opened his 
mouth again," she mumbled.
        Mulder laughed.  "Is this what's been eating away at you?" 
        Slowly, Chloe nodded.
        "Chloe, Agent Callavelo came to see me shortly after the 
incident.  He asked me for advice on how he should proceed."
        Michael Callavelo was Chloe's partner.  He had recently 
given a presentation at a local high school.  The talk had gone 
fine, until after, when he was gathering his things to leave.  
He'd offended the principle.  It was really just a ridiculous 
situation, something that hardly warranted worry on her part, but 
it was beginning to become a habit.  
        But Mickey didn't do it on purpose.  He never did it on 
purpose. In fact, he was one of the sweetest men she'd ever met.  
        What was bothering her about the whole thing was that he 
hadn't told her himself.  He'd kept it under his hat.  
        "You see, that's just it.  I wish he had told me.  Doesn't 
he trust me?"
        Mulder looked at her, a stern look commanding his face.  
"Chloe Grant, after what you two have been through together, I am 
surprised that you would ask that question.  The situation is not 
that serious, and I forbid you to give it any more thought,"  
Mulder said.  His seriousness dissolved into a look of 
compassion.  "Look, Chloe," he reached out and put a hand on her 
arm.  "Mickey looks up to you.  I know he trusts you more than 
anyone, but I know that he didn't want you to worry about his 
'little problem'."
        Chloe nodded, dumbly.  She had been stupid to be so 
worried about it.  And second guessing Mickey's trust was the 
lowest thing she'd ever done, or at least it felt that way.  She 
felt a hell of a lot like the scum that was swirling on the 
surface of the water which they stood beside.
        He patted her arm.  "Chloe, it's going to be a rocky road 
for a long time to come.  Once you two fully understand each 
other and they way you each operate, you'll fit together like 
hand in glove.  Eight months of working together may seem like a 
long time, but its hardly enough time to learn the pros and cons 
of each other."
        She knew he was speaking from the core of his experience.  
It had been much the same for him and Dana, she expected. 
"Thank 
you, Mulder," she mumbled. 
        "Any time, Chloe."  After observing the look on her face, 
he added, "I won't mention this to Mickey.  It wouldn't do him 
any good to worry that *you* didn't trust *him*."
        It's just a big circle, Chloe thought.  
        "It's about time for my second cup of coffee, you want to 
join me?"  he asked.
        Feeling comfortable in his presence, Chloe nodded.  "I'd 
like that," she answered.  Together they walked off the path, 
heading towards parking lot.

-----

X-Files Offices 
FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
7:30 am

Michael Callavelo pursed his lips together as he ran a hand 
through his dark locks of hair.   He sat behind his desk, a 
steaming cup of coffee next to him, and an empty IN box before 
him.
        Seconds later, Dana Scully Mulder wandered in, with a 
thick folder tucked in her arms.
        "Dana, any idea why this is empty?"  he asked, picking up 
the plastic box which would normally hold scads of files on cases 
they were working on.
        Solemnly, the auburn haired woman nodded her head.  
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered.  She tossed the file folder 
on the desk before him.  She drew up one of the extra chairs and 
sat down wearily.  The day had hardly begun, and Michael was 
getting the sense that it was going to be hell.  "Assistant 
Director Skinner wanted me to clear up our cases so that we could 
focus on *that*."
        She sounded disgusted.   Mickey opened the folder and 
immediately knew why.  He raised his eyebrows.  "A VC case?  
Mulder isn't going to be happy, is he?"
        Dana shook her head.  "Quite the opposite.  I think, 
although I'll never be able to prove it, that he requested this 
one."
        "Requested it?"  Mickey was interested.  "That doesn't 
sound like Mulder."
        Dana remained quiet, staring at the office wall over 
Mickey's shoulder.  After a moment of reading, Mickey glanced up 
and saw that she had closed her eyes.
        She looked so vulnerable and diminutive.  He recognized 
that as one of the many ways that looks could deceive.  If given 
the chance, Dana could take out a man twice her size.  "Take 
out," Mickey reminded himself, for her meant that she would 
incapacitate, and possibly render the person unconscious.
        And all of that was wrapped up into this little five-foot 
tall package.  The redheaded wonder.  
        "How is Samantha?"  Mickey asked, trying to bring her
back 
to the present, with a neutral topic.  Her eyes opened and she 
smiled.  For once he'd picked the right topic to touch on.  He 
could tell by the way her blue eyes shined with love for the 
young woman.
        Samantha Mulder, Fox's sister, was living with Dana and 
Mulder.  On their very first case together, Mickey and Chloe had 
accidentally stumbled upon the then missing girl.  It was a good 
thing, when he thought about it, because it had also brought the 
four agents closer in their friendships.  If the Mulders need 
someone to keep an eye on the girl, Chloe and Mickey took turns.  
He often found himself delighted by the young woman's maturity, 
and sense of self-preservation.  It was almost impossible not to 
fall in love with the adorable dark-haired angel.
        "Sammi's doing great.  I had to drop her off at a friend's 
house in order to come in here early and get those cases sorted 
out and ready to go to the other agents, but she doesn't mind 
that,"  Dana replied.
        "No, I don't imagine that she would.  Have you planned 
anything for this weekend?"  Mickey asked.
        Dana shrugged.  "Fox might have, but I don't think so.  
Why?"
        "I wanted to know if you think she'd like to go to the mud 
wrestling tournament with me,"  Mickey said, a wide grin 
spreading on his face.  
        Dana looked shocked.  "Uh, I don't think so, Mick," she 
replied.
        Mickey did his best to appear saddened, but the smile was 
too hard to suppress.  "Okay, how about to the Derby?  I promise 
that she won't partake in the gambling."
        Laughing, Dana shrugged.  "Run it by Mulder."
        "Run what by Mulder?"  A familiar voice drifted into the 
office, and Fox Mulder followed it.
        "He wants to take Sammi to the Derby,"  Scully said.
        "Only if I get to have a 'Derby' of my own while she's 
gone,"  Mulder joked and winked at his wife.
        Mickey saw the red that crept into Dana's cheeks, but he 
also knew that his own were turning red.  
        "Well, you find yourself a racehorse, Mulder, and we'll 
see what we can do for you,"  Dana answered.  She stood up, and 
walked over to him.  "But she'd better not be blond."
        "Hey!  What's wrong with blondes?"  Chloe Grant asked as 
she strode into the office.
        The Mulder's broke into laughter, and Mickey just 
shrugged, slightly embarrassed.
        Chloe looked from one to the other, blinking rapidly.  "I 
have a feeling I missed something."
        "Nothing vital, Chloe,"  Dana said.
        Mickey looked over his partner.  She was wearing a blue 
business suit, which complimented her sandy blond hair.  Her 
azure eyes shone with the intelligence that he had become 
familiar with.  And he could almost tell what she was thinking.  
        "From the way Mickey has brightened, I'd say it was pretty 
vital.  C'mon, Big Boy, 'fess up,"  Chloe teased, dropping into 
the chair that Dana had recently vacated.  At Mickey's continued 
silence, Chloe decided to skip to the next topic.  She leaned 
forward and tapped the empty plastic IN box.  "What's up with 
that?"
        "We have better things to do, apparently,"  Mickey said, 
throwing a cautious look at Dana, who refused to meet his gaze.
        "Oh,"  Chloe said, ignoring the slight tension that leapt 
through the office.  "And what would that be?"
        "Helping the behavioral sciences unit with this violent 
crimes case,"  Mickey said, handing Chloe the folder.  "I've only 
read the first bit, but I'd say it's going to be tough."
        Chloe arched an eyebrow at him, but quickly looked away, 
focusing on the case file.  She skimmed through the preliminary 
stuff, right to the report.  She licked her lips.  "We have six 
victims so far.  From what it says here, there are no apparent 
links and no distinguishable motive."  Chloe sat back and closed 
the file.  "How quaint."
        "That's an interesting way of putting it, Chloe,"  Mulder 
said.  He glanced at his wife, before stepping forward and asking 
Chloe for the case file.  "May I?" he asked.
        Chloe shrugged.  "Well, I wasn't planning on making it my 
breakfast.  Be my guest."
        Mulder thanked her and carried the case file over to a 
table he'd cleared off the night before.  He opened the folder 
and flipped to the very back, where several photographs had been 
slipped into an envelope.  He took out the photos and spread them 
out on the table.
        "Chloe, Mickey, come look at these and tell me what you 
think," Mulder said.
        The agents glanced at each other, but quickly moved to 
Mulder's side.
        Mickey glanced down and wrinkled his nose.  Fine job of 
mutilation, he thought.  "Bet they couldn't identify some of 
these people right away,"  Mickey said.  In fact, he was pretty 
sure there'd be no telling gender either.  Blood-typing would be 
required for identification and an autopsy in order to find out 
the gendertype.  And that was mutilation in the highest, most 
grotesque form.  How any human being was capable of such an 
atrocity was *far* beyond Mickey.
        Layers of skin had been flayed off the chests of each of 
the victims, the entire face was missing.  Hair was nowhere to be 
seen, and teeth had been surgically removed, from the look of the 
picture.  As surgically as the psycho who did this could get.  Of 
the skin that was left, there were deep incision lines, that 
seemed random--but not.
        He glanced sideways at Chloe, trying to get a feel for 
what she thought.  She was looking down at the photos, a look of 
deep concentration on her face.
        Instead of waiting for her to finish her observations, 
Mickey began to rearrange the photos.  Something was bugging
him, 
and he wanted to look at the photos in different positions on the 
table.  His hands worked quickly, like he was on a strict time 
limit.
        By now, Chloe had stopped looking at the photos, but was 
studying his face intently.  The look on her face clearly asked, 
"What the hell are you doing?"
        He swallowed hard as he slipped the last photo into its 
respective place.  He pointed down at the mess of overlapping 
photos, his hand shaking slightly.
        "Mickey?  What's wrong?"
        "Look," he said, his voice weak.  He followed the lines of 
the "random" slashes.  They weren't so random anymore.  In fact, 
that painted a frightening picture.
        "Oh my God,"  Chloe whispered.   She had finally seen
what 
he had been trying to point out.  "Is that an ear?"
        Mickey nodded.  
        "The murderer is drawing a picture using humans as the 
medium?"  Chloe asked, incredulously.  "But that's six victims 
and we've only got part of an ear and a bit of an eye."
        "Exactly,"  Mulder said.  He and Dana had been watching 
silently from a few steps away.  "That's why we had to get those 
other cases reassigned."  He took the folder from the table and 
flipped it open again.  "Each of these victims was found exactly 
six days apart.  We can tell you when the next one will turn up, 
right down to the last minute,"  Mulder said.  "That's the only 
pattern that we can distinguish.  Whoever is doing this is 
probably an obsessive compulsive who takes pride on doing 
everything on a schedule."

-----

End Part One

Bed Springs III 
Part Two
By Megan Reilly and Char Hall

        Dana shuddered.  "God, that's horrible," she said softly.
        The three agents looked at her - Chloe and Mickey
curiously, Mulder with more worry and compassion.  After a
moment more of looking down at the photographs arranged on the
desk, Dana realized she had made herself the center of attention. 
She looked up and elaborated, "Knowing that someone is going to
die, and when, but because the killer has not maintained any sort
of a pattern, there's next to nothing that we can do."  She shook her
head and looked away.
        Mulder's eyes lingered on his wife.  "Well, we have a little
time to figure something out.  I don't want to see anyone else die,
either."
        Chloe and Mickey exchanged a look.  "Do we have any
witnesses?" Mickey asked.  He had the idea that Mulder knew
more than he was telling - after all, he had known the corpses
assembled into a photograph before he asked for their ideas.
        "We have the profile from VCS.  They've been working
with it for two weeks, but haven't come up with anything," Mulder
said with a grim look on his face.
        Mickey began to dig through the file to locate the profile. 
Chloe watched Mulder.  "What do you think?" she asked him. 
"Have you done your own profile?"  Dana looked at her sharply,
but said nothing.
        Mulder nodded once.  Yes, he had done a profile.  But he
did not speak.
        "You're the one who figured out the photographs formed a
larger picture," Chloe said, figuring it out.  No wonder he had
taken this case from VCS, she thought, they had no clue what they
were dealing with here.  But Mulder did.  She didn't know how he
did, but he did.  She looked at him, trying to see what was going on
in his mind, but he was unreadable, as usual.
        "This profile is crap," Mickey said, tossing it back down
onto the table.  He ran a hand through his dark hair.  "I could write
a better profile than that - the killer feels inadequate, he wets his
bed, he failed art classes and was probably traumatized by
fingerpainting in kindergarten?" he read from the paper.  "No
wonder they've gotten nowhere."  He shook his head.
        Chloe crossed her arms over her chest and looked Mulder
in the eye.  "What do you have for us, Chief?"
        "The killer's an artist, probably amateur, or not very well-
known.  I'd guess pen and ink studies, judging from the style of the
picture we have forming here.  He or she makes a living taking
photographs, but not artistic ones.  GlamourShots, school photos,
weddings...strictly small time.  The killer resents the fact that the
world refuses to acknowledge their talent."  Mulder said, the words
spilling out in a flat tone as though he'd memorized and rehearsed
them.  Or was channeling them from some higher source.
        "Why do they kill?"  This from Mickey.
        Mulder shrugged slightly.  "Power."
        "Recognition?" Chloe asked.
        Mulder shook his head.  "If they wanted recognition for
this, they would have stepped up their efforts when nothing
appeared in the press following the first few killings.  It's been
more than a month, and still the killer stays on the schedule.  They
have all the time in the world.  And the bodies are dumped in out
of the way locations.  Not meant to be found."
        "Could there be more bodies out there that we don't know
about?" Chloe asked.
        "I doubt it."  Mulder responded.  "Not until the next one."
        "Okay," said Mickey, reassembling the file and putting the
photographs back out of sight.  He set the documents out of the
way.  "Where do we start?  You mentioned possible professions -
do we start asking questions?"
        Chloe's lips quirked in a faint smile.  Forthright, eager
Mickey, she thought.  She could imagine him knocking on doors,
questioning every one in the city who owned a camera. 
Wait...camera.  She looked to Mulder again.  "If the killer is
working with photographs, as we are, to document the
killings...those pictures have to be developed somewhere."
        "The killer must have access to a lab," Mulder said.  "These
aren't exactly the kind of thing you take to get double prints at the
drugstore."
        Chloe's mind began to work double-time.  "We could check
out that angle, then, it's a place to start. People who work at taking
school photos don't have access to labs, we can leave them out. 
That leaves -"
        "I think the killer has a home lab, Chloe.  Or access to a
school darkroom."
        "School?" Mickey asked, his voice slightly choked.  "You
think the killer's just a kid?"
        "College.  Possibly a returning or older student - I'm not
sure," Mulder said.
        Mickey let out a breath.  "That's a lot of places to start," he
said warily.
        "That's why they put the 'I' in the FBI, kid," Mulder said
ironically.
        Mickey rolled his eyes.  He hated it when people treated
him like a kid.  "I'll get right on it, then," he said and left the room
to locate a telephone book and a cup of strong coffee.  It was going
to be a long, long day.  But maybe he would get lucky.
        Chloe merely grinned at Mulder's statement.  "How do you
come up with this stuff?" she asked him softly.  She wished she
could do what he did.  See the connections as he did.  She wanted
to learn how.
        Mulder shook his head and his eyes were dark.  "It just
comes to me," he said.  
        "I have one question for you, Mulder," Dana said abruptly,
her tone harsh as she spoke for the first time from the corner where
she'd been silently standing, listening.  "Where's the X File in
this?"
        Chloe's eyes darted from the agent to his wife and back
again.  Dana sounded upset and Chloe couldn't imagine why. 
Mulder looked as though he had no idea either.  "There isn't one,"
he said shortly.
        Chloe had the feeling they were going to argue.  It made
her stomach feel strange, the bottom dropping with uncomfortable
fear.  It was as though she were a child who had stumbled across
her parents fighting.  "Excuse me," she said and headed for the
door.  She'd catch up with Mickey.  Maybe formulate some
theories of her own.  She wanted this case solved, now, before
someone else died.
        Mulder and Dana watched the door close behind her, and
then turned to each other.  Mulder looked at his wife's stiff posture,
her arms crossed defensively across her chest.  "What's wrong?" he
asked, his voice soft.  He wanted to walk over to her and touch her,
but he wasn't sure she wouldn't bite his fingers off.  
        "Why drop everything for this case, Mulder?"
        "People are dying, Dana."
        "People die every day.  Why this case, why now?" she
demanded.
        "VCS is floundering -"
        "They aren't really the idiots you always make them out to
be, Mulder.  I'm sure they could handle it," she snapped.
        "They asked for my help."
        "And you just dropped everything.  Without asking me."
        "Is that what this is about?" Mulder said, his eyes wide.
        Dana's head jerked from side to side. No.  "This didn't
come across your desk this morning, did it, Mulder?"  He looked
down at the floor.  "Four days ago - five?" she asked.  He nodded. 
"And you didn't tell me.  You just let the nightmares take you, tried
to keep them from me.  Why are you having nightmares about this,
Mulder?"
        His eyes flashed at her.  "I have nightmares, Dana.  They're
part of the package.  You knew that."
        "I'd just like to wake up with my husband once or twice,
Mulder.  Not have him take off on a running binge at four in the
morning.  If that's really what you're doing."
        He gaped at her.  "I would never cheat on you," he said in a
low voice, his eyes fixed on her with intense love.
        "I know," she sighed, and dropped her arms.  "I just...it
makes it really difficult."
        "Why are we fighting about this?" he asked, moving in to
stand next to her, so close that she had to tilt her head all the way
back to look up at him.  She shook her head and shrugged.  She
had no answer to his question other than irrational fear.  Mulder
put his arms around her and hugged.  After a moment, she gave in
and accepted his embrace.  "We're going to be fine, Dana," he
promised her ardently.
        "I just have a bad feeling about this case," she admitted.
        Mulder nodded.  "We can't stop talking to each other," he
said.  "No matter what happens."  Dana nodded and managed to
smile.  Everything was going to be all right.  He was right, she
thought.

-----

        Mickey had gone in to use Mulder and Dana's office while
they remained in his and Chloe's.  They were all one big happy
family on the X Files, they wouldn't mind, he thought, slogging
through the yellow pages with notebook in hand.
        "How do you think he does it?" Chloe asked, taking a seat
across the desk from Mickey.  She took a phone book from the
stack and opened it.
        "What?" Mickey asked, glancing up at her for only a
second.  He knew she meant Mulder.
        "Come up with stuff like that out of nowhere, stuff VCS in
all their infinite wisdom never thought of," Chloe elaborated,
flipping through pages to Community Colleges.  She wanted to
check out the darkroom angle.
        Mickey shrugged.  He looked at Chloe again, not really
comfortable with the note of awe he heard in her voice for their
superior.  He knew that Chloe and Mulder had a terrific
relationship, and that Chloe saw the older man as something of a
role model.  The type of agent she wanted to become.  But at the
same time, she didn't seem to see that Mulder had problems, too. 
"It's the way his mind works, Chloe.  He has a different base of
experience than them, is all, so different things come to mind.  It's
not anything amazing or mystical," he said practically.
        "They're in there arguing," Chloe said, glancing over
towards the door, as though she thought she should do something
about it.
        "It's their right," Mickey said.  "Marriage isn't a bed of roses
all the time, you know."
        Chloe nodded and they fell into silence looking through the
books together.
        Mickey's eyes lingered on his partner.  She seemed
unusually quiet. He wondered if he'd said something that offended
her.  "I was thinking of taking Samantha to the Derby this
weekend, if you'd like to go," he said, striving to sound casual even
though he really wanted Chloe to come with them.  Sam was fun,
but with Sam and Chloe together, the three of them always had a
blast.
        "We'll probably be working on the case, Mick," Chloe said
distractedly.
        "Yeah.  You're probably right," he said, feeling awkward,
like he shouldn't have even asked.  He stuck another post it note in
the yellow pages.  "I wonder if we could get employee's names
from the IRS and run broad-spectrum checks on them," he mused.
        "Go for it," Chloe said, smiling at him briefly before
burying her nose back in the book.
        "What do you think our killer might have on their past
record?"  Mickey asked, doodling on his notepad.
        Chloe looked up while she thought for a moment.  "I don't
know.  Maybe nothing.  A lot of serial killers appear to be model
citizens."
        "Why do you think Mulder wouldn't commit himself to a
gender on the killer?" Mickey asked.
        "I wondered about that," Chloe admitted.  "Most serial
killers - and perpetrators of such violent acts - are men.  I think
because he didn't say, that he suspects the killer might be a woman. 
But he doesn't have anything to back that up, so he doesn't want to
say it for sure.  We should keep our options open."
        "Makes sense," Mickey said.  He got to his feet but didn't
move away from the table. He wasn't sure why he hesitated. 
"Well, I guess I'll go check this out then."
        Chloe nodded.  "I want to get online and see if I can get
enrollment lists from these colleges." She looked at him.  "Then
we can cross check our references, okay?"
        "Yeah," Mickey smiled.  "Hey, Chloe?"
        "Mm?"  She didn't look up.
        "You don't this is going to turn into an X File, do you? 
That the killer is going to turn out to think they're possessed by the
ghost of Van Gogh's grandmother or anything?" he asked.
        "You never know," Chloe said with a charming grin.
        Mickey thought about that for a second.  She was right,
they never did know what they'd find.  "Well, see you later."
        Chloe just waggled her fingers in a tiny wave as he left. 

-----
end of part two.
-- 

Bed Springs III
part three
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall

-----

        Dana stepped out of the autopsy bay and into the changing
room, feeling chilled and alone.  Gore from the horribly mutilated
bodies covered her gloved hands and clothes.  The procedure had
not answered many questions.  For her, it had only brought up
more.
        She sighed and pulled the bloody clothing from her body,
dropping it into the biohazardous waste can as she headed for the
shower.  She stood under the spray for a long time with her eyes
closed, letting the hot water and steam soak into her skin, trying to
get warm.  She wished she could relax.  All she wanted to do was
go home and get into bed, pull the covers up and never peek out -
and have Mulder by her side.
        His distraction bothered her.  This case bothered her.  She'd
just examined the ripped apart corpses of two young, healthy
women who had been killed to serve as a twisted artist's canvas.  It
made her sick.  It all made her sick.  And it had never done that
before.
        She shut  off the shower and got out.  Automatically, she
pulled her suit back on and began to think about where she might
find Mulder.  
        No one was in their offices when she arrived there. 
Everyone was out, checking out leads, following up on their ideas. 
Leaving her here alone.  Dana smiled sadly and walked over to
turn on the computer.  She'd best write down her thoughts about
the bodies now, while they were fresh in her mind, before she
forgot the questions she wanted answered.
        She began to type, looking over the photographs she'd
taken herself and replaying her tape recorded notes.  But her mind
wandered.  The silence in the office was deafening; the absence of
another human presence too profound.  She found herself staring at
the wall where Mulder had his news items tacked up, some of
them layering over others.  A glass skull that was purported to
scream.  Fuzzy photos of UFOs that were probably just US test
planes.  A poster printed with   Mulder's philosophy: I want to
believe.
        The photos of the bodies he'd shown to Mickey and Chloe
were taped to the wall like a jigsaw puzzle.  From where she sat,
Dana could clearly see the picture drawn with the killer's incisions. 
She stared at it a moment, mesmerized.  And then she felt her
stomach beginning to rise up into her throat again and turned
away.  She had to get out of the office.  Into the fresh air and
sunshine, clear her head a little bit.

-----

        There were no leads.  Damn it, thought Chloe, tapping her
pencil against the desk in a nervous rhythm.  She could feel the
pressure of time on this case.  None of the victims had anything in
common, so in essence they were flying blind and hoping that
Mulder's profile was more accurate than VCS's had been.  Because
his intuitions and notions about the killer, wherever he had gotten
them from, were all they had right now.
        She'd been staring at a computer screen for the better part
of the afternoon, calling up work records and enrollment lists at
local colleges.  None of them were a match.  Maybe they were
barking up the wrong tree here, maybe Mulder was wrong.  But
she didn't think so.  She could feel it, he was right.  She glanced
down at the scribbles on her notepad.  He had to be right.
        A light touch on her shoulder made her jump.  "I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to startle you," Mulder said even as she began to turn
around.  She looked at him.  "Any luck?"
        Chloe shook her head.  "I hate this as much as paperwork. 
I want to be out there, in the field, *doing* something."
        Mulder nodded.  "I know what you mean."  There was a
haunted look in his eyes again, she noticed.
        "What about you?  Did you find out anything?"  Chloe
asked.
        "No.  I left Mickey about to begin interviewing owners of
camera shops about applicants they've turned down recently.  I
don't think it will do any good, but...we have to try everything," 
Mulder said.  Chloe nodded sympathetically.  She wished Mickey
had stayed in to play on the computers and that she had been
allowed out, but it didn't really matter.  And she could type faster
than he could, and understand more about the way computers
worked and their shortcuts, so it was more efficient for her to do
the boring work.  "I was looking for Dana."
        "Isn't she still in the autopsy room?"  
        "I went there.  Apparently she finished.  The computer in
our office is on, but there's no sign of her."
        A twinge went through Chloe's stomach.  "Are you
worried?"
        "No, she took her purse with her."  Mulder flashed her a
pained smile.
        Chloe touched his hand.  "Is everything all right between
the two of you?" she asked, not sure she should bring it up, but
unable to let it slide by.  "I mean, she didn't seem to happy about
taking on this case."
        "She's not happy about it.  Something about it is bothering
her."  Mulder drifted into silent thought for a moment, as though
trying to determine what it could be.  "It bothers me too, but Dana
doesn't usually let things affect her."
        Chloe nodded. It was one of the things she admired about
her friend - her ability to keep a clear head no matter what was
thrown at her.  "It'll be all right," she said, knowing it was
inadequate.
        "Yeah," said Mulder.  "I'll let you get back to it."  He began
to withdraw from the small computer space.  "I was going to pick
up some dinner, do you want me to bring something back for you?"
        "Sure," Chloe said, turning back to the computer screen.  It
was going to be a long night.  The door closed behind Mulder and
she sighed, beginning to type again with one finger, wishing she
was outside.  A second later, her pager went off.  She pulled it out
of her pocket and looked at it, expecting to see Mickey's cell phone
number in its display window.  
        She frowned at the number she saw there. It the telephone
number of her apartment.

-----

        The camera shop owner wouldn't let Mickey see his filed
applications, or his hiring records.  "But I'm with the FBI!" Mickey
cried, displaying his badge once again.
        "No, no, no!" was all the answer he received.
        "Listen to me, people are dying. And the only lead we have
is-"
        "Not at my shop they aren't!"  replied the owner.  "What I
do, is none of your business."
        "I'm a government official and you're blocking the progress
of an investigation."
        The owner, who stood a couple of inches taller than
Mickey and at least fifty pounds heavier, crossed his arms
stubbornly.  "Then where's your warrant?"
        "I haven't got -"
        "Then get out of my shop!"  the man roared. "It's closing
time."
        "Sir," began Mickey as diplomatically as he could manage.
        "We're closed.  Bye-bye."
        The two men stared each other down for a moment.  Then
Mickey retreated, unwillingly heading for the door.  "I sure hope
you have nothing to fear from the IRS," he muttered under his
breath.  The guy really pissed him off.
        A hand closed over the back of Mickey's jacket.  "What
was that, you scrawny little punk?"
        Oh jeez, thought Mickey.  Didn't this guy know that FBI
agents carried guns?  He shoved the man away from him.  "Let me
go, I was just on my way out.  Sir.  I'll be back when I've got a
warrant."  This had become a supreme waste of his time. It was
highly unlikely that this man had any piece of information that
they would need.  They were grasping at straws and Mickey had
drawn the short one again.  He wished Chloe had come with him -
she was good at this sort of thing.
        "I'll have you know my brother works for the IRS!"  the
man said.
        Mickey didn't say anything. He knew when it came down to
it that if he opened his mouth again, he was going to get a fist
slammed into it.  He opened the door and went through it.  A
glance over his shoulder from half a block away assured him that
the shop owner was still watching him.  He got into his bureau car
and slammed the door.  That's enough, he thought, I've had it for
today.  He swung out into rush hour traffic and heard the horns
blast behind him.  Hopefully Chloe or Mulder had better luck.  Or
Dana had found something that they were overlooking. That was
her specialty.  Rational thinking and detail.
        She and Mulder balanced each other in almost every way,
Mickey mused as he sat at a traffic light.  When Mulder tended to
run on intuition and hunches,  Dana remained calm and was able
to sort through them.  They needed each other.  They were the
perfect team. He smiled.  And they were doing a terrific job with
Samantha, a child who should have been a holy terror, but who
with love from her family, was growing into a beautiful young
woman.
        Mickey wondered if he would ever find someone who
balanced him so completely.  He and Chloe were a good match as
far as partners went, but they both tended towards hotheaded
flights of fancy. Different flights, different fancies, but they didn't
function as the same sort of well-oiled machine that Mulder and
Dana did.  Not yet.  Their supervisors kept telling them it would
come in time.  In the meantime, Mickey tried to stay as calm and
rational as possible and keep his mouth shut.  But he was rarely
successful.  And he could see that Chloe idolized Mulder.  He
could see the wheels turning inside her head every time she looked
at their team-leader, trying to scientifically analyze the thought
processes in his head to figure out how he knew the things he
knew.
        What a mess, Mickey thought, looking at cars blocking the
intersection ahead of him.  His cell phone rang and he grabbed it. 
"Yeah," he said, expecting it to be Chloe, or maybe Mulder, with a
lead for him to follow.
        What he heard instead was a soft woman's voice on a
recorded message.  "You have reached the office of Schoenberg
and Shine.  We're not open right now..."
        Mickey listened to it, wondering what exactly it could
mean.  It was an answering machine message, but how had he
received it as an incoming call?  It had to be a clue.  The message
stated the address of the office, and he was ridiculously close.  He
cut across a lane of unmoving traffic into the left turn lane and
caught the end of the yellow light, zooming across the intersection
just as it turned to red.
        A moment later, he saw red and blue flashing lights behind
him.  "Darn it!" muttered Mickey, pulling over to the side of the
road and fishing out his FBI credential.  He rolled down the
window as the officer ambled up.
        "What kind of move was that, young man?" the officer
inquired.
        "I'm with the FBI," Mickey said.
        "Where's the fire?"
        "Huh?"  Mickey didn't follow.
        "You don't have a light on the top of your car.  You don't
have a police escort.  What's the hurry?"  the officer asked him.
        "I just got a lead and -"
        "And it was so important you had to go endangering the
lives of innocent citizens to pursue it?"  the officer asked him
frankly.  Mickey didn't know what to say; he just clutched his
badge tighter between his fingers.  The officer pulled out his ticket
pad and Mickey clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything. 
"Let's see, illegal lane change, running a red light, speeding,
reckless driving..."  Mickey ground his teeth together. His father
had been a policeman.  He knew better than to argue.  "May I?" he
asked, pulling the badge from Mickey's fingers to copy his name
and number.  "What's the license number?" 
        "It's from the bureau car pool," Mickey answered.  "I don't
know.  I have the papers -"
        "That's all right, I'll just jot it down."  The officer walked in
front of the car to get the number, then handed Mickey the ticket. 
"Drive safely," he suggested.
        Mickey rolled up the window and shifted back out into
traffic.  This was turning into a terrible afternoon.  It occurred to
him that the way his luck was running, there could be danger
awaiting him at the offices of Schoenberg and Shine, whoever they
were, and so he dialed the X Files office phone on his cellular. 
There was no answer.  They were probably out on leads or at
dinner.  It went to voicemail after four rings and he disconnected
without leaving a message.

-----

        Mulder headed for the deli he liked to get sandwiches from
near the J. Edgar Hoover building, but as he got closer, he saw that
the line was out the door.  At least half of the people in line were
wearing suits and shoulder holsters.  It was going to be a busy
night at the FBI, he thought.  Agents would be earning their
overtime.  He walked on past the deli.
        It was a pleasant spring afternoon, fading into evening. 
The sun was just beginning to think about setting and was
changing the sky to oranges and pinks.  Mulder stopped to wait for
a walk signal and just stared up at the sky.  He wasn't really a
sunset person - he got his kicks looking at the pure darkness of the
night sky - but he could appreciate its beauty.  Dana would have
liked it, he thought.  The colors made him think of her.
        The light turned to walk, so he did.  He wondered where
his wife had gone.  He hoped she was out on a lead.  They needed
one, and if she came up with something, it would mean she was
getting drawn into the case.  She was resisting that, so far.  She
didn't want to be involved.  It troubled Mulder.  There had only
been a few cases that he'd seen shake her this strongly from the
outset.  One that would remain etched into his mind was the case
with Donnie Pfaster, when she almost become the killer's next
victim.  Mulder sometimes thought Dana had a sense about things
like that - when a case would end badly.  He knew she would deny
it fervently, and he tried to convince himself  that it was merely
woman's intuition and not some inclination to precognition.
        He couldn't accept that for the same reason she couldn't.  It
scared him.
        But the thought was there in the back of his mind. 
Something about this case had Dana on edge.  
        Mulder had lost track of where he was going and found
himself on the mall near the Smithsonian museums.  He checked
his watch, but most of them were closed by now or would be
closing in a few minutes.  He stopped outside one of the art
museums, wondering if the killer spent their days among the works
the masters, being inspired and wishing their own art adorned the
same walls.  The killer had a secret yearning to go down in history
for their art.
        Even if it was a history of serial killings, Mulder thought.
        He watched the people who milled around the doors for a
moment.  Tourist families, with kids who were bored and tired and
cranky from a day walking around looking at paintings.  Older
ladies and men in tidy clothing.  Art students in funky dress.
        He turned away and walked on.  He thought better when he
was outside, when he was moving.  Mulder switched to a fast walk
to get his blood moving again as he headed over for the memorials,
his brain on auto pilot so he could process information without
thinking about it, let his subconscious chew on the case for a
while.
        The cherry blossoms would be in bloom soon, he thought
as he approached the Jefferson monument and tidal basin.  The
city would be inundated with beauty, and tourists with cameras. 
That thought stuck in his brain for a moment, but just as quickly
dislodged.  The killings had been spread over a six week period so
far.  No one turned up that early for spring in DC.
        He began to walk around the water, looking into its depths. 
The sky was turning to a brilliant orange and it reflected in the
gentle ripples of the pool.  He passed a couple making out on a
bench, two skaters on another bench who had stopped to tie their
shoes, and an older couple reading poetry to each other.  Spring
was waking up the city and life was all around.
        He saw a woman sitting on a bench alone, with her knees
drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, staring
thoughtfully into space.  The sun glinted off her hair.  She was
beautiful.  
        He'd found Dana.
        "Is this seat taken?" he asked softly.
        Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at him. 
"Mulder. What are you doing here?"
        "I went out to get some dinner and got sidetracked.  
Chloe's probably starving."
        "Chloe?  I thought you went out with Mickey."
        "I did, but I came back to the office alone, looking for you. 
Chloe's still trapped in front of the computer and it's driving her
crazy."
        "You couldn't bear to sit still, either," Dana said, looking at
her husband.
        "Something was drawing me here," he said, joking mildly. 
"I should have known it was you."  She didn't say anything, just
nodded and continued to look off into the distance.   Mulder's
manner turned serious. "What did you turn up in the autopsy that's
bothering you?" 
        She glanced at him.  "Why aren't the bodies decayed?"
        Mulder had no answer.  He hadn't thought of it before.
        "The core body temperature and generations of scavenger
flies are much lower than I would expect in a body that's been dead
for so long," Dana explained, "but the bodies show none of the
damage consistent with being dumped into a freezer.  There's also
no apparent cause of death."
        "What about the wounds?"
        She shook her head.  "They were incurred after death."
        "Interesting."
        Dana nodded.  "I think the bodies were submitted to cold
temperatures and died naturally as a reaction to that induced state. 
They were then frozen, not in a freezer, but in a block of ice."
        "Before or after the wounds were inflicted?"
        Dana shook her head.  She didn't know.  "But we're talking
about a process that takes a fair amount of time."
        "Like six days?"  he asked.  She merely nodded.  "So the
killer probably already has the next victim."  She nodded again,
closing her eyes for a moment.  Mulder looked at her.  "That's not
all that's bothering you."
        She looked at him, her blue eyes bright with something
akin to anger.  And fear.  "Who took those pictures you showed to
Mickey and Chloe?  The ones that assembled so neatly into the
greater whole?"
        "Some of them were taken by VCS," Mulder answered.
        "Who took the rest?"
        "I did," Mulder admitted, trying to figure out why that was
such a crime.  Dana didn't say anything, but he could feel her
muscles turn rigid and feel the waves of anger coming from her
body next to his on the bench.  "What is it, what's wrong?" he
asked, touching her.
        She didn't respond to his touch, and he dropped his hand. 
"You looked at the pictures VCS took and figured out what was
going on.  That the killer was making a drawing using incisions on
bodies, and taking pictures that assembled into a greater whole. 
And you went to the other corpses and were able to find the right
spot to fit into the painting.  You took the same picture that the
killer must have taken."  She looked at him, and could see that he
didn't understand.  "You saw what the killer saw.  You got that
deeply into their mind, into their thoughts."
        "Do you want to solve the case or not?"  Mulder demanded. 
She looked stricken by his anger and he relented.  "I can't help
seeing things the way I do.  It's not something I do on purpose. 
You know that."
        "It scares me," Dana admitted, and he heard a vulnerable
tremble in her voice.  He put his arm around her shoulders.  "Your
nightmares scare me.  Because they're part of it."
        "And you don't understand," Mulder said, wishing there
was a way he could explain it to her.  "You don't believe."
        "It's not a matter of believing," she informed him.
        "Then what is it a matter of?" he asked gently, his fingers
playing in her hair.
        "If you see as the killer sees, if you feel what they feel - and
you do, in those dreams, don't tell me that you don't - what makes
you different?"
        Mulder swallowed hard.  "Because it affects me differently. 
I use their anger to find them.  Not to satisfy myself.  I don't have
the urges that they do."
        Her eyes were clear on his.  "But you do," she said.  He was
shocked, but she continued before he could argue.  "That's why you
go on those running binges after you have the dreams.  Seeing the
killing gives you energy.  The same kind of rush as the killer
experiences.  And pounding the pavement for a couple of hours is
the only way to drive that back.  Isn't that right?"  One eyebrow
went up.
        "No," Mulder said.  "That isn't how it is at all."
        He was telling her that she couldn't possibly understand it,
she thought, but she didn't believe him. She wasn't a psychologist,
like he was, but she knew that she was right because she knew
him.  "Running like that isn't normal," she said.
        Mulder just shook his head.  "Let's go back to the office."
        "I want to stay here a little while longer."
        "It's almost dark, Dana."
        "I'll be all right."
        His hand on her arm implied force, force she knew he
would never use against her.  "Come on."
        After a moment, she looked up at him.  And rose from the
bench silently, giving in.

-----

        Mickey stood outside the closed, locked, glass doors of
Schoenberg and Shine.  It was a nice office.  An investigative firm
that worked on insurance claims cases.  He had no idea what he
was doing there.
        He paced around the hallway for a moment and then
peeked in through the glass doors again. There was no movement
inside; no one staying on late.  Perhaps someone had been about to
meet him and given up when he didn't arrive right away.  Because
he'd gotten pulled over for that ticket.
        Mickey still felt incredibly stupid about that.  He'd pay it,
and not mention it, but he couldn't believe it.  There were at least
fourteen thousand other bad drivers in DC on a given day, why did
they have to get him?  And at such an important moment?
        His number had been up, he thought.  Mickey shook his
head and shoved his hands into his pockets.  The light above the
elevator lit and dinged with its arrival a second before he pushed
the button to call for it.  Shrugging, he stepped inside.
        "What are you doing here?" he asked the woman who stood
in the elevator car.
        She smiled a mysterious smile at him.  "It's a small world,
isn't it?" she said.
        "Purity, what are you doing here?" Mickey demanded.  He
knew this woman - she had been involved in a case that had taken
him and Chloe to New York about four months ago.  He'd never
been able to determine if it was coincidence that she kept showing
up, or if she had been involved in the killings in some way.  And
now she was back, in all of her frustrating glory.  As if he didn't
have enough to deal with.
        "Here, in DC, or here, in this elevator?" Purity asked, the
image of innocence.  But Mickey knew that looks could be
deceiving.  She looked into his eyes and saw the anger darkening
there. "The symphony's in town."
        "What a coincidence I should run into you," he said
roughly.
        The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors
opened.  Neither of them moved.  "Are you the one who called
me?" Mickey asked.
        Purity didn't answer.  He hadn't expected her to.  She
looked  down at the floor for a moment, letting her long dark hair
sweep over her shoulder and across her face.  Then she looked up
and met his eyes again.  "Do you want to go out?" she asked.  "Get
some coffee?  Talk."
        "I don't think that's a good idea," Mickey said.  Every time
he saw this woman, he ended up drugged or beaten up.  He didn't
think that was coincidence, either.
        She nodded.  "It is good to see you again," she said, putting
her hand up on the side of his face and pulling him down into a
quick kiss before he knew what was happening.  She released him
just as quickly.  "Just remember, time is of the essence," she said
and darted out of the elevator.
        Mickey's jaw dropped in shock.  He ran after her, but she
was nowhere to be seen.  He felt anger rise up in his chest for
having been such an idiot.  For letting her not answer his questions,
and then get away.  "Time is of the essence," what the hell did that
mean?  He couldn't help thinking that somehow, it related to their
case.   He couldn't believe she had shown up in his life again.  It
had been a really crazy day, he thought, and started for the car.

-----

        Chloe picked up the phone in the office and dialed her
home number.  This had to be a joke, or some kind of a trick, she
thought, but it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.  There was no
answer.  The machine picked up, and she broke the connection.
        She stood there with the phone in her hand, thinking. If
someone wanted to get in touch with her, why wouldn't they just
use her cell phone?  It was still in her pocket and it hadn't rung. 
That was the number Mickey would use if he got himself into
trouble, and that was the number that was printed on her business
cards, if someone had a lead about something.  She couldn't think
of anyone who wouldn't have that number.  
        She also couldn't think why her pager would ring with her
home number.  It was weird.
        She dialed her number again and this time she punched in
the code to pick up her messages.  As Chloe listened, her muscles
became tense and her eyes grew wide.  She hung up the phone and
grabbed her bag.  She had to get home.


-- 
-----
Bed Springs III
part four

        The lights were on in her living room when Chloe reached
home.  The sun was just beginning to set and turn the skies dark. 
Yet the light over the door already blazed, welcoming her home. It
was not a light Chloe ever left on for herself.  After all, she was an
FBI agent; she could take care of herself.  She wasn't afraid of the
dark.
        She sighed as she paused by the door, her fingers working
against the metal of her house key. She didn't have time for this
right now.  Not in the middle of a case, and especially not in the
middle of this case.  This was big.  She could feel that in her
bones.  Some of it came from the intensity Mulder had displayed
in the past day or so - a feeling that was contagious.  The rest was
just a hunch.  This wasn't just a simple murder.
        Things rarely turned out  to be simple, though, did they?
        Chloe turned the key and opened the door.  
        "Chloe!  Darling!"  She only got two steps inside her
apartment before she was enveloped in the sweeping hug of arms
clothed in bright colors.
        "Hi, Mom," said Chloe, pushing her mother away slightly,
although she couldn't hold back a smile.  Her mother was just as
flamboyant and unexpected as ever.  Her eyes went over her
mother's shoulder to the face of her father, halfway across the
living room. He looked distinguished, as always, with his proud
features and steel gray hair.  Chloe's smile widened into a grin for
a moment.  "Hi, Dad."
        "How are you doing, Chloe?" asked her father, approaching
to clap her on the shoulder.
        "Good," she nodded, just as he was reconsidering his
formal move and decided to pull her into a hug.  "What are the two
of you doing here?" she asked when he released her.  She looked
from her mother's face to her father's and back again.  For a
moment, neither of them answered and Chloe began to feel
worried.
        "We missed you, sweetie," her mother said at last.  "So we
thought we'd drop by for a little visit."
        "Unannounced?" Chloe asked, trying to keep the edge of
tension she felt out of her voice.  She was happy to see her parents,
but their timing could have been better.
        Her mother's face fell.  "If you don't want to see us - if
we're inconveniencing you -" she began.
        "No, Mom, that's not it at all -!" Chloe began to try to
smooth things over.  "It's just...I'm in the middle of a big case.  I
won't really have a lot of time to spend with you two, as much as
I'd like to.  So I wish you'd called first."
        "That's all right," her mother said, her smile returning,
although dimmer than before.  "Your father and I can tour the city
together.  We just wanted to see you."
        "We understand that you've got your work," said her father. 
"We're very proud of you, Chloe, and everything you've achieved."
        Chloe couldn't help smiling at that.  "Thanks, Dad."
        "But we've been worried about you," he continued in his
deep voice.  "We've barely spoken to you since that whole...New
York...thing."
        Chloe looked down.  When he said 'New York,'  they both
knew he really meant Nick.  It hurt to be reminded of Nick, again,
just when she thought she was beginning to be able to heal and
move on.  Her parents always supported everything she did, and
she loved them dearly for that, but she never felt that they'd
understood how she felt about Nick.  No amount of explaining
would ever make it clear to them.  They'd been upset for her when
she and Nick had split.  She hadn't told them about their brief
reconciliation in  New York before Nick's death.  She hadn't told
them half the things that had happened to her since she'd begun
working on the X Files.  Suddenly she felt guilty for worrying them
needlessly.  She should have tried harder, been a better daughter. 
After all, they had done so much for her.
        "It's okay, honey," her mother said, arranging her hair away
from her face as though she were a young girl, still in school.  "We
know it takes time."
        Chloe nodded.  She didn't know what to say.  There was a
huge lump in her throat all of a sudden and she was determined not
to let them see her cry about this.
        "We wanted to see how you are, that's all," added her father
gently.  "We just want to know you're happy."
        Chloe nodded again.  Then she blinked and pulled herself
out of it. "Have you had dinner yet?" she asked them.  "'Cause
there's a great little place just down the street, and I'm famished."
        "Are you eating enough?" her mother asked immediately,
and Chloe had to laugh.  It was strange, the way being in her
parents' presence made her feel like a child again, but at the same
time, there was something comforting about the way some things
never changed.

-----

        Mickey was almost frantic.  He'd rushed back to the
basement offices of the X Files, needing to talk to someone about
the clue he'd been handed. Or, at least, he thought he'd been
handed.  He didn't know what it meant, even though his mind was
racing trying to fit the piece into the puzzle.  He wanted to talk to
Chloe. Maybe she'd be able to figure it out.
        Although she wouldn't be happy to hear that Purity had
made another appearance.  Chloe suspected the woman.  Mickey
had to admit that his partner was right, that when Purity was
around, things tended to happen - but he didn't think she was bad,
exactly. He didn't know what he thought about her, except that he
would never see her again after New York.  Otherwise he would
have done some checking.
        But there was no one in the office.  Even more disturbing,
the door was standing wide open.  The lights were on.  The
computer was on and humming, although its monitor displayed a
multicolored screensaver.  Mickey walked over to it and tapped the
space bar.  The screen saver disappeared.  Someone had left the
computer running with their password still typed inside, allowing
anyone who walked up free access to the Bureau's many resources. 
He frowned and cleared out of the system, wondering who had left
in such a hurry.  And why.
        It wasn't like Mulder do such a thing.  He was much too
paranoid.  And Dana shared some of her husband's paranoia, even
though Mickey had to admit she tended to be a lot more rational
about it.  Although she had seemed a little distracted and out of
sorts earlier in the day.  Chloe might have done it, but only if she'd
left quickly.  Even then, he thought she would have turned off the
lights as she passed by.  Chloe was concerned about the
environment and waste.
        Maybe the lights were left on by whoever broke in to use
the computer, Mickey thought.
        Now who's being paranoid? he asked himself.
        He sat down in the chair, feeling more frustrated than
before.  He was an FBI agent, and he couldn't even figure out who
had been the last person to leave an office.  A smile touched his
lips as he thought, maybe I should dust for prints.  
        "You're losing it, Mickey," he murmured to himself as he
typed his password into the computer.  It was futile to sit around
wondering about the computer at a time like this.  He had better
things to worry about; there was a killer on the loose.  As well as
his mysterious informant whose presence usually preceded his
being drugged, knocked out or injured.  He couldn't be too
prepared.
        With that in mind, he got up and locked the door to the
office.  If his partner or one of the Mulders returned, they would
have a key and be able to get in.  That done, he set about collecting
information about Purity.
        He heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned, waiting. 
Mulder appeared a moment later.  "Why is the door locked?" he
asked, a frown carved into his face.
        "Precaution," Mickey answered.
        "Against what?" Mulder asked, not willing to let the matter
drop so easily.
        Mickey shook his head, indicating he had no answer to
give.  "Do you know where Chloe is?" 
        "She was here when I left," Mulder replied, tossing a bag
down on the table next to the keyboard.  Mickey recognized the
logo on the brown sack as belonging to the deli down the street,
where many of his colleagues went to pick up meals while they
slaved away on cases.  "Guess that means you can have her dinner.
Hope you like roast beef."
        Mickey rolled his eyes, recalling the infamous tale of the
FBI agent abusing his position by showing his badge to demand a
meatier sandwich.  Regardless, he reached for the bag and began
eating.  "What did you learn at the photo shops?" Mulder asked.
        "Nothing," he replied, wolfing down his food.  He noticed
Dana watching him just as he was wiping his mouth with the back
of his hand and felt his skin redden with embarrassment.  "Sorry,"
he said in her direction, looking in the bag for a napkin.  
        "We think we know the cause of death," Mulder told him. 
Mickey's eyebrows went up, but it wasn't Mulder who elaborated.
        "Freezing," Dana said with a strange edge to her voice. 
"From performing the autopsies, I believe the killer immersed the
victim in water and slowly lowered the temperature until the water
transformed into ice."
        "So, they drowned?" tried Mickey.
        "No," Dana frowned.  "They froze.  Judging from the lack
of tissue damage, I think it was done slowly.  Which may account
for the six day spacing of the crimes."
        "He already has the next victim!"
        "We think so," Mulder agreed grimly.  "And we have no
leads."
        Mickey's heart hammered within his chest.  It was now or
never.  Even though he didn't have a good explanation, he had to
tell them about his informant.  He wasn't sure how to put it,
exactly...  "I think I might have something, actually," he began.
        "There was a fortune cookie in that bag I didn't see?"
quipped Mulder wryly.
        Dana rolled her eyes, but Mickey didn't acknowledge the
joke.  "My cell phone rang and  - in New York, a few months ago,
there was this girl - um, woman - well, she was there - and it's
probably a bad sign or it doesn't mean anything, but I have the
feeling it does so -"
        Dana reached over and lay her hand on his wrist. "Michael. 
You're not making any sense.  Slow down."
        He took a deep breath, feeling foolish.  "I got a weird call
on my cell phone. It connected me with an answering machine for
some sort of office - Shoenberg and Shine.  I thought it meant
something, so I went there.  I didn't find anything, but I did meet
up with an old acquaintance.  Someone who was always in the
right place at the right time during the New York case, a few
months back."
        "Who was it?"
        "Purity," he answered.
        "What did she tell you?" Dana asked him with an intense
look in her blue eyes.
        "She said time was of the essence. Whatever that means. I
don't know what to make of it, the entire experience was just really
weird."
        "It may be weird," Mulder conceded, "but it gives us a
place to start."  He indicated that Mickey should move from the
seat in front of the computer and he did so.  "Were you looking
into Shoenberg and Shine?"
        "No, I was trying to find out about...her," Mickey admitted,
moving to sit next to Dana and Mulder sat down in front of the
computer, his fingers moving rapidly over its keys.
        "They look pretty clean," Mulder said after a moment. 
"Insurance brokers.  Mostly auto.  Some upscale clients, big
accounts.  Investigation department..."  He broke off, pushing the
keyboard away.  "I don't know what I'm looking for."
        "It's all right," Dana said quietly.
        "It's not all right!" Mulder cried, his eyes blazing.  "People
are dying.  More people are going to die."
        "We're doing what we can," Dana told him firmly.
        "It's not enough," Mulder snapped.  Mickey just watched
them, wondering what was going on. Had they had a fight? Dana
was being unusually quiet, he thought.  Mulder's desk phone rang
and the older agent grabbed it.  "Yeah," he said roughly into it.
        Mickey watched as his face changed.  He could feel Dana
tense beside him, equally aware of the change that washed over her
husband.  His face grew white and his shoulders tightened as his
head dropped forward slightly.  Bad news.  Mickey felt himself
clutching the seat of his chair, where his fingers had been merely
resting a few moments before. Chloe, he thought.  Mulder hung up
the phone.
        "What is it?" Dana asked, rising from her seat as though
pulled to her husband.
        "Time is of the essence," Mulder said almost
philosophically, swallowing hard.
        "What does that mean?" Dana demanded.
        "It's been six days. They've found another one."
        Mickey thought he saw Dana physically sway at the news. 
"We have to find Chloe," he said.  Both agents looked at him
sharply, and he realized there was probably a better way to have
said that.  A way that wouldn't have worried them.  "I mean, she
probably just ran home for a minute.  You two go on to the crime
scene; I'll catch up."
        Mulder looked at him for a moment before Dana took his
arm and they left the office together, steeling themselves for the
horror they would undoubtedly be facing in only a short amount of
time when they reached the crime scene.  Another death.  One that
should have been prevented. 
        Mickey turned off the computer with one hand and dialed
Chloe's cellular number on his phone with the other.  It rang, but
there was no answer.  He flipped off the lights and closed the door
soundly behind him.  Hopefully he was right, he thought.  She was
probably at home.

-----
        
        Chloe's mother was keeping her entertained with stories
from home while the three of them ate take-out from the place
down the street.  This is nice, Chloe thought, wondering why she
hadn't made the effort to keep in better touch with her family.  But
she knew she had been busy.  When there were crimes to be
solved, it unfortunately didn't leave a lot of time to catch up on old
times.  Her father had just begun to tell her about the annual picnic
for employees and their families at the large corporation he'd
founded when there was a knock at the door.
        Chloe started to get up from her place on the carpet - after
all, she lived alone, so she didn't need that many chairs - and found
it more awkward than she'd expected.  "Don't bother," her mother
told her airily from her seat near the door, jumping to her feet and
opening the door.  "Hello there," she said just as Chloe was getting
up.  "Can I help you?"  There was apparently no answer, because
Mrs. Grant turned to gesture to her daughter.  "Chloe, dear, do you
know this young man?"
        Chloe hurried to her mother's side and saw Mickey
standing on the other side of the threshold, looking pale and
suspect under the harsh glare of the porchlight.  "Chloe," he said. 
There was a perplexed look on his face as his eyes lingered on her
mother.
        "Mickey, what brings you here?" Chloe asked.  "Come on
in."  She moved out of the doorway, moving her mother along with
her so that her partner could come inside.  She closed the door and
Mickey just stood there, looking awkwardly at her parents, who
were looking back  just as awkwardly.  "Mickey, these are my
parents.  Mom, Dad, this is my partner, Michael Callavelo."
        "So nice to finally meet you, dear," her mother said
warmly, taking Mickey's hand and shaking it.  "Chloe's told us ever
so much about you."
        "She has," Mickey said as though he didn't quite believe it.
Or didn't want to believe it.  Chloe wasn't certain which.
        "It's good to meet you," her father said gruffly, rising to
shake Mickey's hand.
        "And you, sir," Mickey replied.  Then his eyes slid to
Chloe. "I didn't know your parents were in town."
        "I didn't either," she admitted with a smile. "They decided
to surprise me."
        "I'm sorry to have interrupted," Mickey said, moving
slightly back towards the door.
        "You didn't say what brought you here," Chloe said, afraid
he was going to run away before he told her.  It had to be
important, or he would have just called, wouldn't he?  With a
sudden burst of guilt, she remembered thinking she heard her cell
phone ringing as they came in the door from getting the take out.  
        "I'm afraid there's been another victim," Mickey said as
delicately as he could manage.
        "Oh, man," breathed Chloe.
        "Victim?" cried her mother.
        "Yes, ma'am," said Mickey because some sort of response
seemed to be called for, although he wasn't sure that was the right
one.
        "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go," Chloe said to her
parents as she rushed around the living room, sliding her feet back
into her shoes and collecting her jacket, her ID and phone and her
gun.  "I'll probably be gone for a few hours - maybe more.  Lock up
when you go to bed, and don't worry about me.  I'll take the couch
and I'll be quiet when I get in.  I'm sorry about this, Mom.  Dad." 
She leaned in to kiss her father on the cheek, and then her mother
as she neared the door.
        "But it's dark outside," her mother said.
        "Mo-om," Chloe complained and Mickey had to smile at
how much she sounded like a teenager.  "I'll be fine."
        "I'll wait up -"
        "*Don't* wait up for me," Chloe ordered.  "It could be
really late before I get back.  I'll be perfectly safe, Mom, honestly. 
I'm an FBI agent, remember?"
        "I know, sweetie," her mom replied.  "But you're still my
little girl."
        "Mom!" Chloe cried.
        "Catch the bad guys and kick their butts, okay?" her mom
suggested and Chloe just ground her teeth and opened the door. 
"Nice to meet you, Michael!"
        "Nice to meet you," he smiled at her and waved back over
his shoulder.  Chloe pulled the door closed behind them with brute
force and turned the lock, clearly aggravated.  "They seem very
nice," said Mickey.  Chloe rolled her eyes at him.  "They do," he
insisted.
        "I'm so sorry you had to be a witness to that," Chloe told
him, heartfelt.
        "What?  They love you."
        "They're nuts!"
        "But you love them, too," Mickey told her.  That much was
obvious.
        "Yeah," she agreed.  They went to his car in silence, and he
allowed her to go around and claim the driver's seat.  "So tell me
about the latest victim," she said, serious and instantly focused on
the case.
        "Dana and Mulder are already there. They went on ahead. 
We'll be there soon enough," Mickey said, wondering what would
be waiting for them at the scene.

end of part four.

Bed Springs III
part five

        The bathroom was immaculately clean.  The contrast to the
body was startling.  A red, destroyed person in the middle of a
pristine white floor.  A floor that looked as though it had been
scrubbed with a toothbrush for hours until it shone.  Counters and
sinks that could be in a TV ad.  And in the midst of it all, a
horribly dead body.  The paramedics were tending to the person
who'd discovered the body as well as the policeman who had
followed up on the call.
        Chloe tensed when she heard Mickey sigh beside her even
as they crossed the threshold into the small room, but he didn't turn
away.  He had a strong natural revulsion toward dead humans, one
that was quickly overcome by most agents.   He was learning,
Chloe thought, looking at Dana and Mulder.  Nothing could turn
Dana's stomach, yet she was looking pale and drawn,  Chloe
observed.  Mulder's face was screwed up with disgust and thought.
        "What have we got?" she asked quietly, almost unwilling to
break the peace in the small room.
        Mulder glanced at her as though he hadn't noticed her come
in.  "It's another one."
        "Specifics?" Chloe asked.  She felt silly almost as they all
four stood around the tight space and looked down at the body. 
There was nothing they could do, but it felt wrong to stand here
and talk over it.
        Dana shook her head quickly, a short jerk conveying all
there was to say.  "As with the others, we'll need to do an autopsy
to learn anything.  DNA testing is our only hope of identification."
        "Whose house is this?" Mickey asked.
        "It's a model home.  This is a fairly new complex, and they
haven't sold many of the houses yet. No one lives here."
        "Who has access?" Chloe asked.
        "During the day, almost anyone," said Dana.  "But it's kept
locked at night."
        "Has this body been here since earlier today?" Chloe asked.
        Dana shook her head again.  "And we don't know who else
has a key, besides the manager who let us inside.  He's the one who
found the body."
        "What was he doing here so late?" Mickey asked.
        Mulder raised an eyebrow. "He says he had a fight with his
wife and she tossed him out for the night.  She's done it before,
according to him, and he spends the night here."
        "Can she corroborate his story?"  Mickey reached for his
cell phone.  Mulder raised his hands in a gesture that said, I don't
know so go ahead.  "I'll just - um -"  Mickey nodded toward the
door and made his escape from the bathroom.
        The space still felt claustrophobically small.  As though
there wasn't enough air for the three agents to all breathe.  "What
happens now?" Chloe asked Mulder.  "Do we have any more
information than we did earlier?"
        "Where did you disappear to, by the way?" Mulder
questioned.  "Your partner was worried."
        Chloe almost chuckled at the idea of Mickey worried about
her.  "I had a situation come up I had to take care of at home."
        "A situation?" Dana said, sounding concerned.
        Chloe smiled.  "My parents decided to drop in to town to
check up on me."
        "They picked a hell of a time to do it," Mulder said darkly.
        "Didn't they," Chloe agreed.
        "We determined that the killer is using extreme cold as part
of the process," Dana explained.  "And Mickey had something that
might or might not be a clue."
        "How's that?"  Chloe wasn't sure she followed.
        "He ran into that woman from New York. Purity."
        Chloe's heart sank.  She didn't trust that woman.  She had
thought they would never see her again, and was glad.  She didn't
know how to take the news that she had surfaced again.  "Just what
we needed," she murmured.
        Mickey stepped back into the room then, finding the other
agents still staring grim-faced at the mutilated corpse.  "The wife
substantiated  the husband's story," he said.  "And the trace
evidence guys are here, along with the coroner."
        "That's our cue to go," said Mulder.  Mickey held the door
as Chloe walked through it.  Mulder put his hand against Dana's
elbow, but she didn't react to his touch.  Her eyes lingered on the
body.  "What is it?" he asked his wife.
        She shook her head, as though pulling her thoughts back to
herself.  "Nothing," she said swiftly.  "I must be tired."
        Mulder nodded, understanding, and accompanied her out of
the room as the other professionals moved in to do their jobs. 
"You don't have to do the autopsy tonight, if you're tired," he told
his wife, looking into her eyes and moving the hair off her
forehead with two fingers.
        "No, we need to stay on top of this," Dana informed him,
even though she didn't sound happy about it.  "I can catch a ride
along with the coroner if you want to get back to the office."
        "I'll drive you," Mulder said, getting the feeling she was
trying to  push him away and he didn't understand why.  "It will
take some time to get the body transferred to the Bureau's
facilities, anyway. If you want, we could go home first.  Get a little
rest."
        "It's all right, Mulder.  You have things you need to
investigate," Dana said, and walked away from him.  Mulder
simply watched her, shocked.
        "What happened there?" Mickey asked, walking up to his
superior.
        "I have no idea," Mulder admitted, still feeling stunned.

-----

        The three of them went back to the office to go over the
evidence, again.  Having seen the body in person only lent more
importance to Purity's words of warning: Time is of the essence. 
They were all feeling the pressure of this serial killer.
        "The murders are every six days," Chloe said, more
thinking than asking.
        "Yeah," said Mickey staring at the file open before him and
feeling very tired.
        "And Dana thinks the victim is killed by freezing, and then
brutalized afterward," Chloe continued.
        "Yeah," said Mickey.
        "She should know more after she looks at this victim,"
Mulder added, but he sounded distracted.  Both Chloe and Mickey
looked at him for a moment, wanting to ask what was going on
between Mulder and Dana, but they couldn't.  Mulder didn't seem
to know himself.
        "The killer takes the victim and it takes time to freeze
them. That's why the six days.  So the question is, how much time
passes between the murder and the taking of the next victim,"
Chloe concluded.
        "Right," Mulder nodded, though he hadn't thought of it that
way before.
        "Maybe Dana can figure that out from the autopsy as well,"
Mickey suggested.  "Should we call her?"  He reached for his cell
phone eagerly.
        "No," said Mulder.  "She'll be looking for the time of death. 
The freezing interferes with that determination, though."  Mickey
looked crestfallen.  "But Chloe's got something there.  How long
does the effect of the mutilation of the body take to wear off, and
the killer needs to feel it again?"
        "Or does he plan ahead," said Mickey.  Chloe and Mulder
just looked at him.  "The pictures...the killer's working on an art
project.  He probably knows how many bodies it will take to
complete it."
        "Complete premeditation," said Chloe, sounding shocked. 
"That's terrible."
        "It's also very likely," Mulder said, sitting up straighter in
his chair.  "Good thinking, Mickey.  The only question then is, how
does the killer select the victims?  Randomly or not randomly?"
        "You're still saying 'the killer' rather than using a pronoun,"
said Chloe directly.  "Do you think we have a woman serial killer
here?"
        "Serial killers are almost always white males, with middle
class backgrounds and some education," said Mulder.
        "That doesn't answer my question," Chloe responded.
        "Yes," Mulder sighed.  "I think the killer is a woman."
        "But you don't have anything to back it up, so you didn't
want to say it," Mickey said.  Mulder nodded.
        "That helps us, though.  It cuts our suspect list almost in
half," said Chloe.
        "I don't have any proof," Mulder cautioned her.
        "When have you ever needed proof?" Chloe asked him with
a charming grin.  "You're a brilliant profiler, Mulder.  If you think
it's a woman, you're probably right."
        "Why do you think it's a woman?" Mickey asked Mulder.
        Mulder's eyes looked haunted.  "It's a feeling," he said. 
"Just a feeling."  There was silence in the room for a few moments. 
"There's nothing more we can accomplish tonight. Go home, both
of you, and get some rest."
        "You look like you could use some rest yourself, Mulder,"
Chloe said gently as she got up.
        "What are you trying to say?"  Mulder raised an eyebrow at
her. Mickey just stood back and watched them both.
        "Don't stay here all night, okay?  You look like you need
the sleep more than we do," Chloe said simply, and turned to go.
Mickey and Mulder shared a look, then Mulder nodded and
Mickey left.  Mulder sighed and reached for the file to go over it
one last time.  Then he was going to go home.  To sleep peacefully
in bed next to his wife, he hoped.

-----
        
        Dana was disgusted by the body, but she knew that other
lives depended on whatever information she could glean from it. 
Most of the credit went to detectives in murder cases like this, she
knew.  And most of the time, that credit was deserved.  Only
occasionally did she wonder how much more quickly the case
would have been solved if the bodies had been in the care of a
skilled pathologist.  She knew that she was very talented in her
chosen field.  That talent had benefited almost every X Files case.
        She looked down at the dead...thing...on the table before
her and felt bile rise into the back of her throat.  She swallowed it
back and tried to keep the feel of death from clinging to her and
clouding her thoughts. Maybe it was just because she was tired.
        There was nothing new she could learn from the body.  The
victim had died of acute hypothermia, by immersion in cold liquid,
just as the others had.  There was no evidence of liquid nitrogen or
drowning.  
        How did the killer get the victim to lie in a cold tub long
enough to die?  The question appeared in her mind.  She wished
there was enough to analyze for the telltale markings of an
injection.  There was enough blood to send for a toxicology report,
but that would take time.  Time the next victim didn't have.  Dana
could feel the responsibility for that person's life weighing on her.
        Mulder would need to take the photograph the killer had
taken.
        Now she felt really ill.  Her husband could see what the
killer saw, think what the killer was thinking.  She trusted him
with her life and her love and she knew that he would never hurt
her, but this frightened her.  Because he hadn't told her.  He'd tried
to deny it.  Could he not see it for himself?
        Again, she tried to determine the exact time of death.  She
didn't have much luck.  Between two and four days ago, that was
the best that she could do.  Perhaps the results of the toxicology
report would tell how long the drugging agent took to work and
how it affected tissue.  Perhaps that would give them a much-
needed clue.  How long did it take to freeze to death in water? 
That was something else she needed to consider.
        Did the killer kidnap and keep more than one person at a
time?  Was it some sort of assembly line approach to killing?  One
held hostage, one freezing, one being slashed in a sick attempt at
art...It wasn't possible, was it?
        Was it any more possible or acceptable to take them one by
one, and make the victim suffer in solitude?
        Dana was shaken by this, and by their lack of answers.  She
scribbled some notes to herself and finished up.  She was
exhausted by the time she put her clothes back one, but she knew
she had to type up her notes at that moment, rather than waiting
until later.  Wearily, she made her way back to the office and
turned on the computer.  It was going to be a very long night.

-----

        Chloe let herself into her apartment as quietly as possible,
fully aware of the late hour and the fact that her parents would be
sleeping.  She didn't want to wake them.  They would just worry
about her.  They loved her and supported her, and part of that
included worrying.  She could accept that.  She just didn't think she
was up to facing them tonight.  She was tired, and she knew this
was going to be a very difficult case.  They had barely even begun
to work on it and clues were not easily coming to them.
        She heard a noise coming from the kitchen and reached for
her gun, walking toward the room with silent steps, not turning on
a light.  Her heart was pounding.  It could be anyone.  Chloe hoped
it was a simple burglar.  Much easier to deal with.  But she didn't
want to deal with it at all...
        "Stay where you are," she said coldly, and flipped on the
kitchen light.
        She found herself holding her gun on her father, who
looked even more surprised than she felt.
        "Chloe," he said, watching her, not moving from his place
in front of the refrigerator.  "Can I offer you a sandwich?"  There
were two on the plate he held.
        "God, Dad, I'm sorry," she said, flicking on the safety and
reholstering her gun.  "I thought you were a housebreaker."
        "It's all right, Chloe. It's good to see you can protect
yourself."  Her father looked and sounded more shaken than his
words conveyed.  He put the plate down on the small table and
sank into one of the chairs.  "Sandwich?"  he offered.
        She took it from him and lounged against the wall near the
table.  She couldn't believe she was starving in the middle of the
night after coming from a crime scene, but she was.  "Excellent,"
she said, still chewing her first bite.
        "How is the case?" her father asked.
        "Frustrating," she admitted.  "We have hints and pieces but
nothing so big as an entire clue to back up or disprove any of our
theories.  It's slow going."
        "But you'll find them eventually," her father said positively.
        "I hate to think what will happen if we don't."
        "Bad?"
        "Very bad." She took another bite.  "There are so many
twisted, psychotic people in the world, Dad. I had no idea before
now."
        "There's no more evil in the world than there ever was," her
father told her.  "It just seems that way to you because you deal
with these people every day.  It's your job to find them and keep
them from hurting the rest of us.  It's an admirable duty, Chloe. 
But it's bound to affect your thinking.  Try not to let it."
        "I have to be realistic,  Dad."  He gave her the look he'd
always given her when she was a child, and he let her do things her
way even though he knew she was wrong.  She sighed.  "And
realistic is, you're right.  There are good people in the world.  I just
wish I met more of them."  For a moment she thought of Nick and
she quickly pushed the thought away.
        "The people you work with are good people, aren't they? 
That young man who came by earlier?"
        "Mickey?  Yeah, he's great.  A little old-fashioned, but I'll
break him of that eventually," she said with a smile.
        "Old fashioned how?"
        "He thinks a woman's place is in the home.  And other
related nonsense."
        "You know your mother still believes that in her heart."
        "I know.  But she also knows that wouldn't make me
happy."
        "All we want is to see you happy, baby."
        "I know, Dad."  She smiled at her father and took his hand,
squeezing it for a moment.  "This is what I have to do."
        "Does it make you happy?"
        "There's nothing like the moment when the bad guy is
behind bars and you know you put him there and he won't hurt
anyone ever again," Chloe answered.  "Well, that's a little
simplistic, but -"
        "I know what you mean.  I started my company to develop
and make things that help people."
        "You don't still want me to take over the family business,
do you, Dad?"  Chloe asked, half joking.
        Her father chucked.  "I don't think Richard would let you at
this point."  Richard was her father's protege and vice president of
the company.
        "You don't still want me to marry Richard, do you, Dad?" 
Chloe was joking this time.
        But her father didn't deny it.  "I know you've suffered a
great loss with this New York business, Chloe, but it's time for you
to move on with your life."  She didn't say anything.  "What about
this partner of yours, this Mickey?"
        "He's my partner, Dad!  You sound like Grandma."
        "What about the other people you work with?"
        "What about them?"
        Sensing his daughter's irritation at this turn in their
conversation, he backed off.  "Good people?" he asked gently.
        "Good people," she agreed.  "Mulder is amazing.  He's got
so much to teach.  I don't know how he does it.  This work is his
passion."  Her father nodded.  "And Dana, too."
        "Dana?" her father asked.
        "She was Mulder's partner.  She still is.  But she's his wife,
as well."
        "How do you feel about that?"
        "What are you trying to say, Daddy?  How should I feel
about that?  I love them both dearly, and I respect their work and
their accomplishments as a team.  And Mulder's...daughter..." She
almost slipped and told him something she couldn't, not even her
own father could know the truth behind that.  "Is the most
wonderful little girl in the world."
        "He has a daughter?"
        "Sammi's ten."
        "Sammi is Mulder's daughter?"  He sounded surprised. 
Chloe had written to him about Sammi before.
        "I didn't tell you that?"
        "So he and Dana have been married for a while."
        "No, she's from...umm...before.  Mulder and Dana have
been married about a six months."
        "Newlyweds."
        "I guess," Chloe shrugged.  "I'm sorry, Dad, but I need to
get to  bed.   It's been a long day and I have to get up early
tomorrow."
        "I'm sorry I kept you up," he said.
        "Your insomnia is no better?" she asked, placing her hand
on his arm.
        "It doesn't bother me any more, Chloe. I just hate to disturb
your mother."
        She leaned in and kissed his cheek.  "Love you, Dad."
        "Sweet dreams, baby."

End of part five.

-- 

Bed Springs III
part six

-----

        It was almost dawn when Dana got home.  She was
exhausted, and she had to wonder if no sleep would be better than
sleeping two hours and then having to get up. But she couldn't not
go to bed.  She had to take care of herself.  Mulder was sprawled
in the middle of their bed and she didn't turn on the light, not
wanting to disturb him.  She looked at him for a moment and saw
the deep lines of a frown on his face, even as he slept.  Then she
moved away from the side of the bed to slip out of her clothes.
        Mulder began to mutter in his sleep.  The bottom dropped
out of Dana's stomach with unbidden fear.  Not again, she thought. 
She couldn't take this, not tonight.  The mutters grew into soft
moans by the time she finished hanging up her suit.  Reluctant to
get into bed next to him, she stood and watched him.  His eyes
were moving behind closed eyelids, indicating REM sleep. He was
dreaming. Another nightmare.
        She touched him, hoping to wake him.  He threw her hand
off, moving about restlessly in the dream.  His muscles twitched
with restrained movement.  Dana took a deep breath and waited
for the screams to begin.
        They didn't.  After a moment, Mulder seemed to relax and
no longer be fighting whatever had tormented his sleep the past
few nights since he had been given this horrifying case.  He
murmured and the creases eased out of his skin.  She touched his
forehead and he didn't react.  He was drenched in sweat with the
intensity of the nightmare.  But it seemed to be over now.
        Too exhausted to wonder or worry any longer, Dana got
into bed next to him, not touching him.  She curled up on her side
and closed her eyes, feeling the pull of deep sleep the moment she
put her head on the pillow.  It felt so good to release everything
into slumber. It would still be there, waiting for her in a few hours
when it was morning, but for now, nothing felt more wonderful
than her soft bed and the darkness and her body relaxed.
        The motion of the mattress as Mulder sat straight up in bed
jostled her out of her newfound sleep and she'd just opened her
eyes when he screamed for the first time.  Her heart began to race
and she sat up instantly.  "It's all right, it's all right," she said,
reaching for him.  Mulder was sitting rigid in the bed, breathing
hard, staring at the wall.  He didn't react to her touch and for a
moment she thought he was still in the dream.  But his eyes were
open.  He was struggling not to scream again, even in wakefulness. 
"It was just a dream, you're safe now."
        Usually he went willingly into her arms.  Even the past few
nights, when he'd refused to tell her anything he'd seen or felt, he
let her hold him for a brief few moments before he threw back the
covers and got into his running shorts, scorning sleep and her
desire to comfort him.  But tonight he didn't acknowledge her at
all.  Because of their fight? she wondered.  She'd be damned if she
let herself cling to a man who didn't want her, she thought, moving
away from her husband.  She was angry.  She knew she shouldn't
be, because he couldn't help this.
        "It was different this time," he said, his voice flat in the
darkness.
        "I thought you'd dreamed yourself out of it and would be
able to sleep," she told him.  "I saw you relax...but then you
screamed."
        He flung the covers back and got out of bed, reaching for
some clothes to put on.  "Mulder, don't do this," she said. He
ignored her, pulling the shorts up and turning his T shirt right side
out before tugging it on over his head.  "Why can't you talk to me? 
Why won't you even let me hold you, Mulder?"  Still no answer. 
He finished tying his running shoes and practically ran for the door
of the bedroom.
        "Get some sleep," he told her.
        "Mulder, talk to me," she said softly, feeling desperate.
        He paused at the door.  "I love you."  The words didn't
come easily, and then he was gone.
        She burst into tears, unable to hold them back any longer. 
She fought them, but the sobs won.  She pressed her face into the
pillow so Samantha wouldn't hear through the wall and cried.  She
didn't even know why she was crying about it.  Exhaustion.  And
like Mulder said, tonight had been different.
        He hadn't said, "I love you," any of the other nights.
        He hadn't run terrified from their bedroom any of the other
nights.
        He hadn't woken with an erection any of the other nights. 
She didn't know what any of it meant or how to interpret his
behavior.  She wished that he would trust her with this and talk to
her. It had something to do with the case - the nightmares and the
running had begun when he took on this damned case - but until he
told her, she wouldn't know what.
        Meanwhile, Mulder ran.  He didn't know what else to do,
how else to deal with the alien feelings and emotions that lingered
over him when he woke from the nightmares.  All he knew was he
had to make those feelings go away.  Tonight had been the worst.
        Tonight he'd seen the killing...he'd been the killer...and he'd
liked it.
        God help him, he'd liked it.

-----

        Mickey arrived to the empty office a few minutes early and
was surprised that none of his colleagues were there.  He shrugged
and opened the file, trying to come up with something that would
help them solve this case quickly.
        The phone rang and he picked it up, thinking it would be
Chloe pleading car trouble or something like that.  Instead, he
heard Assistant Director Skinner say, "Michael?"
        "Yes, sir?"  Why did he feel like the principal had just
called to ask him to step into his office?  Mickey was already
combing through everything he'd said and done in the last few
days, trying to find the stupid thing he'd done now.  Nothing came
to mind.
        "I'd like to see you in my office, immediately.  Can you
comply with that request?"
        Skinner was really, really angry, Mickey thought.  "I'll be
right there, sir."  What the hell had he done?  He honestly had no
clue.  Every other time Skinner called him down to ream him, he'd
had the notion in his mind that he might be in trouble.  But he had
no clue.  And Skinner sounded furious.
        Skinner's assistant didn't look at Mickey when he walked
into the outer office. That was a very bad sign.  Sometimes she
didn't say anything to him, when the hot water he was in was very
deep, but she always looked at him. If it was a minor thing,
sometimes she even gave him a commiserating look.  It couldn't be
easy being Skinner's assistant, after all.
        Mickey walked into Skinner's office.  The Assistant
Director didn't look at him.  He didn't tell him to have a seat.  That
meant he wouldn't be there long, Mickey thought.  How long did it
take to say, "You're fired"?  Mickey was really scared, because he
didn't know what this was about.
        Oh my God, what if Chloe's dead?  Or hurt or injured or
taken hostage?  Suddenly Mickey couldn't breathe.  What if
Skinner couldn't find the words to tell him?  "What is it, sir?" he
asked.
        Skinner tossed a newspaper down on the desk between
them, facing so Mickey could read the headline.  "SERIAL
MURDERER DRAWING PICTURES IN BLOOD," proclaimed
the headline.  Below was one of the less-grisly photographs
involved in their current case.  Mickey could only stare at it.  "This
is bad, sir," he said.
        "It's very bad, Callavelo," sniped Skinner.  "Maybe you
should have a seat and read the story - although none of it will
come as a surprise to you."
        Mickey shot him a look and wondered what exactly that
meant, but sat down and began to read the article.

        "WASHINGTON, D.C. - Six people are dead.  The only
way
        the FBI could identify them was by their DNA.  Today, a
        seventh murder has taken place.  A body was discovered
        early this morning in a model home of the Wheeler Lakes 
        subdivision.  The cause of death and identity of the victim
        have yet to be released by the FBI.
                "This is the work of a very angry person, a serial
        killer," says Special Agent Michael Callavelo, who is part
of
        the team assigned to catch the killer.  "We've been working
on
        this case more than two weeks without substantial leads. 
We
        only hope the killer won't strike again."       
                As of yesterday, the FBI's investigation led them to
        question the owners of many local camera shops, hoping
for a
        lead on the identity of a killer Callavelo describes as "an
        artist drawing pictures in blood."

        "Is any of this true, Callavelo?" Skinner demanded when
Mickey looked up from the article, stunned.
        "I didn't say any of these things," Mickey told him.  "I
would never reveal information about a case -"
        "This information jeopardizes the investigation of these
murders by this office," Skinner informed him.  "It also has begun
to create a public panic, which we are already struggling to put to
rest.  It also makes the FBI look incredibly foolish.  Would you
care to address any of this?"
        "I didn't say any of this," Mickey said again.
        "Why the hell would you go to the papers with this,
Callavelo?  What were you thinking?"
        "Nothing, sir -"
        "You admit that you weren't thinking?"  Skinner's face was
turning red with fury.
        "No, you aren't listening to me, sir.  I didn't speak to the
papers.  I never gave them any information."
        Skinner stared at him as though he had begun to speak in
Ancient Sanskrit.  "Lying to me isn't going to help your situation,
Callavelo.  I think this is the time for honesty."
        "I am being honest, sir, I didn't do this.  Did you call the
paper -?"
        "The reporter who wrote the story confirms that her source
was an FBI agent matching your description, with your badge, who
insisted on being named and quoted.  She had your badge number
and your identification number.  She called to confirm you were
really an FBI agent before going to press with such an absurd
story," Skinner told him.
        "I don't know what to say, sir.  I didn't do this." Mickey felt
chilled.  This was bizarre.  Mulder and Dana had hinted at cases
they had investigated in the past where they had been undermined
in similar ways.  Mickey had thought it was the work of that
cigarette smoking man who wanted to close the X Files.  But that
man was dead.  Who would want to set him up this way?
        "It isn't as though you don't have a history of press
incidents, Callavelo," Skinner said rather snottily.
        "I've learned my lesson, sir.  I never intend to ever speak to
a reporter or open my mouth in a public arena ever again," Mickey
vowed.  "I told you that when we resolved the matter with that
school principal, and I meant it."
        "Well, you won't be getting another chance," Skinner told
him.
        "Excuse me, sir?"  Please don't let this happen, Mickey
thought. But the look on Skinner's face told him it was too late,
even for prayer.
        "You're suspended without pay, Agent Callavelo, until such
time as this matter can be resolved.  Please leave your badge and
your weapon with Kimberly on your way out."  Mickey was too
stunned to move, and Skinner looked at him.  "Unless you have
something rational to say on your own behalf?"
        "I'll find the person who set me up," Mickey said quietly.
        "Good luck," said Skinner, quite sarcastically.
        With slumped shoulders and leaden feet, Mickey left the
Assistant Director's office and stopped at Kimberly's desk.  He put
his badge down and then emptied the clip in his weapon before
handing it to her.  She didn't say anything, just held up one finger
while she called for a guard to escort him out of the building. 
Mickey was too crushed and confused to say or do anything.  He
found himself standing outside of the FBI building in a light rain,
not knowing where to go.  After a moment, he turned from staring
forlornly at the doors, now closed to him, and went to get some
coffee.  Then maybe he would be able to think about this.

-----

        Chloe was very aware of the tension in the office the next
morning.  She was fine-tuning her work of the day before on
community college enrollment lists and searching other databases
when Mulder arrived with a distracted, gruff, "Hello."  He went
immediately to his desk and began scratching on a piece of paper
with a pen.  Chloe waited for Dana to appear, but she didn't.
        Dana arrived almost an hour later and walked directly over
to Mulder's desk.  Chloe couldn't help looking up from her work
and watching them.  The Mulders didn't usually come to work
separately.  Something was wrong.  She bit her lip and looked
down, trying to give them privacy.
        But they didn't need privacy.  "I completed my autopsy
notes and put them into the case folder last night," Dana said, very
businesslike.  "I held the body for you because I thought you'd like
to photograph it the way you did the others."
        Had they not even spoken the night before? Chloe
wondered.  They lived together.  Something was wrong.  She
glanced up and saw that Mulder's face had turned white at Dana's
words.  
        "Thank you," he said gruffly, rising from his desk and
rooting around for where he'd left his camera.  The Polaroid was
on the highest shelf that ran around the top of the office, close to
the ceiling because it was sitting on a stack of books and papers.
        "It's right there," said Dana.
        "Where?"  Mulder said.
        "There."  She pointed to a spot high above her head. 
Mulder reached up and swooped the camera down.  Then  he
started for the door.  "Would you like some company?" Dana asked
her husband in a tone of voice Chloe didn't think she'd ever heard
before.
        "No," Mulder said.
        "Mulder," Chloe said, catching his sleeve as he brushed
past her on his way out of the room.  "Do you know where Mickey
is?"
        Mulder's eyes focused on her and some of the tension faded
from around his jaw.  "No. Why?"
        "I haven't seen him yet today, have you?"
        Mulder shook his head.  "You tried his home number?"
        "And his cell phone. No answer.  You don't think
anything's...happened to him, do you?"
        Mulder patted Chloe's shoulder.  "He'll turn up.  Maybe his
informant's come up with a lead."
        "Purity?" Chloe snorted.  "She's probably drugged him and
hit him over the head.  I'll start calling the hospitals."  She reached
for the phone, perfectly serious.
        "Let me know when you find him," Mulder said.
        "Will do, Chief," said Chloe with a smile. Mulder walked
out of the office and Chloe sat back in her chair to begin calling
around, trying to find  Mickey.  If Purity was involved, then she
did have real reason to be worrying about him.  She forgot the
number she was dialing when she saw the look on Dana's face. 
The other woman was watching her with almost a glare, her eyes
looking almost catlike with jealousy.  Chloe looked away, certain
she must be misinterpreting, but still it made her uncomfortable.
        "He's not in any of the hospitals," Chloe said aloud,
addressed to herself and to Dana, when she'd finished calling.
        "Try his home number again," Dana suggested coolly.
        "Are you all right?" Chloe asked, looking at the other
woman.
        "I'm fine," Dana said, "Why are you asking?"
        "You and Mulder both seem...tense.  And I know
something about this case disturbs you.  I was wondering if you
were having problems," Chloe said as delicately as she could
manage.
        "It's a very stressful case," Dana said noncommittally.
        "Well, you know that if you ever need someone to confide
in..."  Suddenly Chloe felt very uncomfortable even saying the
words.  Of course Dana knew already.  She nodded.  "I'm worried
about Mickey."
        "I'm sure he's fine.  He can take care of himself."
        "I hope so."  Chloe dialed Mickey's number again and
listened to it ring as Mulder reentered the room. Instantly tension
flared again.
        "Find him?" asked Mulder.  Chloe shook her head.
        "Get the shot?" Dana asked.
        Mulder nodded, tossing the instant photo down on the
desktop.  It was only half-developed.  "That didn't take long," Dana
said. Mulder shrugged, standing idly by the desk and shifting the
photo into its place in the puzzle formed by the pictures of the
other victims.  He set the camera down on the desk to do so and
Dana picked it up and looked at it.  "You only used one shot," she
said.
        Mulder looked up at her, meeting her eyes.  Then, almost
as though he realized he'd been caught, his look turned nonchalant
and his eyes slid away.
        "You knew exactly what you were looking for," Dana said,
still waiting for a response.  She received none.  "How did you
know?"
        "I just knew," Mulder informed her, moving away.  Chloe
watched him, amazed, and then got up to look at how this picture
fit into the greater whole. It was chilling, the way the lines and
details met up.  They were beginning to get the line of a nose, she
thought.
        "Any idea when we'll have the toxicology on the latest
victim?"  Mulder asked Dana.
        "It will be a few days," she said woodenly.
        "That was good thinking," he told her.
        "Thanks. It's my job."
        "Were you able to determine the time of death?  Do we
know how long it is between when he kills and take the next
victim?" Chloe asked.
        "The victim had been dead between two and four days.  I
can't pin it down any closer than that.  And I don't know how long
it takes for the victim to die.  The killer may have taken the next
one before he killed this one."
        "No," said Mulder.  Dana looked at him, surprised at his
conviction.  "It doesn't fit with the profile," he added, striving to
sound more casual.
        "Where did you get that profile from, Mulder?  It's just
hearsay at this point, isn't it, with no evidence to back it up?"  Dana
asked.  Mulder shrugged, shooting his wife a look full of darkness.
        "I think Mulder's track record with profiling is evidence in
its own way," Chloe contributed.  Instantly, she regretted speaking
up.  
        Dana gave her an odd look and got up.  "Please excuse
me," she said, and left the room.
        "What's going on here, Mulder?" Chloe asked.
        "We're working on a case."
        "Mickey's missing and you and Dana are both acting
strangely," she pointed out.
        "That..."  He began to say it had nothing to do with the
case, but he couldn't.  "Um, that's personal. It won't affect the
case."
        "Go talk to her," Chloe suggested.
        "She went to the bathroom," Mulder said.
        "I can't help feeling that she's upset."
        "She's fine," Mulder said.
        Chloe opened her mouth to continue, but then her cell
phone rang.  "Chloe Grant," she answered it.  "You what?!?" she
cried a moment later.
        Mulder sat forward and frowned.  "What is it?" he
whispered.
        "It's Mickey," Chloe answered, just as Dana walked back
into the room.

End of part six.

-- 
________________________________________________________
________________I REFUSE TO BELIEVE_____________________
________________________________________________________



Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly & Char Hall
part seven

        "He's been suspended," said Chloe.
        "What?" cried Mulder and Dana at the same time, both of
them taking a step towards her.
        "Mickey's been suspended," Chloe repeated.
        "Let me talk to him," Mulder demanded, sounding angry.
        "No," Dana said quietly.  "Let me."  Her manner surprised
them so much that when she put out her hand, Chloe handed her
the phone.  "Mickey, this is Dana.  What's happened?" she asked
him gently.
        "I've - ah - been suspended," Mickey admitted, and he
sounded embarrassed.
        "By Skinner?" Dana asked.
        "He called me in this morning. It doesn't make any sense,
but I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I have to."
        "Bottom of what?"
        "That story - I didn't talk to anyone. I know better than that. 
I was trying really hard, and I knew it would...I didn't talk to
anyone.  You have to believe me about that."
        "What story?" Dana asked, pressing.  Mickey wasn't
making any sense, and he didn't seem to be listening to her.  He
sounded agitated.  Worried.  She'd been suspended before, and she
understood that, but he was talking as though he thought he had
been framed for something.  That hadn't happened in some time.
Not since their "friend" had passed away.  She'd shot him, and for a
moment, that all came flooding back. She glanced over at Mulder
and he looked at her expectantly. "Mickey, what story?"
        "In the paper.  I have to go."
        "Mickey, where are you?" she asked, desperately.
        "I have to go," he said again and the line went dead in her
hand.
        "Well," said Dana, handing the phone back to Chloe, but
she was looking at Mulder. "You've trained him well."
        "What does that mean?" asked Mulder, a bit defensively.
        "He wouldn't tell me where he is.  He sounded as though he
thought he'd been framed for something, but he wouldn't say what. 
Something about a story - not talking to someone - I don't know."
She sighed.  "He did say Skinner had suspended him, however."
        "You should have let me talk to him," said Mulder.  Dana
just looked at him.
        "He's not answering," said Chloe, who had immediately
tried to call Mickey's cellular phone. She looked worried.
        "I'm going to see Skinner," said Mulder, and before either
of them could say anything, he walked out of the office.  Dana
watched him go, thinking that in his present state of mind, he
could very possibly make things worse.  He was tired and agitated
and not thinking clearly.  But she knew he wouldn't listen to her.
        Dana looked down and saw Chloe looking at her. "It will
be all right," she told the younger agent, and even managed to
smile.
        "Dana, I wish he would talk to me about these things,"
Chloe admitted.  When Dana didn't answer after a moment, she
returned to her paperwork on local art students, even though she
had the notion it was going to be futile.  However, two of the
things they taught at the Academy were research and perseverance,
so she kept looking. One of the things they didn't teach was that
you took leads where you could find them.
        Dana didn't answer because for the longest moment, she
thought Chloe had been talking about Mulder.  The anger she felt,
and the relief at realizing Chloe was referring to her own partner
and not Dana's husband, disturbed her greatly.

-----

        Mulder burst into Assistant Director Skinner's office
unannounced, trailed by Skinner's secretary.  It had happened
before and Skinner was used to the chaos.  He merely raised his
eyes from the report he had been scanning at his desk and took in
the situation calmly.  His assistant closed the door, leaving the two
men.  "Agent Mulder.  I was just looking for you. Please sit down."
        "Is this regarding my suspended agent, sir?" Mulder asked,
angry, refusing to sit down.  "Why wasn't I informed of this?"
        "I said I was looking for you, Agent Mulder."
        "You had no right to suspend my agent without -"
        "I had every right!" Skinner roared, proving his voice could
be loud enough to drown out Mulder's protests.  Mulder stopped
speaking and looked at his superior.  "Have you seen the paper
today, Mulder?"  His eyes burned into the other agent, demanding
a reply.
        The paper?  Mulder cringed.  Mickey had promised him he
was never going to say another word.  That school principal
incident had only been a few days ago, and Mulder knew how
furious Skinner and the rest of the establishment had been over
that.  Another offense coming so soon...  "No, sir."
        "Have you had to deal with requests from news agencies all
morning demanding information about the crazed killer walking
the streets of this nation's capital because the FBI is too inept to
apprehend them?"  Skinner demanded, his voice lower and more
controlled but no less angry.  In fact, his control only made him
more threatening.
        "He talked about the case?" Mulder asked, taken aback.  He
was supremely disappointed.  He had thought much better of
Mickey.  He sank down in one of the chairs across from Skinner's
desk, ready to listen and even ready to accept advice.  Mulder had
never managed other agents before.  Obviously he was doing a
bang-up job so far. Skinner tossed a folded edition of the paper at
him and Mulder opened it.  He read it slowly.  Then he put the
paper back on Skinner's desk and said, "Agent Callavelo couldn't
have said those things."
        "Why not, Agent Mulder?"  Skinner was not amused.
        "He wouldn't have said them.  He mentioned to Dana
something about being set up -"
        "He said the same to me, Mulder. I assumed his conspiracy
defense was something he'd gotten from you."  Skinner stared him
down.
        Mulder did not flinch or look away, but met his boss's gaze
head on.  "You know as well as I do that there are certain forces at
work."
        "To the best of my knowledge, Agent Mulder, those
sources have been removed."  Their battle of wills persisted
another minute, and then Skinner relented.  "I couldn't reinstate
Mickey even if I wanted to.  You know that."  Mulder nodded
grimly.  "But that isn't why I was looking for you."
        "It's not?"  There couldn't possibly be more, Mulder
thought, feeling something very like dread as he waited for the
next pronouncement from the Assistant Director.
        "There's been another murder," said Skinner. "A very 
public one.  That's another reason we need serious press control,
right now. I'd like to be able to tell the media that we have a
suspect for this, Mulder, preferably a suspect in custody."
        It wasn't a very subtle hint.  Mulder wanted to say it would
be difficult now that he had lost a member of his team temporarily,
but he couldn't make excuses.  He also didn't want to open the door
for Skinner to assign another agent to the X Files.  "I'll see what I
can do," he promised, and rose to leave.
        "And Mulder?" Skinner stopped him before he reached the
door.  "Be careful."

-----

        "But I've never seen you before!" Mickey cried, standing in
the middle of the press room of the newspaper, surrounded by
reporters who he was aware were hungry for their next story.  The
reporter he was speaking to, a woman named Kelsy Rogers, was
looking at him as though he'd lost his mind.
        "Look, Mr. Callavelo, I'm very sorry that you got in trouble. 
But presumably you knew the risks before you ever spoke to me." 
Her eyes were flat and emotionless.
        "But I never spoke to you!" cried Mickey.
        "Let me remind you that you are the one who contacted
me," Ms. Rogers informed him coolly.  "Now if that's all..."  she
said, turning back to her desk.
        "That isn't all," Mickey informed her.  "Who do you answer
to?"  She had returned to her computer terminal and didn't even
look up when he addressed her.  "I said, Who do you answer to?"
he demanded again, jerking her computer monitor towards him,
trying to capture her attention.
        "Please leave," said Ms. Rogers.  "Before I call building
security and have you arrested.  That would make quite the story,
wouldn't it?" she suggested coldly.
        "If I spoke to you yesterday, you must have some kind of
proof."  Mickey didn't like how desperate he felt.  His palms were
sweating and his heart had been racing ever since he had been
summoned to Skinner's office early that morning.  They couldn't
take this away from him. This was his career and he had worked
too hard to just let it slip through his fingers.  There had been a
message waiting for him on his answering machine at home
informing him of an Office of Professional Conduct investigation. 
They were having a hearing the next day.  He knew what that
meant.  They wanted his badge, and they didn't care how.  He
realized the article had been bad, but he also hadn't said those
things.
        "Isn't proof your department?" Ms. Rogers asked
sarcastically, raising an eyebrow tauntingly at him.  She had blue
eyes and very dark auburn hair that had escaped her ponytail in
wild curls around her face.  She would be attractive, he thought, if
she wasn't so unfriendly.
        "Notes, tapes, calendar, anything.  I know I didn't speak to
you yesterday."
        "I say that you did."
        "Look.  This is evidence and it's needed for an FBI
investigation," he began, trying another tactic.  Even if she didn't
respect him, she ought to respect the FBI.
        "I thought you said you weren't an agent any more."
        "I'm suspended, and this information about this interview
that never happened is needed for my review."
        "I say it happened."
        "Then prove it."  Mickey watched her, daring her to give
him the information.  He thought he'd won the battle when she
picked up the phone.
        It turned out he was wrong - very wrong - on that score. 
"This is Kelsy Rogers.  Please send someone to my office
immediately.  I am being harassed."  She hung up the phone and
smirked at him. Mickey turned around to get out of there before
the newspaper's security guards could apprehend him, but they
were only three feet away.  They were fast.  "Have a nice day," Ms.
Rogers called breezily after him, as the guards escorted him off the
floor.
        She above all people should have known his bad day was
only about to become worse.

-----

        "It can't be related to this case," Mulder said down in their
basement office a few minutes later.  "We just found another
victim yesterday - this morning!  This killer takes six days between
victims.  There has to be a mistake."
        Dana bit her tongue on a sharp retort.  There could be no
mistaking this killer's mode of operation, the violence, the injuries
to the victims.  Mulder was just so stuck on his theory that he
couldn't see it.
        "We won't know for sure until we check it out," Chloe said
supportively. She grabbed a notebook and her jacket from the back
of the chair and got up to leave.  "What are you waiting for?" she
asked them, looking from Dana to Mulder. Her eyes settled on
Mulder.  "Do you want your camera?" she asked.
        He took it from her without a word, his lips pressed tightly
together in a line. That was when Dana realized what was really
bothering him.  He hadn't seen this murder in a dream, the way he
had the others.  The realization only bothered her more.

        There was no mistake when they reached the crime scene. 
The police were barely able to contain the evidence and keep the
crowds back to leave the corpse undisturbed. Yellow tape had been
set up around a perimeter,  and a large, angry mob had gathered,
including a few reporters, but mostly it was composed of
frightened citizens who had read of the FBI's incompetence over
their morning coffee.  All sorts of things were yelled at the three
agents as they passed under the police barriers and approached the
victim.
        Blood stained the sidewalk.  Dana immediately motioned
for everyone who was working around the body to step back, but
the puddle was too large and had already been compromised.  This
body looked different from the others involved in the case.  It was
beginning to decay already, and flies had gathered to alight on both
the body and the blood.  The coroner and crime scene
photographer were hovering.     
        The differences weren't enough to set this body apart from
the others already discovered in the case.  The method had been
the same - ripping and tearing at the flesh to form lines and
patterns in what was left.  Looking at the body, it was impossible
to tell what had been in the killer's mind.  Except anger.  The
others had been butchered precisely.  This one appeared to have
been done in anger.  With passion.
        Mulder walked up to the body and stared at it.  Dana didn't
bother to yell at him for tracking through the blood.  It had already
been disturbed, and would be disturbed again to attend to the body. 
The city would have to replace these sidewalk tiles.  They would
be irreparable.  After a moment, Mulder raised the Polaroid
camera to his eye and took one photograph.  He didn't appear to
have studied or calculated the angle at all, but they all knew that it
would be the correct one.  He stuck the picture in his pocket and
looked up.
        Chloe reached out to him and he stared at her, his eyes
looking unfocused and blank as though he was lost to the world of
his own thoughts.  She wiggled her fingers and he finally figured it
out - she was requesting the camera from him.  He handed it over
and watched as she pointed it into the gathered crowd.  She
finished the package of instant film before tucking the camera
under her arm.  "Hope you didn't need any more pictures," she said
to Mulder, tucking the still-developing photos she had taken into
the pocket of her jacket.  He shook his head.  "I thought as much,"
she said.  "How do you know?"  Her voice betrayed her amazement
and her admiration.
        He just shook his head again.
        "Bag 'em," Dana said, her voice hard and even as she spoke
to the coroner's men, who immediately moved in with the heavy
black bag they had been waiting with.  The action surrounding this
homicide had come to a stop waiting for them to arrive to make
their own judgments of the scene.  Dana then moved to join Chloe
and Mulder.  "I tried to get in touch with Mickey," she said,
stuffing her cell phone back into her pocket.  "No answer."
        "What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, his eyes not
leaving his wife's.  Chloe watched the two of them working
together in perfect synchrony. There was still the faintest hint of
the tension that had flowed between them before they had been
called out to this murder scene, but most of it had disappeared in
the face of their work.  They were an amazing team.
        What if Mickey isn't allowed to come back? Chloe thought
suddenly.  It would be terrible for him, and it would be a shame for
the FBI to lose someone as good as he was, someone who tried as
hard.  She didn't want another partner, she realized. That was
probably wrong, as she knew agents were paired with many
different partners and teams throughout the course of their careers,
but she couldn't imagine working with anyone but Mickey and
Mulder and Dana.  Already they were feeling Mickey's absence. 
He would have had ideas about this, she thought.
        "This was done in anger," Dana told her husband.  "The
wounds are the same, but the way they were inflicted is very
different from the others.  The force, to begin with. There is less
precision.  And this victim wasn't frozen."
        "It was a rush job," agreed Mulder, and Dana nodded.
        "They want attention," said Chloe.  "You said they wanted
to go down in history.  There hasn't been any press on this case up
until now, and they were probably beginning to feel very frustrated
about that.  That's why it was done here in the open."
        "It can't have been easy to pull this off here without anyone
noticing," Dana added.
        "Okay, we need witnesses," ordered Mulder, making a list
of things that had to be done. "We need an autopsy.  We need a
thorough search of the area for any trace evidence that has been
left behind.  I think this is the one where we're going to get lucky,
people."  There was excitement in his voice, and it made Dana
stand there and look at him even after Chloe had walked away to
ask the police officers who had been the first to discover the body
and other questions about the scene.
        Mulder noticed her watching him. "What?" he asked.
        "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she asked.
        "We're going to solve the case," he told her, still unable to
disguise the note of enthusiasm.  She had seen him excited over
cases before, but this was different in some way she couldn't quite
put her finger on.  Some way that made her feel slightly ill.  She
just looked at him and walked away, shaking her head.  After all,
there was an autopsy to perform.  He hadn't even spoken to her
about it. A sharp order and the expectation she would do it.  That
instant.  And he didn't call out after her.
        "Who discovered the victim?" Chloe asked one of the
uniformed officers standing near the perimeter.
        "One of ours."
        "One a call?"
        "No, walking the beat."
        "What time was this?" she asked.
        "About...two hours ago," he answered.
        She nodded and noted it in her book.  "Was the crowd
already gathered at that time?"
        "No."
        "When did they come?  Later, but how much later?"
        "When the equipment began to arrive," he answered.  "You
know how it is."
        Chloe nodded.  It seemed strange to her that a policeman
had discovered the body, given how public a place the murder had
occurred in. Unless the murder had been performed only moments
before the policeman happened by.  On his regular route,
perhaps...?  That would suggest a higher degree of premeditation
than she was expecting, but it wasn't impossible, she supposed. 
"Let me ask you," she began, pulling the photographs of the crowd
she'd taken out of her pocket.  "Do you recognize any of these
people as being the first to arrive after your crews did?" Often,
criminals remained nearby to experience first hand the chaos their
acts wrought - it added to the act for them.  Taking photographs of
the crowd at the crime scene could sometimes provide solid leads
and documentation.
        The officer shook his head after examining them all and
handed them back to her. "I don't know, to tell the truth," he
answered.  "I had my job to do."
        "Yes sir," she responded. "Thank you for your time. And if
you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call me."  She
handed him her FBI business card and shot him a smile.
        He paused with the card in his hand. "Is it true," he asked
when she'd taken a couple of steps away.  She stopped and looked
at him and he appeared to be embarrassed by what he was about to
ask her.  "Is it true you-all don't have any clue as to what you're
doing with this case?"
        "Where did you get that idea?" she demanded, approaching
him again.
        "From the paper. This morning.  Some one of your own
was quoted saying stay indoors cause there's a crazed killer on the
loose and you don't know where to start.  And I'd say this was the
work of a crazed killer."  The officer shrugged apologetically. 
"Guess it isn't any of my business."  Casually, he dropped her card
on the ground and walked away.
        Chloe watched it as it absorbed the victim's blood until the
stiff white paper was saturated with it and she couldn't bring
herself to retrieve it.  There had been an article in the paper. 
Mickey.  Would he really say something so careless to the press? 
Would he never learn? she asked herself.  She had to give him the
benefit of the doubt that he thought he had been doing the right
thing at the time.
        A newspaper article also messed up her theory on the killer
wanting attention. Unless the they hadn't seen the paper that day
yet.  Or perhaps she was entirely wrong, and the killer had been
angered by the media attention. 
        Could she really be so wrong?  Could the killer really be so
perverse?
        It disturbed her, and she decided to move on.  She had to
find a piece of concrete evidence.  And she had to find it
immediately.  With the killer no longer on a timetable, the clock
was ticking faster and faster.  She didn't want it to run out for
anyone else.

end of part seven.



-- 

Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall
part eight

-----
        She was tired, Dana realized, as she stood under the harsh
bluish white lights in the autopsy room, facing yet another dead
body.  She hadn't slept much or well after Mulder had left their bed
early that morning.  She'd lain there and tried to put it all out of her
head, but she couldn't.  She knew she was right to  be worried
about him, but it didn't feel right.  She hated worry and so did
Mulder.  She hated the way things were between them right now,
but she didn't know how to remedy it.
        So she turned her attention to the task at hand.  It was
difficult to know where to begin.  The procedures for a forensic
autopsy were straightforward; however, when the body had been
used for such a display, it was hard to ignore that and get straight
to the cutting.  They were less interested in how this person died -
she would stake money that it had been massive blood loss - than
why they had died.
        She began to examine the torn folds of skin.  There was
more detail than in the other corpses, which had been practically
pristine next to this one due to their condition.  She began to rinse
away the blood, letting it pool against one edge of the table.  The
skin looked jagged, as though it had been cut with a knife that was
sharp, but maybe not quite sharp enough.  Dulled by all the killing?
she asked herself.  This victim had been killed quickly.  The killer
hadn't taken any time to consider the art they were creating - they
had known already which strokes they wanted where.  That
suggested ultimate planning of this crime.  Perhaps they hadn't
intended this particular victim at this time - that had been selected
in anger - but they had known which cuts were to be performed on
their next body.
        The first cut had been to the throat.  That explained the
large pool of blood, and also the lack of noise that was necessary
for the murder to have occurred in such a public place.  The victim
had been killed instantly, and the cut went deep.  This - man? -
wouldn't have been able to scream even if he had tried to.
        Slashed from behind, by a right handed person about the
same height as the victim.  Mulder thought the killer was a
woman, Dana knew.  This made her wonder if that was possible. 
Judging from this victim, the killer was probably about five foot
ten.  Women could certainly be that height - after all, Chloe was
close to six feet - but Dana wasn't certain the average, run of the
mill woman had the strength to do this to a heavily built man.
        Then again, the average, run of the mill woman probably
wouldn't want to do this to anyone.
        She began to sift through the blood she had rinsed from the
body, which was pooling.  There were slivers of metal - pieces
from the knife, she thought.  She picked them up on a piece of
gauze and put them into an evidence bag.  She believed the murder
weapon to be some sort of an X-acto blade, in which case it would
be difficult to match the metal to any one mass-produced knife, but
it was evidence.
        Next she examined under the corpse's fingernails, to see if
he had put up a struggle.  They were lucky - he had scratched the
killer before having his throat slit.  Perhaps it was his dying
gesture.  Thoughts like that didn't usually chill her, but this case
was having an unusual effect on her.  They had both a tiny amount
of skin and clothing fibers.  Those could be extremely useful.
        The rest of the autopsy was routinely performed, and went
quickly.  Dana was feeling worn from standing on her feet for
several hours when she finally peeled off her gory clothes and
walked into the shower cubicle.  At least she had something to tell
them.  They were that much closer to catching the killer.  That was
all that mattered to her at this point.  When this case would be
over.

-----

        "How are you doing with that?"  
        At the sound of Mulder's voice cutting through the silence
of their office, Chloe raised her head.  He was twirling a pencil
between his fingers and his attention was focused on the ceiling
tiles.  His eyes came down for a moment to meet hers.
        "It's slow," she replied.  "How are you doing with that?" 
She couldn't keep the note of humor out of her voice. Mulder had
been staring at the ceiling for quite some time now.  She knew he
was lost in thought, but she couldn't help teasing him about it.
        He shrugged, and she lay down her pencil.  "No, seriously,"
she said, leaning over the desk towards him.  "What are you
thinking?  I'm interested.  You know I want to learn everything that
I can."
        "You're asking about my methods?" he asked, sounding
amused himself.
        "I'm guessing the key isn't in the pencil," Chloe offered.
        He shook his head in answer to her question.  "I don't know
that I have a method, Chloe.  I don't want to disappoint you with it,
but it's true.  I let my mind go, and things come to me."
        "And they're right?" she asked, already knowing that they
were usually right.
        He nodded.  He didn't look happy about the fact that he just
knew things.  She imagined it made them difficult to prove in
court, to begin with.  "I keep getting hung up on this press thing,"
he admitted.
        "Do you really think Mickey said those things?"  Chloe had
slipped downstairs for a newspaper to read for herself.  She'd been
shocked. Mickey knew better, and beyond that, she couldn't
imagine him saying those things about the case. It was true they
didn't have much to go on, but they weren't pessimistic.  If an
investigator believed the case wouldn't get solved, that made it
more likely it wouldn't.  With an active serial killer, it was only a
matter of time until a mistake was made.  They hoped this
sidewalk murder was the mistake.  She'd been trying to call him,
but there was still no answer.
        "I don't know," Mulder admitted.  "He had made these
mistakes in the past."
        "But he told you it would never happen again," Chloe said. 
They all made errors in judgment sometimes.  She wouldn't want
to be judged by her errors for the rest of her life, and she didn't
think it was fair to judge Mickey either.
        "That's right," responded Mulder. She couldn't read how he
really felt about this on his face or in his voice.  She could tell it
disturbed him, but she didn't know if he believed Mickey was
innocent or not.  "He told Dana he was set up.  I don't know why
anyone would do that, but it's possible. It's happened before."
        Another allusion to the X Files before she and Mickey
arrived on the scene. She'd read all of the case files voraciously
when she'd first been assigned, trying to understand not only the
nature of her work, but the two dynamic personalities involved.  
But not everything was spelled out in those official reports and
case files.  She knew things had happened and she suspected they
had been horrible.  She also knew she would never understand the
full extent of that, or what it had been like for them as agents and
as people facing the pressures they had faced.  Dana and Mulder
were very strong people, and excellent agents.  She admired them
both.
        "Those aren't the kinds of comments Mickey usually
makes," Chloe pointed out.  "He's more prone to giving his idea of
the way things should have been done, if anything.  That was what
got him into trouble with the Attorney General, and with that
principal the other day.  He doesn't think before he speaks.  This
was...more deliberate.  He had his own ideas of where to go with
this case.  I can't help thinking that if he'd spoken to the press, he
would have told them that."
        "Chloe, I have some advice for you," Mulder said and she
looked at him, waiting.  "Never profile your own partner."  She
frowned at him, uncertain as to whether he'd been joking or not,
and he walked out of the room.
        He brushed past Dana on his way out without stopping or
saying a word to her.  "Where's he going?" Dana asked Chloe, "Did
you come up with something?"
        Chloe shook her head, still feeling confused.  She felt
faintly that Mulder had insulted her when he said that, but she
didn't know why.  Or was it a reference to himself and Dana...at
some point...?  She had no idea.
        "What's going on?" Dana asked, watching Chloe carefully
and waiting for some sort of an answer.
        "We were talking about Mickey."
        Dana nodded.  "I hope he'll be able to prove he didn't say
those things, or at least come up with some sort of logical reason
why he did."
        "Why do you say that?" Chloe asked.  
        "He's been called into a Professional Conduct meeting
tomorrow at ten a.m."  Dana sounded grim.
        "Tomorrow?" Chloe cried.  "That fast?"  Dana simply
nodded.  "They're trying to run him out of the Bureau for this,
without a fair shot!"  Dana nodded again. "Why would they do
that?"
        "I don't know, Chloe.  Mickey does have a record of this
kind of thing, and maybe they're tired of it."
        "He didn't do it this time, Dana," Chloe said fervently,
ready to defend her partner to the ends of the earth. She didn't want
to lose him.  That realization startled her.  Maybe eight months of
working together was long enough. Chloe jumped up from her
chair, ready to go off and do battle.
        "He's going to have to settle this on his own," Dana told her
gently, stopping her progress toward the door.
        "What do you mean?" Chloe demanded.
        "We still have a case to solve.  This is Mickey's problem
and he will have to handle it without us," Dana said carefully and
slowly, choosing her words.
        "How can you just say that?" Chloe cried.  "Don't you even
care -?"
        "I do care," Dana admitted.  "I care a lot."
        "You would do it for Mulder," Chloe accused.
        Dana bit her lip and found herself unable to meet the other
woman's eyes for a second.  "I would want to do everything in my
power to protect and defend him, yes," she told Chloe.
        "But?" Chloe asked, knowing there was more Dana wasn't
saying.
        "But I would also have faith that Mulder could manage to
solve it on his own," she finished.
        "You would just stand by and wait?  And let them hang him
for something he didn't do?" Chloe asked. Her voice was rising,
and Dana could see that she was upset. Chloe couldn't believe she
was hearing this from the woman she admired so much. Dana and
Mulder had the perfect partnership, she thought.  They were
always there for each other, they always backed each other up. 
Was Dana only saying these things because of the weird tension
they'd been experiencing lately? Or did she really mean it?  Chloe
just looked at her, feeling worked up.
        "It's about trust, Chloe. And belief in your partner's
abilities.  I know you feel it's your duty to protect Mickey -"  Dana
stopped. Chloe was giving her that stubborn look of hers, as
though she was as immovable as a rock.  "It's very difficult."
        "You went to jail to protect Mulder."
        Dana looked at her, surprised that Chloe knew about her
little stint in prison for contempt of Congress.  "Yes.  I did. 
Because that was what I had to do.  That was my duty, not running
off to try to find him or find evidence to clear him.  Right now, you
owe this case your attention.  Mickey can solve this himself."
        "And if he doesn't?"
        Dana took a deep breath. She didn't want Mickey to be
kicked out of the Bureau so unceremoniously.  She hated it.  She'd
been called to the hearing to take place the next morning, and she
assumed Mulder had also.  Chloe would also be called, she
thought, and that meant Chloe had to calm down and look at things
more clearly.  "Then you'll have a new partner."  She could see that
she'd voiced words Chloe hadn't wanted to hear aloud.  "I don't
want that to happen.  Which is why you have to fight for him, but
you can't fight his battle for him. Do you understand the
difference?"
        Chloe nodded, but Dana could see that she was still upset. 
"You would do it for Mulder, though, wouldn't you?" Chloe asked
finally, in a subdued voice, but her eyes were bright with her ever-
present curiosity.  "Forget the case and help him?"
        Dana nodded silently.  Then she met Chloe's eyes.  "Mulder
isn't just my partner.  He's my husband," she said quietly.  "I love
him.  That's why I've done so many of the things I have done
regarding him in my career.  I don't think that's the case with you
and Mickey."
        Chloe nodded and looked away, letting their disagreement
die away.  "What did you learn in the autopsy?" she asked finally.
        "I found some trace evidence.  Skin and fiber.  We need to
have them analyzed." Dana produced the small bags and held them
up.
        "Great.  Let's do it," Chloe said, taking one of the bags from
her and starting for the labs up on the second floor.
        "Chloe," Dana said, stopping her for just a moment longer. 
Chloe paused.  "It is going to be all right."
        Chloe nodded. "I know."  And then she took off with hopes
of cracking the case wide open.

-----

        When the security guards finally released him quite some
time later, Mickey found himself walking the streets, trying to
think.  He was going to have to explain himself to the Office of
Professional Conduct tomorrow, to save his job.  And if he couldn't
prove he hadn't said those things, he was going to need a damn
good excuse for having said them.
        Too bad his mind was completely blank.
        Why would anyone do this to him?  It didn't make any
sense.  He didn't have any enemies that he could think of, and if
someone had wanted to do him serious harm, there were a hundred
other ways to do it.  Guns, knives, explosions...whoever had done
this didn't want him dead.  They wanted him ruined.  Driven out of
the FBI.  And it looked at this moment as though they were going
to succeed.
        It had to be someone who knew him well enough to know
he was always opening his mouth to stick his foot into it. 
Someone who was aware of his record.  That meant it had to be
someone close to him, or someone with access to his personnel file
- which had to be fairly thick with reprimands, and a few
commendations.  He didn't know who that could be, or even what
he would do with the information if he did know. Confronting the
reporter had only gotten him hassled by security guards and no real
information.
        "Hey."  A female voice spoke by his side as he watched a
pair of small black boots fall into step with him.
        Mickey stopped walking and faced his new friend.  Her
eyes were shining and she was smiling at him. "Purity, what the
hell are you doing here?" he demanded.
        Her grin widened maddeningly. "I told you the symphony
was in town."  She began to walk again, obviously expecting him
to join her.
        Instead he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.  She
looked at him indignantly, but he didn't let her go, even knowing
he had been perhaps too rough.  He realized he was looking at the
one person who even if she didn't know him very well, had access
to all sorts of things.  He'd caught her with his personnel file once. 
She could very well have planted the story. "Did you set me up?"
he demanded.
        Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" she
asked.
        "Did you set me up?" he said again, shouting at her.  Then
he realized he was gathering the attention of passersby, and he
didn't want any of them to intervene.  "Let's talk about this
somewhere else."
        "Let go of my arm," Purity ordered.  He didn't, and dragged
her over to a park bench underneath a tree.  She didn't sit down and
neither did he, they simply stood there glaring at one another.
"What are you talking about, set you up for what?" Purity asked
again.
        "The story in the newspaper."
        "What newspaper?"  Purity asked. Mickey looked at her. 
She sounded like she didn't know what he was talking about.  Was
that possible?  He didn't know anything about her, and her motives
had always been murky, but in spite of the muggings and the
druggings, she had usually seemed to be helping him.  "You're
hurting my arm," she said, bending her head to look at it, sending a
wave of silky dark hair cascading against his hand.
        "I'm sorry," Mickey said genuinely, releasing her arm. She
didn't run away.  He watched her rub the spot where he had
grabbed her and felt guilty.  "Why are you here?"
        "I wanted to catch up with an old friend," she said
innocently.
        "Is that why you sent me to Schoenberg and Shine?" he
asked.
        "That was a coincidence! A happy one." This time she was
lying.  And if he could tell when she was lying, he thought, that
meant she was telling the truth about the newspaper...didn't it? 
Purity confused the hell out of him.  He suspected that was her
goal.
        "Yeah, right," he said.
        "Why don't we go get some coffee and have a chat?" she
asked, and he could tell there was something she wanted to tell
him.
        He hesitated a moment, and then decided that anything she
had to say to him was probably worth listening to.  The FBI -
assuming he was still an agent after tomorrow - was always
encouraging its agents to build relationships with informants,
weren't they?  And Purity seemed to know things. "Okay.  Coffee,"
he said.
        "Great, let's go." She slid her arm through his, and they set
off walking together.   There was a Starbucks only a block over,
and he purchased both of their beverages and they settled in at one
of its cozy little tables.  There weren't any other patrons in the
restaurant, and he was certain the employees at the counter
wouldn't be able to hear their conversation over the din of the
coffee making machines.  "What did you want to talk about?"
        "How is Samantha?" she asked.
        He saw real concern on her face for the girl, and that
surprised him.  "She's great," Mickey answered, and he couldn't
help smiling. He had a large, soft place in his heart reserved
exclusively for young Samantha Mulder.  "She's a great kid.  She's
settled in with Dana and Mulder, going to school and getting
straight A's, amazing everyone.  She's going to grow up so
beautiful and so smart.  She says she wants to be a lawyer, but
Mulder's trying to talk her out of it.  I don't know - she argues
pretty good, even now."
        Purity was smiling at him warmly and he smiled back.  He
opened his mouth to say she should visit sometime, but he stopped,
thinking that he shouldn't.  He didn't really know this woman, easy
as it was to forget that fact. He didn't know her motives.  It had
seemed she'd helped Samantha in New York, but she could have
just as easily been involved in harming the girl.  "And your partner
- Charly? - how is she?"
        "You know her name is Chloe," Mickey said, feeling a little
testy at her ploy.  "Chloe is fine.  So are Dana and Mulder."  The
silence between them grew awkward.  "How is the symphony?"
        "Same old, same old," replied Purity.  "You know how it is.
It's a job."
        Mickey nodded.  "Was there something you wanted to
speak to me about specifically?"
        Purity shook her head.  "What's wrong with wanting to talk
to an old friend?"
        "I'm not certain we ever were friends," Mickey stated.
        She looked hurt.  "We could have been much better
friends," she offered, placing her hand over his on the tabletop.  It
was warm from holding her coffee cup.
        "Maybe we still could," Mickey said, leading her, not
moving his hand. He would play her game and see what it got him.
        "Do you think so?" she asked. "Tell me about the case
you're working on."
        "No."
        "You are working on a case, though?"
        "Not at the moment, actually, I've been suspended," Mickey
replied.
        "For what?"  Purity looked surprised. "I thought you were
the model agent."
        "Hardly," he said, self-depreciatingly.  "But this time it's
different. It's weird. It isn't my fault."
        "Isn't that what everyone says when something happens that
they don't like?" she asked. "'Isn't my fault.'"  He could tell by the
look in her eyes that she knew something, and it set his heart
beating in a more excited rhythm.  He had to get her to tell him
what she was hiding from him this time.
        "This time it isn't. A story went out in the newspaper today
with quotes from me, implying the FBI is mucking up the murder
investigation I've been assigned to and we've been able to keep
quiet up until now.  Except I never talked to anyone, even though
the reporter swears up and down that I did.  She's lying, but I can't
figure out why." Mickey explained.
        "Someone got to her," Purity said, sounding like she was
repeating a phrase she'd heard in a spy movie.
        "Yeah. They got to her.  And I have to produce some kind
of counterevidence or a hell of a good excuse, or my career with
the FBI will be over as of ten-oh-two tomorrow morning."  
        "What will you do if that happens?" she asked seriously.
        "I don't know," he answered, and he felt himself getting
scared again.  He couldn't let it happen. He had to stop it some
way, somehow...it only he knew how.   "I could - I don't know, it's
such an absurd question. Being an FBI agent is what I want to do.
It's my life now, and I can't lose that."
        "Ever since you were a little boy watching the
'Untouchables' you dreamed of carrying the badge," Purity said,
teasing him lightly.
        "Actually, I was a little boy attending the altar, thinking of
wearing the collar," Mickey admitted.
        "You were going to be a priest?"  Purity seemed floored by
this.  Embarrassed, he shrugged.  He could feel his face turning red
and he was sorry he'd brought it up at all.  Seeing his
embarrassment, Purity made another playful joke and let him off
the hook.  "You don't play piano, do you?  You could join the
symphony and travel the world with me."
        "With it, you mean," he corrected.  "And I don't play."
        "Pity," she remarked, looking at him.  "You wouldn't be
happy."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Running about and playing cops and robbers with your
friend Chloe is what makes you happy," Purity judged.
        "It's what I do, and I'm good at it. I love my job," Mickey
said fiercely.
        "And Chloe?" Purity asked plainly, surprising Mickey with
her implication.
        It took him a moment to recover from the shock of her
asking him that to come up with a sensible answer.  "Chloe is a
terrific agent, and her abilities complement mine. It's a good
pairing, and we have an excellent partnership. She's smart and
she's bright and -"
        "You have a crush on her."
        "No, of course not," he said swiftly, and immediately he
thought he had protested too quickly.  Purity was just looking at
him, a mildly amused look on her face.  "I like Chloe a great deal -
as a person."
        "Okay," said Purity, sounding like she didn't believe him
one bit.  It began to make Mickey feel angry.  So what if he *did*
have a crush on Chloe - not that he did, of course - but if he did
and it didn't interfere with their work or his respect for her as a
person, what did it matter, honestly?  Purity got up to leave.  "It's
been good talking to you, Mickey.  I hope we'll bump into each
other again."
        "You seem to turn up in the most interesting places," he
replied, rising to see her out.
        "You say that like you're not happy to see me when I do,"
she commented. They reached the door of the coffeehouse.  She
turned and faced him. "I wouldn't worry too much about the
suspension," she advised. "These things have a way of working
themselves out."  She leaned up on tiptoe and places a soft kiss
against his mouth and then in a flurry of cold air through the open
door and the jingling of the bell attached, she was gone.
        Mickey stood there, wishing it would all be that easy. Then
he set out to walk again and plan, feeling unnerved. Purity often
had that effect on him.

end of part eight.
        



-- 

Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall
part nine

-----

        "What did you find?" Mulder asked his wife when she
returned their office some time later.  There was a feeling of
discovery in the air, he thought, or maybe it was the look on her
face that told him they were getting close to solving the case.
        "Skin and fibers," she answered.
        "All right!" Mulder cried, feeling better every moment.  His
congratulatory cry made Dana smile, and he liked to see her smile.
He was very aware that she hadn't been smiling very often lately at
all.  He wished he knew what was bothering her. Maybe it was just
this case, he thought, but he knew it was more. He was bothering
her, and he didn't want to believe it.  He loved being married to
her, and he wished he had more confidence that she loved being
married to him as well.
        "So we have the skin to DNA match when we have a
suspect in custody. That will help.  The skin was coated with a
chemical commonly used in developing photographs. If there was
any doubt of why the killer is committing these crimes, I think we
can rule it out."  She raised her head and looked at him.  "You
were right, Mulder."
        He nodded.  "What about this photo chemical? Can we
trace it?"
        She shook her head.  "It's not a controlled substance.  With
more analyzation by the guys in the lab, I could tell you what brand
it is, but there are hundreds of professional and home photo labs
throughout this neighborhood alone."
        "Well, it was a good discovery in any case,"  Mulder told
her and she nodded her acknowledgment of his thanks.  "What
about the fibers?"
        "Chloe's working on them herself.  She should be back any
time now.  I hope she'll have had more success with those than we
had with the chemical," Dana said, wandering away from him and
walking around their office, looking at the things pinned to the
walls.  She couldn't meet Mulder's eyes any more, and was aware
of him watching her as she looked around their office as though it
was something she hadn't seen before.  She stopped in front of the
photo collage, the killer's painting in blood and slashmarks. The
photo Mulder had taken that morning was pinned up already, and it
matched perfectly.  She had no doubt that the killer had the same
collage up in their living space, perhaps blown up larger, like a
painting.  What drove them?  Did they think it was art, to be
displayed in a gallery at some point?  Or did it just satisfy them in
some sick way no paint could?
        She felt Mulder come up and stand behind her.  A moment
later, his hand came down on her shoulder.  She turned around and
looked at him. "What are you thinking?" he asked, looking into her
eyes.
        She didn't want to do this now, but she couldn't lie to him.
Not when it was so important.  "I was wondering how you know,"
she whispered and was horrified to realize there were tears in her
eyes.
        Mulder's face melted, and she could see sorrow in his eyes.
At making her cry or understanding the killer, she didn't know. He
leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, and she closed
her eyes. His fingers were caressing her neck and she felt closer to
him than she had in a long time.  If she lifted her head, he would
kiss her.  She desperately wanted that, to know that he still loved
her in spite of the case and the way she was acting and the way he
was acting and...she raised her head.  Their eyes met and then hers
closed.  His lips touched hers and she sighed and molded her body
against his.
        The door to their office closed and they both looked in that
direction, breaking their kiss but not their embrace.  Chloe stood in
the doorway, looking faintly embarrassed.  She had a large manila
envelope in her hand. "I - um- I can come back," she said, and
turned to go back out of the office.
        "Chloe," Dana said.  "Come back. It's all right."
Unwillingly, she unwrapped Mulder's arms and stepped away from
him.  There would be time for that later, she knew, the case took
precedent.  A look over at him told her he knew the same thing,
and that he was as sorry as she was for the interruption.  
        "What did you find?" Mulder asked her.
        "Good stuff!" Chloe declared, waving the folder, but not
offering it to either of them or opening it.  "The fibers came from
carpet."
        "Carpet?" asked Mulder.
        Chloe shrugged. "Don't ask me how the killer transferred it
to the body, but it's definitely carpet fiber. That's where we get
lucky.  It's a new color.  Brand new.  Only manufactured and
distributed by one outlet in the DC area.  And they've only had one
order for it."  She grinned.
        "You're amazing!" Mulder cried.  "This is it!"
        "What was the order?" Dana asked, a  little more careful
before she accepted this as a terrific discovery. If it had been
ordered for an insanely public place, like a department store, their
work would still be cut out for them.  Better would be an order for
an apartment complex, and best of all would be for one specific
residence.
        "It's an art gallery.  Not one of the big Smithsonian-ish
galleries," Chloe told them.  
        "Art," said Mulder. He'd been right.
        Chloe nodded.  "I figure we go there, have a look at the
pictures, and one of them should jump out at us as belonging to our
killer.  It wouldn't be great evidence to hold up in court, but it
would give us a name, or a place to begin.  Then we could get a
warrant and we'd be set.  We'd have them!"
        Her enthusiasm was contagious.  Mulder looked to Dana,
who smiled at him.  "Let's go," she said.  The agents scrabbled
through the office for a few moments, searching for keys and cell
phones and briefcases and the forms they might need to fill out to
get a rush warrant, and then they were on their way.

-----

        Chloe stopped the car in front of Marble Art, the gallery
where the carpet had been delivered only days before.  It was in a
mostly industrial area, which made her wonder what sort of people
they expected to patronize it.  Not many art galleries she knew of
were tucked between factories.  The area was deserted in the
middle of the day, with the workers all hard at work inside the
large,  windowless buildings. No cars drove by on the street.  She
began to get a bad feeling, that this was going to turn out to be a
false lead. She didn't want that to happen.
        The agents got out of the car and congregated on sidewalk. 
"Is it open?" Dana asked, peering at the plate glass window that
made the front of the gallery.
        "One way to find out," Mulder said, striding up to the door.
Chloe hurried after them and Dana brought up the rear at a
leisurely pace.  He tried the door and found it locked.   There were
no hours painted on the door, only the name "Marble Art."  He
pressed his face against the glass and looked in.  "There's nothing
in there."
        "Maybe they're not open yet?" Chloe suggested.
        "I mean there's *nothing* in there," Mulder said, and Chloe
took a look. Even Dana leaned in to get a peek.
        "If they just got carpet put in a few days ago..." Chloe said.
        "Marble Art," said Dana, taking another look at the sign. 
"Our killer's not a sculptor - do you think?"
        Mulder shook his head, certain the killer was not a
sculptor.  "Maybe the name is misleading."
        "Maybe the clue is misleading," Dana said.
        "I thought this was going to be it," Chloe said.
        "Don't get frustrated," Mulder told her.  "We still have a lot
of options."
        Dana nodded.  "The carpet manufacturers. The installers.
Someone who works with the samples in the showroom."
        "They don't fit the profile," Mulder insisted.  "We're on the
right track here. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now."  Dana
wanted to tell him to forget his stupid profile, but she said nothing. 
She knew from experience that he was more than likely right.  He
banged violently on the door and tried it again. After a moment, a
man appeared, but he hung back a few feet on the other side of the
door, no doubt feeling trepidacious about greeting someone who
pounded on his door.
        Mulder sighed heavily and opened his badge, pressing it
against the glass. He motioned for the man inside to unlock the
door for them.  After another moment's hesitation, and another few
seconds spent examining Mulder's badge against the glass
carefully, the man opened the door. "Help you?" he asked, eyeing
the three of them carefully.
        "This is an art gallery?" Mulder asked.
        The man nodded.  "Not open yet."
        "When will you be open?" Chloe jumped in and asked,
studying the man. He couldn't be their killer, could he?  Maybe the
killer wasn't an artist, but someone who wanted to be an artist? 
But the cuts had formed the picture too precisely, the killer had to
be an artist.
        "By the weekend," the man said.  "First big show opens
Friday night. Guess that's tomorrow, isn't it?"  Dana nodded in
answer to his question. "I got work to do, so if you'll -" he nodded
back into the gallery, as though trying to take his leave from them.
        "What do you do here, sir?" Chloe asked.
        "I'm the manager."
        "Of the gallery?" asked Mulder, taking in the man's stained
white coveralls.
        "Of the property.  And the gallery, I guess.  The artists
rented the space from me, and I'm getting the place ready for them. 
Good money, though I don't know who they think is gonna come
out here to look at art with all those museums closer into town,
you know?"  the man said.
        "Do you have any hobbies?" Chloe asked, "Photography?"
        The man looked at her as though she'd lost her mind.  "This
ain't one of those galleries, miss," he informed her.  "No pictures of
naked ladies or the like.  I'm just here to make sure the carpet gets
in and everything gets painted and the electricity gets on, that's
all."
        Chloe felt embarrassed for taking such a false, forward
step. At least it hadn't thrown things off too badly, she thought.
        "What sort of gallery will it be?" Dana asked.  "The name
Marble Art implies sculpture, doesn't it?" she asked.
        The man shrugged.  "I don't know what anything implies,
but there ain't no statues.  It's just a bunch of art stuff - paintings,
you know - some of it pretty amateurish, if I say so myself.  You'd
be better off up at one of those nice museums in town."
        "The paintings are here?" asked Mulder.
        "Stacked up in a back room, I guess.  They keep it locked." 
He shrugged.  "Artists."
        "Mind if we take a look?"  Mulder took a step forward,
ready to push his way into the gallery.
        "You want to look, come back when the place is open,
buddy, hey?" asked the manager. He'd just run out of patience.
        "We're with the FBI, sir," Chloe informed him. "We are
requesting access to those paintings and any other information you
may have."
        "FBI usually requests access with a search warrant, don't
they?" the man asked shrewdly.  "I don't know what business
you've got here, but if you want to come inside, you'll show me
your warrant."  He waited.  They had nothing to say.  He was
within his rights under the law.  "Okay then. See you at the
opening, if you're still interested then. Good day."  He stepped
back and closed the door, making a good show of locking it
between them.
        Dana walked away first, followed by Mulder and then
Chloe.  Chloe had her cell phone out and was dialing. "What are
you doing?" asked Mulder.
        "Getting a warrant," Chloe answered.
        Mulder put his hand on her phone and prevented her from
dialing any more numbers.  "We don't have enough to get a
warrant.  Once we get inside, we might have enough to get one on
the suspect. But now, we have nothing."
        "We have a few other leads to follow up," Dana added. 
"This is frustrating, but we've done everything we can here for
now."
        "What do we do now?" Chloe looked to Mulder.
        "We come back later," he told her, backing up what Dana
had told her.  "And we check out the carpet people. It's the only
lead we have, and much as I don't think it'll pan out, maybe one of
them is moonlighting as an artist."
        "And a killer," added Chloe, but she didn't sound very
hopeful. They climbed back into the car and set out again.

-----

        The backroom of the carpet showplace was noisy and
dusty.  Bits of fuzz from the carpets joined dust from carpet glue in
flying about the room.  There was sawdust in the cement corners
of the stockroom.  In one corner, carpets were being measured and
rolled, sending more debris into the air.  Another area was open,
and trucks were being loaded with cranes and forklifts and dollies.
        "Know anything about art?" Mulder asked the foreman,
raising his voice to be heard above the noise.
        "That's Art, over there," the foreman told them.
        Mulder shook his head and tried to explain it to him again. 
Chloe sneezed a couple of times and rubbed her nose with the back
of her hand.  The dust was getting to her. It was a wonder these
men didn't have black lung syndrome from working here.  She
wandered slightly away to begin asking them questions
individually.
        "Can you tell me who installed a certain carpet?" Mulder
asked, hoping to narrow their list of possible suspects from this
source.
        "Sure," the foreman answered, moving to get his order
book. 
        Mulder and Dana followed him, but Dana shook her head
at Mulder.  He looked at her questioningly, and she took a deep
breath to shout over the noise.  They had moved to stand almost
next to the carpet roller and cutter.  "Look how many men handle
the carpets," she called. "There's no way to tell."
        By this time, the foreman had found the page he wanted in
his book and looked at Mulder.  "Guy by the name of John Smith,"
he said, "delivered that carpet you're interested."
        "John Smith," said Mulder, looking amused by the name. 
Dana was right though, he thought, watching the men move about
and do their jobs.  And then there were the people who displayed
the sampled in the showroom.  This was an uphill climb.  He
looked to her to see what she thought, to see if she thought this
was worth pursuing any farther, and saw that her face had turned
white.  "Dana?  What's wrong?  Dana?"  He reached out to, but she
shook her head with a sick look on her face.  She put her hand over
her mouth and hurried out of the showroom.  Mulder stared after
her.
        "What's with her?" the foreman asked him.
        Mulder shook his head, still staring in the direction she had
gone.  "I don't know."  He had no idea, and that made him feel very
confused.  Very, very confused.
        Chloe had approached and was standing next to him. "Is
she okay?" she asked Mulder.
        He turned his worried eyes to her.  "I don't know," he
answered, and she could see the shocked look on his face.
        "Do you want me to find out?" she asked, ready to go off to
the ladies' room and find Dana.
        "No, I'm sure she's okay," Mulder said, although he didn't
look convinced. Dana would be embarrassed by Chloe trying to
tend to her, he knew.
        "Maybe it's the smell," Chloe said, trying to comfort him,
"Or maybe she inhaled one of these dust pieces and it..." she
stopped.  
        "What smell?" asked Mulder.
        "The carpet smell, it doesn't turn your stomach?" Chloe
asked him.  He shook his head. "Well, women have stronger senses
than men anyway."  She sneezed again as though to prove her
point.
        "Says who?" asked Mulder, trying to be funny although he
didn't feel it right at that moment.
        "Proven fact," Chloe told him. "Goes back to prehistoric
times when women found the food and men...um, did whatever
they did. Stayed home and took care of the house."
        Mulder smiled because it sounded like something Dana
would say. "Learn anything?" he asked her.
        She shook her head.  "You?"
        "Not really.  Dana pointed out everyone here handles the
carpet.  And even if they didn't, it's in the air, as you said.  We
can't
really eliminate anyone who works here," Mulder said, and was
faintly disappointed.  Even though he thought the factory was the
wrong trail entirely.
        "Here she comes," said Chloe, glancing over at Dana, who
was walking toward them.  Her face was still white and they could
tell from the way she was holding herself carefully that she had
been sick.  Chloe turned away to ask the foreman if he could get
her a list of all his employees.
        "Hey," Mulder said gently to his wife, touching her hair
lightly.  "You all right?"
        She nodded, and swallowed hard, meeting his eyes.  She
took a moment as though she was afraid to open her mouth or
she'd be sick again.  "I - sorry."  She shook her head. "I think it's
the smell. It's really getting to me."
        "That's what Chloe thought," Mulder said, and Dana looked
embarrassed that they were discussing why she would be sick.  "It's
making her sneeze."
        "And this case is getting to me."
        "I know it is, baby," Mulder said, rubbing her neck lightly. 
She didn't lean into his touch.
        "I think I need to go home and lie down," she said.
        "Chloe!  Let's go!"  Mulder yelled instantly.  Chloe held up
one finger - she needed just another moment.
        "No, Mulder, take as much time here as you need," Dana
told him.  "I'll be okay once I get some air. I can get a taxi home."
        "No," Mulder told her.  "We'll drop you off."
        "It's not necessary, really," she insisted.  "I'll see you at
home.  Tonight. Don't let me interfere with the case."
        "Call me when you get there?" Mulder asked, and she
nodded.  "Feel better."  He looked really worried and she felt
terrible.  He leaned over to kiss her, and she shook her head, taking
a step back, looking at him like he was crazy.  She wasn't really a
candidate for kissing at the moment.  Mulder persisted, although
changing his target to her cheek. His lips lingered for a moment,
and he whispered, "I  love you," close to her ear, so softly she
barely heard it.
        She left. Mulder was acting more normally. She had her
husband back from the clutches of this case.  That made her happy
to no end. But things weren't better between them by a long shot.
But dizzy and nauseous from the stench of the carpet dyes and
glues, there was nothing she could say about it then.  She caught a
cab easily and closed her eyes on the way home, blocking
everything out but the take of breath in and out of her body.  She
didn't get carsick, but she was still feeling nauseous.  A nap at
home would help, she told herself.  At least she hoped it would.
        "Got the list," Chloe said, bringing it over to Mulder.
"Where'd Dana go?"
        "Home." When Chloe raised her eyebrows, he added, "She
got a cab."
        "You let her go?" Chloe asked. 
        "She insisted."  Mulder didn't feel right about it either. 
Something was going on.  The tension had abated, but it wasn't
gone completely.  "Said it was the smell in here.  You were right."
        Chloe nodded.  "Let's get out of here ourselves before we're
overcome," she suggested and they left the plant.  "I feel bad for
those workers.  They should really be wearing filter masks."
        "I guess you're right," Mulder agreed, feeling distracted. 
His thoughts were still with his wife.  After a second, he forced
himself to focus.  "We can check out the names on that list of
employees against your list of school records.  For now it's all
we've got to go on."
        Chloe nodded.  Her cell phone rang and she answered it. 
"Chloe Grant." Mulder turned his full attention to driving back to
the FBI building, but he couldn't help overhearing her side of the
conversation.  "Mom, no...I have work to do...no, I really want to,
but I think...this case it...Mom...Okay.  I'll try...I'll try!  I have
to go
now.  Bye...Bye."
        Mulder looked at her.  "Your parents are in town?" he
asked.
        "Yeah," Chloe said, puckering her lips as though she wasn't
pleased about it.  "I love them, I really do, it's just...they don't
understand how important what I'm doing is."
        Mulder nodded.  "You want me to talk to them?"
        Chloe laughed.  "You?"
        "I'm your boss, aren't I?"
        "Yeah, but Mulder -" she laughed again, then made herself
stop and look out the window.  "I don't think it would do any
good," she said diplomatically.
        "They don't approve?" he asked, thinking of Dana's family.
        "They support my choices.  They're proud of me.  They just
don't get it. And I still feel bad for not being able to be with them."
        "Then go," Mulder said.
        "What?"  Chloe looked at him.
        "Then go.  I can handle comparing the lists.  If anything
comes up, I'll give you a call."
        "Really?" she asked, not sure if she should accept his offer
or not.
        "Really," Mulder told her.  "Look at it as a once in a
lifetime opportunity - to go home early even when there's a case to
be solved."
        "Don't say it that way."
        "I'm telling you to go home and see your parents, Chloe."
        "Is that an order?" she asked, smiling at him.
        "It's an order," he smiled back.  "I'll drop you at home."   He
made a quick turn and started down the route to her house.
        "It's nice of you," she said.
        "Very nice of me," Mulder added, teasing her.
        "You promise me you'll call if anything happens?" she
asked again.
        "The second I hear anything.  Have a good time."  Mulder
ordered.  "Just give some thought as to what you're going to say at
Mickey's OPC hearing tomorrow. I assume you were called?"
        Chloe nodded.  "I feel so bad for him."
        "He has to help himself now. We'll do what we can at the
hearing," Mulder told her.
        "That's what Dana said."
        "Is it?" asked Mulder, surprised.  Chloe nodded.  "Smart
woman, my Dana."
        "Go home and take care of her," Chloe told him suddenly. 
"Thanks for the ride - and the night off."  She got out of the car and
went up the walk to her house.  "Mom, I'm home!" she called. It
made Mulder smile as he put the car back into gear and drove
away.  But he didn't head for his own home. He had work to do at
the office.  Someone still had to solve this case.

end of part nine.


-- 

Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall
part ten

-----
        
        She woke when he came into the bedroom.  Dana sat up,
feeling muddled and confused.  It was dark outside. She'd slept
longer than she'd intended to. She'd intended to lie down for an
hour or so, until her stomach settled again, and then she'd go into
the office.  "Mulder," she said, and her voice still sounded sleepy.
        "Ssh, go on back to sleep," he suggested.
        "What time is it?" she frowned into the dark, looking
around to try to see the clock.
        "About ten."
        "Ten?" she cried.  She'd slept much longer than she'd
intended.
        "Feeling better?" he asked. He'd finished pulling off his
clothes and he climbed into the bed next to her.  His skin felt cold
against her body, even through the T-shirt she was wearing. 
"You're warm," he said, placing his hand against her bare thigh.
        "You're cold," she told him.  "Yeah, I feel better.  Thanks."
        "Good," he said, snuggling against her and closing his eyes.
        "So...did you solve the case without me?" she asked,
feeling nervous.
        Mulder's derisive snort was reassuring.  "Chloe got a list of
employees from the carpet place and I've been double checking
them against her art student list, and then I did some research of
my own.  Came up with nothing.  Waste of time. As I expected."
        "On your own?" she asked.
        "Yeah."
        "Where's Chloe?" 
        "I sent her home."
        "Why?"  This was not normal Mulder behavior, and it made
her feel worried again.  Was he trying to own the whole case
himself? Why would he do that?  She should never have gone off
and left him. She should have stayed by his side and helped him
with the case.
        "Her parents are in town.  There wasn't anything for her to
do tonight, Dana," he said, shifting against her again, drawing
closer, trying to steal all of her body heat.  "We'll go the gallery
tomorrow when it's open and get our answers then."
        "Mickey's hearing is tomorrow," Dana said.
        "He's a good agent," Mulder answered.
        "You're not worried?"
        "We all have to deal with these things in our own way."
        "Mulder, he could get fired tomorrow, and then what'll
happen?"
        "He won't get fired."
        "What makes you say that?"
        "I never did."
        "You're cocky," she informed him.
        "And you talk too much, wife."
        "Just who are you calling 'wife'?" she demanded.
        "Shut up and let a poor man sleep," he suggested.  He was
teasing her, and she knew it, but it still hurt more than it
reasonably should. Dana closed her mouth and kept it closed and
within minutes, Mulder was sleeping against her.  He must have
been exhausted, she thought, but it didn't make her feel entirely
better.  She lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, unable to
stop her thoughts.  But eventually, she did relax and sleep again.
        Mulder's dreams came some time later, waking him with a
cry that was muffled by his pillow.  He sat up, disoriented, trying
to pull himself out of it.  His heart was still pounding in his chest
as he tried to sort through the things he'd seen in his mind, the
things he'd felt in his sleep. It was still dark outside, and the clock
near the bed told him he'd only slept for four hours.  The dreams
disturbed him.
        He got out of bed instantly.  He hadn't woken Dana this
time, and he was careful not to as he slipped back into the clothes
he'd left lying in the chair.  He stood for a long moment standing
over his sleeping wife. He loved her so much.  Reaching down, he
placed his hand against her cheek.  She was so beautiful. She
stirred in her sleep, and he risked waking her to watch her turn and
cuddle into his touch.  What would he do without her?  Without
the love he felt every day of his life, even when she was angry with
him as she had been ever since he'd taken on this case. Hopefully
he would never have to find out.
        It didn't occur to him that she would be angry when she
woke and found he'd slipped out of their bed and the house in the
middle of the night.  He was too focused on his goal: he wanted
answers, and he wanted them now. It was silly of him to think it
was the case, rather than his behavior, that irritated Dana, but with
the logic of the middle of the night, Mulder was certain that once
the case was solved, everything would be perfect between them
again.  And with the X Files. If not for this case, Mickey wouldn't
be on suspension, wasn't that true, he told  himself.
        He didn't take the car, and he didn't ask himself why not.
He had excess energy after the dream. It had been different this
time, in ways he couldn't put his finger on. He didn't remember the
dreams very clearly at all, no discernible images, only feelings and
sensations and colors.  The colors were odd, he thought.  He knew
it all went back to the case, and it was the dreams that allowed him
to take the photographs and assemble them in the way that the
killer did.  He didn't believe he was channeling the killer, although
he knew that was what Dana would say mockingly if he told her
about the dreams, which was why he hadn't brought them up or
tried to tell her about them. He wasn't psychic. It just seemed that
way sometimes because he came up with solutions without
knowing how he had arrived at them.  What was it Dana had said
to him one time? "A dream is a wish your heart makes?"  No, that
was from some stupid commercial.  "A dream can be an answer to
a question we haven't yet learned how to ask."  He believed that.
        This dream was telling him go to the gallery. He thought of
how crazy it sounded when put that way as he jogged along the
quiet streets.  Everyone in all of the houses he passed were
sleeping blissfully. Single, lovers, married people,
divorcees...suddenly he thought he shouldn't have left Dana alone
in the bed.  But the notion wasn't strong enough to send him
running home. He had to get to the gallery.  He had to see those
pictures, now.  He did reach into his pockets, looking for his cell
phone to call her, but he didn't have it.  He almost remembered the
soft thunk of it falling out of his jacket when he'd slung it over the
chair a few hours before.  He would be back before daybreak,
anyway.  She would understand.
        He was breathing hard when he reached the gallery,
although he didn't notice it until he stopped running.  He hadn't
thought about how far he had come.  He was still of energy and
driven to get inside.  The front door was locked and he went
around the back way, but there was no way inside from there. It
would have to be through the front door.  He didn't want to break
the glass, but he felt certain that he would if he had to.  The
pictures were in there and he had to see them.  They would tell
him who the killer was. He had to know.  He had to know now.
        He managed to coax the lock open with his credit card and
a paperclip that had somehow found its way into his wallet. Lucky
for me, he thought. Lucky for the glass door, he thought as he
pushed the it open and went inside.  He walked through the dark
aisles of the unlit gallery.  The pictures had been hung in
anticipation of the opening that coming evening.  The artists must
have worked hard and long to get them all hung so neatly and
perfectly spaced so quickly.  False walls had been installed,
creating a labyrinthine maze of display space, expanding the path
through the originally small area.  Mulder walked through almost
quickly, not looking at the paintings and drawings and collages as
he passed them.  It was as though he already knew where he was
going.
        He stopped in front of a painting. It was mixed media. 
Modern, abstract art.  Lines slashed down across the canvas.  In the
center, materials were glued to the painting - papers painted
differently and a hodgepodge of things. Mulder didn't know what it
was meant to represent, but something primal inside him
recognized it.  The colors. He knew them from his dream. That
brilliant, deep red. And the blue. That sad, sad, blue.  He couldn't
tell what it was a picture of, but he instinctively knew this painting
was part of a larger whole, and perhaps the pattern couldn't be
discerned until he'd seen all of them.  He leaned over to look at the
card attached to the wall a few inches over, bearing the work's title
and the author's name.
        He didn't get close enough to read it.  "Do you like it?" a
calmly excited voice asked from somewhere in the darkness
behind him.
        Mulder turned slowly.  "I do," he answered, knowing that
the shadowy figure he was facing was the artist.  Obviously,
someone had stayed late preparing the gallery for its first exposure
to the world.
        "Do you know what you're looking at?" she asked, drawing
closer. Her voice was low for a woman's, and slightly rough, but it
betrayed that same edgy excitement he felt barely able to contain
in  himself.  And art had never really excited him before. He still
couldn't see her clearly in the darkness of the gallery.
        "No, but I recognize it," he said, not understanding the
words even as he said them.  He felt very strange, almost
possessed. It was the same thing he felt in his dreams, and he was
aware that it was dangerous and also that he could not control it.
        She moved in closer to him, but he didn't turn and look at
her face.  His eyes were fixed on the painting.  He could smell her
perfume, though, a light, beautiful scent mixed with something
fainter, darker and more sour.  The ammonia smell of
photographic developer.  Her hand closed over his and he was
surprised by how soft her skin was.  She pressed his hand firmly
against the canvas and held it there with considerable force.  "Are
you ready to come with me?" she asked.
        And Mulder said, "Yes."

-----

        Sitting in his office the next morning, enjoying the play of
the six a.m. sunlight across the reports he had to review, Assistant
Director Skinner suddenly became aware of a presence in the
room.  He hadn't heard the door, or heard the person enter.  He
didn't want to raise his eyes from the report because for a long
moment, he was certain if he did so, he would find himself face to
face with a man who had been dead for eight long months.  A man
who had taken the liberty of entering his office unannounced and
uninvited to give him orders he did not wish to follow, but he had
no choice in the matter. But he didn't smell the cigarette smoke,
and so he looked up.    
        A woman was standing in his office, wearing a black coat
and gloves. She had long black hair that had swung to cover a good
portion of her face.  She looked at him expectantly and for a
moment, he saw something familiar about her blue eyes.  
        "Can I help you?" he asked her, and heard the annoyance in
his voice at being unexpectedly disturbed. How long had she been
standing there watching him read?  He looked at the door and saw
that it was closed, as he had left it. He even seemed to recall
having locked it. "How did you get in here?"
        She didn't answer his question. Instead, she offered him a
thin manila folder.  "Agent Michael Callavelo is coming up for a
conduct review at ten o'clock this morning, is that right?" she said.
        "Yes," Skinner said, not in the least surprised that this
strange woman had something to do with the X Files. If not for
them and their contacts, his career would be a great deal quieter. 
Most of the time he honestly didn't mind, but at the same time, he
found their appearances and disappearances and lack of names or
histories rather unnerving.
        "He is not the one who spoke to that newspaper reporter. I
suspect you already know that, but there's proof in there," she said,
approaching to put the folder on the corner of his desk and then
retreating again, as though she didn't want to get too close to him.
        Skinner opened the folder.  It contained a copy of the
article, which was circled in dark purple ink, a canceled money
order stub, and a cassette tape.  "What is all this?" he asked.  This
was not the week to have given up coffee, he thought.  Then again,
when was it ever a good week for him to give up coffee?  
        "Proof," she said.
        "Of what?"
        "A conspiracy against Agent Callavelo."
        "Did Mulder send you here?" Skinner demanded, faintly
annoyed, shoving the folder out of his way.
        She shook her head, although she looked amused at the
thought.  "I think once you review the evidence again, you will
find this morning's hearing unnecessary. Although you will
probably wish to contact the newspaper, perhaps to request a
retraction, or maybe to confirm the story with the reporter.  I'm
afraid you won't find her there."
        "What are you saying?" Skinner demanded.  He wished
these apparitions would make more sense when they came in so
early to harass him.
        "Ms. Rogers has unexpectedly taken a long vacation. One
she is not expected to return from."  The woman said mysteriously
and began to move toward the door.  Not the door into his outer
office, the one he remembered locking.  The other door.  The one
*he* had always used, before he had died.
        "Who the hell are you?" Skinner demanded, getting up
from his desk.  "Did you arrange this? Did you have a reporter
killed to suit your little games?   Answer me, damn it?"
        She cast him a smile before she slipped through the door.
By the time Skinner reached it, she was long gone into the secret
tunnels that burrowed through the interior of the building. She
could be anywhere, that quickly. Anywhere and nowhere. "Damn
it," Skinner said, slamming that door with a bang.  He was not in
the mood for the return of the shadowy conspiracy, and he was not
pleased with having Mulder's weirdo informants come to visit so
early in the morning.
        He shoved the folder out of his way again when he returned
to his desk and tried to return to the report he had so peacefully
been reading, but the sun had turned and was shining blindingly
into his eyes. He couldn't get comfortable, even though his chair
had been specially ordered to suit him. He couldn't ignore the
materials she had brought him.
        Skinner muttered to himself, and played the tape.  A few
minutes later, he was on the telephone to verify its authenticity.
That was when he was told of Ms. Rogers' sudden departure.
        He stared at the door.  The phantom had been right. Again.

-----

        "Have you seen Mulder?" Dana asked Chloe as she walked
into the office the next morning.
        "No," Chloe said, frowning slightly.  "Haven't you?"
        Dana shook her head without saying anything. Her face was
shuttered, as though she didn't want to reveal anything.  She'd
woken alone in their bed that morning. She must have slept
through another nightmare and his escape.  She didn't know what
time that had been or if she should be worried. It was possible, she
tried to convince herself, that he had left only moments before
she'd woken up.  Then he would have only been missing an hour or
so. She'd driven around some of his favorite places to run on her
way into the office, hoping she would find him. She hadn't.
        "Did you try his cell?" Chloe asked.
        Dana produced it from her pocket and placed it on the
desk.
        "That's not like him," Chloe said, looking even more
worried.  Dana nodded, still without saying anything. Chloe looked
at Dana's face and saw how disturbed she was by this.  "Dana,
what's going on between the two of you?"
        "I don't know," she said honestly.  "I don't think it's
anything."
        "You don't want to think it's anything."
        "It'll work out.  Marriage is about being patient," Dana said
halfheartedly.
        "What does Samantha think?"
        "She's used to our keeping odd hours and going away for
long periods of time.  She's at my mother's for a few days, until we
get somewhere with this case."  Dana shook her head.  "Doesn't
seem fair to her, does it?"
        "What do you mean? She loves you," Chloe said.
        "She should have more stability in her life."
        Dana was being impossibly hard on herself, Chloe thought. 
She tried to make her feel better.  "Sammi's tough. She's had an
unusual life, and I think she understands.  She has your mother,
and her own mother up north.  She knows things have to be this
way. She doesn't begrudge you your work."
        Dana just shook her head again, her eyes trained on the
floor.
        "It's going to be all right," Chloe told her.  "Mickey's
hearing is in half an hour. Mulder will be here for that."
        Dana wasn't so certain.  Mulder had been less flaky during
Chloe and Mickey's tenure on the files, due to his being less driven
after he'd found his sister. Maybe that was what was disturbing her
so much.  He was acting like his old self again, and this case didn't
warrant it.  "Did you get a chance to rest last night?" she asked
Chloe.
        "Mulder told you my parents are in town," Chloe said.
        "I'd love to meet them, when this case is finished," Dana
ordered.
        "I'd love for them to meet you all," Chloe grinned.  "Are
you feeling better?"
        "Yes, thanks," Dana said.  "I think that new carpet smell
got to me yesterday."  Chloe had the oddest feeling Dana was
lying, but she didn't know why.  "Any new developments in the
case?" Dana asked. Chloe shook her head.  Dana took a seat at the
computer and began to review the notes Mulder had generated the
night before, to kill time before the hearing that would decide
Mickey's fate.

-----

        Mickey was nervous. He had thought Chloe and Dana and
Mulder would be here.  He had hoped they would be there.  Being
away from the office the entire previous day - only one day - made
him feel isolated and strange, although not quite so isolated or
strange as he felt sitting in the outer portion of Skinner's office,
waiting for the Assistant Director to be ready for him.  He
smoothed his slacks, and began to fiddle with his tie.  Try as he
might, he hadn't been able to get it to tie correctly that morning. He
needed Chloe's help. He wanted to be as presentable as possible for
this, to present his case - the one he hadn't prepared last night.  He
wanted to be as presentable as possible to lose his job.
        Why weren't Chloe and Dana and Mulder there? he asked
himself.
        Maybe it was better that way.  He could be humiliated in
front of stranger who were his superiors, instead of people he
knew, whose opinions he cared about.  What was going to happen
when they kicked him out of the building and told him not to come
back?   He hadn't been able to find anything to help himself.  What
was he going to do?  
        He took a deep breath. This was only making him more
nervous.  He saw that Skinner's assistant was looking at him and he
tried to smile at her.  She smiled back with sympathy.  She must
have seen every agent in the Bureau at their very worst, he thought,
and looked away quickly.
        The door opened and Skinner appeared.  "Michael?" he
said.
        Mickey rose.  "Yes, sir."  He started for the door, ready to
enter Skinner's office and face the committee that would decide his
fate.  He dreaded it, but he had to get it over with.  At least he
hadn't had a long wait, a week or more, to worry about it, although
with a week he might have been able to come up with something
to clear his name.  The wheels of justice turn quickly here in the
justice department, he thought, and the irony was almost enough to
make him laugh.
        Skinner didn't move from the doorway.  He didn't allow
Mickey passage into his office. Mickey looked up at the older man. 
"The hearing on the matter of your statements to the newspaper
has been canceled.  You have been reinstated, without disciplinary
action."
        "Sir?" Mickey couldn't believe what he was hearing.
        "You are free to resume your duties on the X Files, Agent
Callavelo. I suggest you do so at once. There is still a murderer at
large who needs to be apprehended as soon as possible."
        "That's all?" Mickey asked, still not believing his luck.
        "The matter has been dropped. The Office of Professional
Conduct will not meet," Skinner told him.
        "Why was it dropped?" Mickey asked. There was
something very strange about this, and as much as he liked the
result, he wasn't certain he liked the method.
        "The matter has ceased to interest the Office."  Skinner said
cryptically. He was staring at Mickey and the silent message
burning in his eyes behind those wire rimmed glasses was clear.  In
case it wasn't, Skinner said the words anyway.  "Leave it alone,
Mickey."
        "Thank you, sir," he said, and turned away to go join his
team in the basement.
        "Agent Callavelo," Skinner said, stopping him in his tracks. 
Mickey looked back at his supervisor.  "Watch your mouth from
now on."
        "Yes, sir," Mickey said, and walked out into the hallway. 
Dana and Chloe were standing there.  "Hi," he said.
        "We're here for your hearing," Chloe said softly, with a
very sorry look in her eyes.
        "It's been canceled," Mickey said.  "I've been cleared."
        Dana looked at him, her eyes wide. "Skinner said that?"
        "Skinner said 'The Office of Professional Conduct has lost
interest in the matter,'" Mickey repeated.
        "That's odd," Dana said.
        "You're telling me," Mickey agreed.
        "So you're back?" Chloe said, sounding happy.
        "I'm back!" Mickey said, ready to get to work.  "What's
happened with the case?"
        "There was another murder," Chloe said and Mickey
looked at her. "We tried to call you, but you weren't answering
your phone.  What was up with that?"  Mickey shrugged, which
she interpreted to mean that he'd forgotten to recharge the
batteries, left it somewhere, or turned it off. Again.  "This one was
different, and we were able to find some trace evidence.  We're
gonna crack this one, Mickey, it's only a matter of time now.  We
have all the information downstairs."
        "And Mulder's missing," said Dana.  Both of the agents
looked at her.  She nodded.  "I don't know if he's ditched all of us,
or if something's happened to him, but we need to find out and
fast."
        "What makes you say that?" asked Chloe.
        "I have a very bad feeling," Dana replied.

end of part ten.

-- 

Bed Springs III
part eleven
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall

        "Where do we begin?" Chloe asked, watching Dana for an
answer.
        "I've been thinking about that clue I got the other day - that
insurance firm.  Schoenberg and Shine. I think it bears further
investigation," Mickey stated.  He watched as Chloe and Dana
exchanged a look, and he fully expected them to veto him. After
all, informants were not the most reliable people in the world, and
they had all had experience with Purity before.
        "Okay," Dana said, still thinking about it. "Let's start there."
        "What about the gallery?" Chloe asked.
        "I still think that's our best option," Dana told them, "but
we won't be able to get in without a warrant until this evening,
when they have their opening.  We can go to this place of Mickey's
and ask some questions, and if they don't pan out, we can pursue
the gallery angle more thoroughly.  Okay?"
        "Sure," Chloe agreed easily.
        "Great," said Mickey.  Chloe tossed the case file with its
updates to him, and he caught it without spilling any of the papers.
        "Got your art student list?" Dana asked her.  "I'd like to be
able to cross reference if anything turns up at this insurance place."
        "It's all up here," Chloe said, tapping her head.  She'd gone
over it so many times, she was confident if she ever heard one of
the names that was on the list, she'd recognize it instantly.  She
could even recite the first part of it - Abrams, Stacy; Adams, John;
Adams, Elizabeth; Adams, Jose; Addison, Maddie...
        "Bring the paper copy anyway," Dana suggested. Chloe
grabbed it and they headed for the parking lot.
        "You're worried about him, aren't you?" Chloe asked,
having watched Dana's frown not waver on the journey to the
offices of Schoenberg and Shine.
        Dana couldn't lie to the young woman.  "I can't help it," she
admitted.
        "I'm sure everything's fine and he's just three steps ahead of
us," Chloe said reassuringly.
        "That's what I'm afraid of," Dana said, and instantly thought
the better of her statement.  Chloe gave her an odd look, and she
continued speaking to head off the inquisition that was about to be
unleashed.  She couldn't deal with it at that moment.  "You'll
understand someday," she said.
        "I already do," Chloe said, and turned away to catch up
with Mickey. Dana realized she'd said the very wrong thing. The
wounds of Nick and New York were still fresh with Chloe, even
after four months.
        "Chloe, I'm sorry," Dana said when she got into the
elevator. Mickey passed a curious look between the two women,
but didn't ask what was going on.
        "No need," Chloe told her, and managed to smile to show
that there were no hard feelings.  By the time the doors opened,
both of them had turned their attention completely to the case.
        "Hello," Chloe said to the receptionist.  "My name is Chloe
Grant, and I'm with the FBI. I was wondering if I could speak with
the office manager and ask a few questions?"  The receptionist was
a girl of about twenty, who looked stunned and afraid when
confronted with an FBI badge. She opened her mouth but nothing
came out. The phones rang and lights on the console began to
blink.
        "I'm the office manager," a man said, approaching them
and saving the receptionist. After another moment of staring, she
was able to return to answering the phones and processing calls
with amazing speed.  "Mr. Travois.  And you are?"
        "Agent Grant, with the FBI.  This is Agent Callavelo and
Agent Mulder."  Scully-Mulder?  Scully?  Even Chloe was never
certain what Dana was using.  Hyphenated names were liberating,
sure, but they were also confusing.  "We have a few questions for
you, if you wouldn't mind answering them."
        "May I ask what this is about?" he asked.
        "Perhaps we should take this into your office," Dana
suggested.
        "My office is rather small, but there is a conference room
we can use," Mr. Travois replied, and ushered the three of them
into a glass-walled conference room, furnished with heavy,
expensive wood furniture. Everything in the office spoke of class. 
"What is this regarding?" he asked. "One of our investigations?"
        "I'm sorry, I had thought you were an insurance firm?" said
Mickey.
        "We investigate insurance claims," Mr. Travois answered.
        "We had a tip about one of your employees," Dana said,
taking the lead once more.  Chloe was content to sit back and
watch her work, because she had an excellent way of handling
people so that they answered her questions and didn't panic.  Chloe
hoped Mickey was taking notes.  "Specifically, that one of your
employees may be involved in a case we're investigating."
        "I assure you, Miss - uh -"  Mr. Travois floundered.
        "Agent Mulder," Dana supplied.
        "Agent Mulder, yes, I assure you that my employees meet
the highest standards and are carefully screened. They must be, in
our business, I'm sure you understand."
        "I do understand, Mr. Travois, " Dana said, and looked at
Chloe.
        Chloe scrambled to take it from there.  "May I ask what the
usual procedure is for you to investigate an insurance claim?"
        Mr. Travois looked uncomfortable with the question.  "I -
ah - I don't understand what information it is you're looking for,
Miss - uh -"
        He really should stop trying to use peoples' names when he
doesn't know them, Chloe thought. "Grant," she supplied.  "Do
your investigators ever use cameras?"
        "Cameras? Of course they use cameras!"
        Now they were possibly getting somewhere.  "Do they
develop the pictures that they take here on site?" Chloe asked. 
"That is, do you have a photography lab on the premises?"
        "If our business practices are being called into question, I
assure you that they are impeccable!"  Great, now he was getting
riled up again, Chloe thought.
        That was when Mickey jumped in.  "This has nothing to do
with business practices, sir," he said.  "The individual we're
looking for is probably a professional photographer with access to
a darkroom.  We're hoping that this person works for you."
        "I hope they don't!" cried Mr. Travois, looking nervous
about having an employee the FBI would be interested in.
        "You do employ professional photographers?" Chloe asked.
        "We have a part-time staff of five. They go out and do
preliminary shots, so we don't waste time.  Most of them are
students picking up extra money," he answered.
        Bingo!  "May we see a list of these employees?" Dana
asked.  "Please."
        "I can tell you their names," he offered. Chloe brought out
her pen and her notebook. "Edward Herman, Jorge Riviera, Sally -
er, Sally Ann Preston, Wai Chang, and Susan Green."  Chloe was
nodding as she jotted down the names.
        "Are any of them at work today?" Mickey asked.
        "They all are.  Jorge and Ed are in the lab, and Sue and
Wendy are in the field."
        "Wendy?" asked Dana.
        "Wai's American name.  You know how it is," he said. 
"My real name's Francois, but everyone calls me Ted."
        "Of course they do," said Mickey.  "That leaves Sally Ann
Preston."
        "She didn't come in today."
        "Was she scheduled to?" asked Chloe.
        Mr. Travois nodded.  "She just didn't show up. I'm afraid
she'll have to have rather a good excuse because -"
        "Thank you, sir," Dana said, and jumped up, leaving the
room.
        Mr. Travois stared at her as she began to pace nervously in
the lobby, and Chloe and Mickey looked at each other.  Something
was going on, and neither of them knew what.  Dana gestured to
them.  "Thank you for your time," Chloe said, and rose from her
chair.
        "Would it be possible for us to get Sally Ann Preston's
address from your employee files?" Mickey asked.
        "Mickey, come on!" Chloe called from the door.
        "Wait!" he insisted.
        "Tell Dana that, she's probably halfway down the stairs by
now and she has the car keys," Chloe said, and left.
        "Thanks," Mickey said, and hurried after his partner.
        "Bureaucracy," muttered Mr. Travois.  "Gotta love it."
        Mickey and Chloe caught Dana on the ground floor.  "What
is going on?" Mickey cried.
        "I don't like this," Dana said, and she was so nervous it took
her three tries to fit the key into the door lock.  Chloe looked at her
and saw that her hands were shaking. 
        "Let me drive," Chloe said.  Dana just looked at her.  Chloe
removed the keys from her hands, and said, "Let me drive," again.  
Dana backed off, slipping into the back and Chloe took the driver's
seat.  "Now why are you so nervous?" she asked as she pulled out
into traffic.
        "If Sally Ann didn't show up today -" Dana said, and
stopped herself.
        "You think she's working on the next victim," Mickey filled
in.
        "And Mulder's three steps ahead of us," Dana said in a very
small voice.
        "Mickey, get on the phone to the Bureau and get us
Preston's address.  She is our art student, and since your informant
sent us to this place, she's probably our girl," Chloe suggested. 
"Dana, it's going to be okay. Mulder can handle himself.  He just
hasn't called because you've got his cell phone."
        "I know.  It's fine." Dana said, and her voice sounded
normal again. Chloe flashed a look at her in the rearview mirror
and she looked all right.  Good, she thought. 
        "You're going to 2640 K Street, apartment 12," Mickey said
after a few minutes.  Chloe continued to drive.  Dana's cell phone
rang and they all started at the noise.  On their way to apprehend
the killer, with one of their number missing, they were all a little
tense.
        "Scully," Dana answered.  Her phone habits were the
hardest to break, she'd found during these months of marriage. 
"Yes. Okay.  Terrific.  Thanks for calling me."
        "Not Mulder," Chloe said as Dana put the phone back into
her pocket.
        "How'd you guess?" Mickey asked wryly.
        "She didn't kick his ass.  Who was it, Dana?"
        "The toxicology lab on corpse number...the one we found
the other night."
        "They came up with something?" Chloe asked.
        "The killer drugs the victims.  That's probably how she gets
them to cooperate so she can freeze them," Dana reported.  Chloe
noticed she used the pronoun "she" indicating that she believed
Sally Ann was their culprit.
        "Here we are," Chloe said, stopping the car.  Dana jumped
out before Chloe even had time to turn off the car.
        "And we're off," Mickey commented, trailing Dana. Chloe
caught them a few seconds later.  "Where is she going in such a
hurry?"
        "She's worried about Mulder," Chloe answered.
        "He's fine," Mickey said.
        "You know that and I know that and even she knows that,
but until she has him in her sight again, she's not going to be able
to believe it," Chloe said.
        "Don't you ever get that way," Mickey cautioned her, half-
teasing.
        "If you go missing, I figure you've met up with your buddy
Purity again and I start calling hospitals."
        "Ha, ha. She's not *that* bad."
        "Amazing what a pretty face can do to a man's memory,"
Chloe quipped.  "Besides, Dana pointed out that she and Mulder
are *married*.  This isn't a partner's worry, this is a wife's worry."
        "When did she point that out?"  Mickey asked.
        "Um, yesterday."
        "The lines blur with them, don't they," he commented.
        "Yeah. They do."  They'd reached #12 at the top of the
stairs.  Dana had already knocked and was preparing to kick in the
door.
        "Wait, are you sure you should -" Mickey began, just as the
door banged open under the pressure from Dana's foot.
        "Guess so," said Chloe, following Dana into the apartment. 
It was very small and reminded Chloe of her student days.  There
were books stacked on the floor near the telephone. One of the
notebooks was still opened, and a pen was lying on top of it,
abandoned in mid-thesis.  Chloe paused to glance at the
handwriting.  It was large and illegible.  That could tell them
something about their killer, provided Sally Ann was the killer. 
Manic, scribbling, and with no intention of communicating.  
        A little further inside, clothes were strewn on the floor.
Most of them were black.  A plate was shoved under the edge of
the couch, which looked as though it had been rescued from a
dumpster.  There was a television in the corner, but it looked more
like a dressing table than a device for entertainment.  A half-open,
spilled bottle of hair dye lay on top, dried into a little puddle.  A
candle, burned almost all the way down, its wax melted over the
holder and down onto the TV's surface.  A dozen or so shades of
nail polish and a couple of badly damaged lipsticks, both in blood
red.  The face powder was almost brand new and it was a sickly
white. Sally Ann was an artist, all right, and Chloe would guess not
a very old one.
        "Oh my God," Dana's gasp came from the tiny bedroom. 
Chloe started into the other room.  A huge bed took up most of the
available space.  It was sheeted with black satin sheets, which were
stained with various shades of paint and other substances that she
didn't really want to guess at. There were more clothes, and a
camera. Mickey's fingers were dangerously close to the camera and
Chloe made a cautionary noise.  He drew them back instantly, and
looked at her.
        On one wall of the bedroom was a giant mural of Jesus on
the Crucifix.  It covered the entire wall.  The background was blue,
and Jesus had a ring of glowing gold light around his head.  His
face didn't look like the one you usually saw in works of art or on
votive candles.  He had the face of a middle-aged man, with thick
glasses and hair that was plastered on one side of his head. It was
really odd and incongruous with the thin body painted onto the
cross.  The window interrupted most of the torso.  The artist had
taken real pains with the blood painted onto the figure's hands and
feet.  It looked frighteningly real, and Chloe had to turn away after
a moment, uncertain as to whether it was paint or real blood.
        As she turned, she saw an 11 by 14 inch framed portrait of
a man.  The man had the same face in the painting.  The head was
at the same angle and everything - the artist had obviously been
using the photograph as a reference guide.  Streaked onto the glass
in what appeared to be candy red lipstick were broken letters,
angrily formed, that said "DADDY."
        Sally Ann was a disturbed person, Chloe thought.  The
crushed lipstick was lying down in the folds of the sheets as though
it had been dropped and forgotten about.
        As she completed her turn, she saw what Mickey and Dana
were staring at, and the reason Dana had gasped the way she had. 
This wall was covered with photographs, blown up as large as it
was possible to make them without losing quality. Most of them
were poster-sized, and in full color. They matched exactly the
Polaroid display currently hanging on the wall of the office back at
the FBI building.  The one where Mulder had recreated what the
killer was going for.
        He'd been right.
        The large display was much more shocking than the small
cluster of photographs in their office.  The detail was more
striking, and it was clear what the drawing would eventually
become.  Chloe glanced between the two art-covered walls,
making a comparison. "She's drawing her father," she said.
        Mickey raised his eyes from his shoes - looking at those
pictures, practically life size, had been too much for him - and
looked at Chloe.  "See the resemblance?" she pointed out, crossing
the room and fetching the photo of daddy and holding it up against
the display.
        "This is sick," Dana said, and Chloe could see she was
visibly upset.  Chloe had never seen anything that could bother
Dana before. She was a forensic pathologist.  She'd seen the worst
there was too offer.  And this horrified her.  It bothered Chloe too,
and standing there, even not looking at the photographs pinned to
the wall, they seemed to throb with life, their pink and red color
staining everything in the room.
        "Why would she do this?" Mickey asked Chloe, as Dana
went back out into the living room. Mickey stared hard after her,
but didn't say anything. He felt rather sick, himself, so if Dana was
just upset, he could certainly understand that.
        "I'm guessing she had father-issues," she said, and it was
such an understatement she laughed.  A moment later, Mickey
laughed too, but just as quickly they forced themselves to stop. It
seemed a sacrilege to laugh in the face of such illness and carnage. 
"A love hate relationship.  Mulder would love this."
        "I'm sure he'll get to see it," Mickey commented.
        "Or he already has," added Chloe.  "The image of her father
as her savior is an interesting one.  It's almost as though the
murders - and creating a portrait of him with them - are a
testament to him."
        "That is really twisted," said Mickey.
        "Yeah," Chloe agreed.  "Let's see what else we can find
out."
        They emerged from the bedroom to see Dana picking
through Sally Ann's belongings.  "Looks like the father was an
artist, too," she said.
        "How do you know?" asked Mickey.
        Chloe picked up on it first.  "Look."  She held up one of the
books lying on the floor. It was a 1-2-3 how to draw book,
authored by Maurice Preston.
        "Not exactly glorified by his peers," Mickey commented.
        "Maybe that's why she's acting out," Chloe guessed.  "To
impress him?"
        "He's dead," said Dana.
        "You're right.  1987," Mickey read from the back of the
book.  "Ten years ago. If Sally's in college now, she would have
been a little girl."
        "Twelve," said Chloe.
        "He was abusing her," Dana said.
        Mickey and Chloe looked at her.  "How do you know?"
asked Chloe. Dana wasn't one for psychological insights, most of
the time.
        Dana shuddered and didn't answer the question.  All she
said was,  "We have to find Mulder."
        "Where do you think he's gone?" asked Chloe, looking
around the room again. It was clear Sally Ann was not present, and
neither was Mulder.  There was no sign Mulder had been there
before them, but with the condition of Sally's apartment to begin
with, there was no real way to tell that.
        Dana shook her head. "I just see that there isn't a six foot
freezer in here, so she can't have brought her victims here to
process them," she said.  "This is where she comes after, to enjoy
the kill.  To put up the photographs after she develops them, at
night, at the lab where she works.  To revel in it."
        "I noticed recreational drugs in the bedroom," Mickey said.
        "You know what recreational drugs look like?" Chloe
teased him, and was rewarded by his embarrassed smile. "You'll
have to tell me more about this later."  She winked at him and he
actually winked back.  That was her guy, she thought.
        "There's more in the bathroom cabinet, along with some
other interesting items," Dana added.
        "What kind of interesting items?" Mickey asked, not
understanding.
        "Oh -" said Chloe, sharing a look with Dana, but there was
no way she could explain it to him.  He looked at both of them and
when they didn't explain further, he went into the bathroom.  They
listened as he opened the medicine cabinet.  The rattle of pills in a
bottle.  Then he returned.
        "I see where you get your abuse theory from, Dana,"
Mickey said quietly on his return. "What are the prescriptions for?"
he asked.
        "They're antidepressants," Dana said.
        "Looks like they went too far the other way," Mickey
commented.
        "Did you notice the bottles were full?" Dana pointed out. 
"I'd say she prefers the hallucinogenic effects of the drugs in the
bedroom."
        "Would that explain the colors in the mural?" Chloe asked.
        Dana nodded.  "It might.  We have to find that freezer,
though."
        "Where do you think it is?" asked Mickey.
        "The gallery?" Chloe asked her, and Dana nodded her
assent.  "I hope we find Mulder," she said.
        "I hope we don't," Dana contradicted, walking out of Sally
Ann Preston's chamber of horrors. Chloe realized Dana had a
point, and followed.  Mickey joined them, not wanting to be left
alone in that apartment where so much pain had been experienced.

end of part eleven.


-- 

Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall 
part twelve

-----

        She led him into the back room, which was very dark. 
"Have you ever wanted to be immortal?" she asked him.
        "That's every artist's goal, isn't it?" Mulder said, staring
deeply into the woman's eyes.  Woman - she was hardly more than
a girl, for all her height.
        She smiled.  It would have been a goofy smile if something
hadn't been telling him to be very afraid of the intention behind
that smile.  Her eyes were dark, almost black in this light, and it
took him a second too long to realize it was because her pupils
were dilated.  They would be, in the dark, he thought, but also
knew it was something more than that.  Did the drugs make her
kill, or did she take the drugs to enjoy the kill?  To elevate it to a
higher experience?  "The artist's subject is more immortal than the
artist," she told him, still smiling at him, but her eyes were
dangerous.  "But only when that art is recognized by critics and
buyers and man as something great."
        "I've never cared for the idea of eternal life, " he told her
honestly.
        "No immortal soul?" she demanded.  "No ghosts, no
goblins, no reincarnation, no returning from the dead?"  She burst
out laughing. "You believe in these things. I know you do."
        "How do you know?" asked Mulder.
        "I feel it," she informed him.
        "You're willing to rely on a feeling?" he asked.  Suddenly
he wasn't comfortable in this situation.  He'd just realized he was
standing here talking to a girl who'd killed seven - eight? - people
for a sick art project.  It occurred to him that fact should make him
a little nervous.
        "I know you," she told him.  When he just looked at
without saying anything, she repeated it with more intensity. "I
know you, Mulder."
        "How did you know my name?"
        "If you think about it, you know mine."
        "Eternity."  He looked at her in surprise.
        "What my father called me," she told him. "My father loved
me.  He was a great artist."
        "I'm sure he was."
        "What do you know about it?" she demanded.  "The
dreams.  The dreams, you moron. I picked you. I made you.  You
are going to be a very important part of my masterpiece." She
grinned at him again, and this time it looked like the toothy grin of
a skeleton.  Disgusting and frightening.
        "You think you're going to kill me?" Mulder asked calmly,
reaching for his gun. His hand came up empty.  Oh hell, he
thought, his eyes widening. When had he taken it out of its holster? 
That had been a pretty stupid move.
        "I told you to," she said, seeing his confusion. "Want to try
it again?"  She pulled a large bladed cutting tool from her pocket,
but didn't open it for a moment. She wanted to make sure she had
his attention before she slid the blade from its protective housing,
and then only a fraction of an inch. She sighed and wet her lips,
looking at the knife it worshipful reverence.  "Scissors cut paper,"
she told him with another smile. She met his eyes.  "Paper's such a
temporary medium.  This one...this one's gonna last forever. No
one can undo what I'm going to do to you.  Not with solvents or
ignorance or hurtful words."
        "Time," he said. "Decay."  She was fixated on the rejection
of her work, he thought.  As well as her father.
        She shook her head. "It goes deeper than that. I have your
soul.  You are going to serve me now.  You already are. I brought
you here. You're good. You've been with me on all of the murders,
you know.  You've taken his place here on earth."
        "Whose place?" Mulder asked her.
        "Daddy's.  Your eyes have seen the images I want you to
carry up to him in the afterlife."
        "Why can't you just tell him about it, Eternity?" Mulder
asked her carefully, not wanting to agitate her any more than she
already was.
        "Don't you think I've tried?" she snapped.  "I can't reach
him. He's too far away.  They always go far away when they're
dead. The critics have pushed him away.  He's hiding from them,
not realizing they can't hurt him any more.  That his work - and
mine - will soon be celebrated. That's why I need you. You've seen
what I've done for him.  Now you can go and tell him."
        "If you can't reach him, what makes you think I can?" asked
Mulder.
        "You're going to be dead first," she told him matter of
factly.  "But you want to do this, don't you, Mulder?  You want to
be my messenger. Because you like what I've been doing. You like
it. It excites you. Just like it excites my daddy. And it excites them. 
I saw the article.  They're already talking about it.  What a great
work of art it will be when it's finished. He'll be so thankful when
you tell him what I've done for him.  He'll be good to you." Her
eyes sparkled.
        Mulder was horrified, and yet there was something in her
words that sounded almost...understandable. Because she had been
in his dreams, because he knew about her. He had seen the
murders because she had wanted him to see them.  Didn't it follow
then, that...?
        He tried to pull his thoughts away from the void of her
version of eternity.  Her father had to be the devil if she was telling
the truth, he thought, wondering if she could read his thoughts in
the process of granting him hers.  He tried to make himself strong
thinking of Dana.  He had to remember all that he had to live for. 
That love he had to live for.
        "She doesn't understand you," Eternity mocked him.  She
could see, he thought.  "What would she think of you if she knew
how much you liked it?  The killing, the blood, the feeling of that
life dying in your hands, because of you.  It turns you on, doesn't
it?  Because you're just like my father."  She smiled at him.  "She's
one of them. The critics.  The ignorant masses who don't even
deserve to be transformed by my art.  She would never appreciate
it.  Or the way it makes you feel excited."
        "No, it doesn't," Mulder informed her coldly.
        She was moving in closer to him, dancing and rubbing up
against his body in some kind of ritualistic dance.  "Daddy, dance
with me," she said. "Daddy, kill with me."
        "I'm not your father."
        "But you'll carry my message to him. That's your purpose in
life.  You're his vessel on this earth," she said seductively, trying
again to draw him into her nightmare.  "That's why  I picked you. 
You see murder and death every day.  You like it. It likes you. It
clings to you, bringing down your shoulders and the corners of
your smile."
        "How do you know think you know anything about me?"
Mulder asked.
        She shrugged casually.  "Must have been the brain-suck,"
she said cryptically, leaving him shocked and quite unwilling to
ask her what she meant.  It was a term a lot of abductees used, he
knew.  Was that had brought on her acute psychosis? he wondered,
had she experienced an abduction trauma and twisted it into
something so much more?
        "No," she told him coldly, "It wasn't aliens. It was my
daddy who fucked me when  I was eight years old."  There was no
trace of the easy, flowing personality she'd portrayed earlier.  She
was absolutely straightforward, and then she looked him in the
eye. "That's how old your sister was, isn't it?"
        "What do you mean?" Mulder asked, feeling a quiet and
furious rage rising within him.  He would break her neck if she
was saying what he thought she was saying.
        "Oh, the world has such a hard edge," she said, sighing like
a long suffering martyr.  "It's a good thing I know how to make it
all feel so much nicer."  From the deep pockets of the coat she was
wearing, she produced a small bottle and a hypodermic needle. 
"This'll make it all nice and cozy again," she said, mostly to
herself, as she stuck the needle into the bottle and filled it with
liquid.  "Fuzzy and pretty and happy."  She looked at him and met
his eyes.  "This is the only one I've got.  Sorry 'bout that. We'll have
to share.  But because I trust you, if you tell me you're clean, I'll
let
you use it first, how about that?"
        "I don't take drugs," Mulder informed her.
        "You've taken drugs before," she told him.  "Remember
how much you liked it? Remember how it made all that nasty pain
go away?"
        "I don't take drugs," Mulder said again.
        "Well, you do now," she said crankily, and jabbed him in
the arm with the needle.  He cried out in pain, but it only lasted a
second before the drug began to flow warmly through his veins.
His eyes lost their focus and he blinked to try to keep them even
halfway open.  He sighed.  "Better than a good review," she said,
repeating the process on herself.  Because she was a frequent user,
the dosage didn't hit her as hard. It only took the edge off
everything and made it easier for her to face what she had to do
next.
        She had to make her daddy proud.
        "It's bathtime, Mr. Mulder, sir," she cried gleefully,
supporting him as he staggered across the storage room in the back
of the gallery.  "Good thing you took those nice chemicals to keep
you warm because it's gonna be a cold bath, sweetie.  Might do you
some good."  Humming to herself, she began to undress him.  "But
it's gonna be so nice when you do your duty, think about that. 
You'll be fulfilling your purpose on this earth.  And you'll make my
daddy so happy.  He'll give you good reviews for this.  Gold stars
and A pluses and a picture in the front of the gallery."
        Mulder didn't answer.  He was lost in a whirling carnival of
bright colors and her voice sounded so very far away to him. 
"Dana," he mumbled, reaching out as things started to go black,
but she just slapped his hand back down.
        "I'll have to do, love," she told him, grinning that goofy grin
again.

-----

        Dana drove to the gallery, and Mickey had been worried
she was going to wreck the car and they would never get there.  He
kept opening his mouth to suggest injuries caused by excessive
speed weren't going to do Mulder any good, but every time, he
caught a look at Chloe's face and knew he couldn't say it.  Chloe
understood Dana's rush.  So did Mickey.  He just wanted to believe
they wouldn't find Mulder in any danger.
        Stopping the car with enough force to throw them forward
in their seats, Dana jumped out a moment later and ran toward the
gallery.  "Ready for this?" Chloe asked, turning to Mickey in the
back seat.
        He nodded. "Think she's overreacting?"
        "The man she loves may be dying in there, do you think
she's overreacting?"
        "No, but that doesn't stop me from hoping."     
        "Me, either," Chloe agreed.  They didn't know what they
were going to find inside.  Maybe art students and paintings.
Maybe death. Oh God, she wouldn't be able to stand it if Mulder
was in there with all of his skin flayed off.  Please let us be wrong
or in time, she prayed. She didn't really care which.
        The door was open and Dana slipped through it. Acting as
her backup, Chloe and Mickey sprinted up to the door and paused
a second, listening for any activity.  All they heard was Dana's
shout of, "FBI!  Come out with your hands up!"  An order that
would have set them both giggling if it wasn't so serious.
        They went inside.  The paintings had been hung on walls
that blocked their path and seemed to double back at times. "Dana,
I can't see you," Chloe called.
        "I'm okay," she yelled,  "Stay with me!"
        "You don't see anything?"       
        "No. Yes!"
        Chloe and Mickey began running, and they found Dana
staring at a painting. It was red and blue and kind of weird. "The
killer's," said Chloe, with barely a glance at it. Mickey looked at
her.  "Look at the colors!  Just like the mural," she cried.  Mickey
leaned in to look at the title card.  
        "Holy Ghost.  Three in a series of three," he read, "Sally
Ann Preston."
        "Father, Son and Holy Ghost," Dana murmured.
        "We know she has father issues," remarked Chloe.
        "Here's another one," Mickey said, moving ahead of them.
He read the title and looked back at them. "It's called Daughter."
        "Father, Daughter, and Holy Ghost," Chloe corrected.
        "What a poor, sick girl," Dana said, then began running. 
"Mulder!" she yelled.  "Mulder!"
        When Chloe and Mickey caught up with her again, she'd
reached the end of the maze and was pounding on a door set into
the back wall of the gallery.  "Mulder!  Let me in!  Open the door!"
        "Locked?" asked Mickey.
        "Storage room," Chloe said, "by the looks of it."       
        "Mulder!" Dana screamed again, but they heard nothing
from inside.
        "Stand back!" Mickey shouted, and shot the lock off the
door.  It swung open on hinges that creaked sickly.  
        Before Chloe could caution her, Dana dashed through it. 
"Mulder," she said, running to his side instantly.
        "Looks like a party," Sally Ann Preston, known to her
father as Eternity, raised her head off the floor long enough to say. 
Chloe knelt by the girl's side.  She had a needle hanging out of her
vein, and the bottle lying next to her was empty.  Her hand lay
open in her lap and it was full of blood.  She'd cut herself on the
blade that had fallen from her hand.  
        "I think we've got an overdose," Chloe called from Sally
Ann's side, checking the girl's eyes.  "This is bad, her pupils don't
match. I don't think she's gonna make it."  Chloe gently pulled the
half-depressed needle from Sally Ann's arm and put it on the floor. 
She heard Mickey calling on his cell phone for 911 to dispatch a
pair of ambulances.  Chloe raised her head and saw Dana kneeling
on the floor, crying.
        Please don't let him be dead, Chloe begged again, and
steeled herself for the worst as she got to her feet and walked
across the room to where Dana was kneeling.  Her head was
pressed against the side of a large freezing unit, the door of which
was open and propped against the wall.  As she moved closer,
Chloe could see Dana's hand wrapped around a larger, masculine
hand which was hanging out of the freezer.
        He was dead, she thought. Mulder was dead and it was
their fault because they didn't figure it out fast enough, Chloe
thought.  It was his own stupid fault for going off and not telling
anyone where he was going or what he was thinking, as usual. 
"Dana?" Chloe asked, and was surprised to find herself near tears
too. She didn't want Mulder to be dead, but if he was alive, Dana
would be doing something to help him.
        She moved close enough to peer over the side of the
freezer.  Mulder wasn't cut.  His bluish white skin was perfectly
intact.  He was lying in water that had frozen over with a thin layer
of ice on top, partially obscuring from view the fact that Sally Ann
had undressed him before popping him in to cool.  "Mickey,"
Chloe said, "You have to help me get him out."
        "No," said Dana.
        "Dana," Chloe said warningly.  "We have to get him out
and get him warm."
        "We have to wait for the ambulance to get here," Dana
insisted, wiping the tears away from her red eyes and getting to her
feet.  "He's in a state of hypothermic shock, and if we pull him out
without the proper equipment to warm him, he'll die of it.  His
heart will stop.  Plus," she lifted Mulder's arm and presented it to
Chloe. In the crook of his elbow was a few faint drops of blood. 
"Sally Ann has a bruise on her face corresponding to about the size
of Mulder's foot.  We don't know how much of that stuff she
pumped into him to make him stop fighting her.  Right now the
cold is keeping it from circulating as quickly, reaching his heart
and possibly killing him. Is there a label on the bottle?"
        "No," Mickey reported from the other side of the room.
        "Mulder doesn't react well to drugs," Dana told them.  "His
pupils are enormous. But he's breathing and he has a pulse. That's -
" she drew a shaky deep breath.  "That's good enough for me right
now."  She set her mouth and Chloe and Mickey both knew she
was trying not to cry any more.  Chloe backed away, to give her a
little more space.
        "Mickey, look at this place," she whispered to her partner.
        "It's not as bad as the apartment," he said back softly, his
eyes fixed on Dana and Mulder.
        "It's worse, in its own way," Chloe said, looking around. 
She glanced at Sally Ann and Mickey caught her.
        "She's dead," Mickey said.  "I think it happened a few
minutes ago."  Chloe nodded. "Do you think he's going to be all
right?" he asked, glancing at Mulder.
        "He has to be," Chloe said, and because it was the truth,
nothing more could be said on that subject.
        A moment later, the paramedics arrived in a flurry of noise
and activity. "We're back here!" Chloe shouted to the people she
heard enter the maze of paintings.  "All the way back in the
storeroom."  The first paramedics entered the room and headed
straight for Sally Ann.
        "Don't bother, she's dead," Mickey said. "She's also a serial
killer. That man need you right now."  He pointed them to Mulder.
        Dana moved from the freezer, moving slowly as a zombie,
to meet the paramedics. She began to tell them what she had told
Chloe and Mickey, only in more technical terms. They nodded and
listened to her, and then immediately reached to pull Mulder out of
the tub.
        "No!" she shouted, "Haven't you been listening to me?"
        "You're crazy, lady," the paramedic told her, "If you'd
pulled him out when you first got here, he'd have a better chance of
recovery."
        "Listen to me, I am a doctor," Dana informed them.  "You
are going to do what I tell you and you are going to save this man's
life.  Do you understand me?"  The paramedics shared a look.  As
she began to issue orders, the color came back into her cheeks and
her spine grew straighter.
        "She is one tough woman," Mickey said, with obvious
admiration for her.
        "They're both going to be fine," Chloe remarked.
        "Thanks to us," he said.
        "You? What did you do?" Chloe teased. "Thanks to me."
        "What did you do?" Mickey teased her back.  Bickering
helped distract them from watching the paramedics work on
Mulder's shockingly white body.  When he was on the gurney and
wrapped with thermal blankets and heating pads, infused with an
IV drip, he was ready to travel.
        "Are you going to be okay, Dana?" Chloe asked.
        "Yeah," she answered.
        "Do you want us to go with you?" Mickey offered.
        Dana shook her head, and she looked ten years older and
wearier than she had that morning.  Her face was almost as pale as
Mulder's ice-chilled skin.  "No. I think I can handle it from here. 
You need to take the rental car back and you need to follow up
with Sally Ann.  I know she's dead, but there's still paperwork to be
done, and proper procedure to be followed when her apartment is
entered.  Look surprised, kids, okay?" she suggested.
        "We will," Mickey promised solemnly.
        "Samantha's at my mother's house, or she will be after
school."  She couldn't be bothered to raise her wrist to see what
time it was; she was functioning on necessary motions only at this
point.  "Someone needs to tell them both very gently what has
happened, and assure them that Mulder is going to be all right, and
I am all right, and I'll be home as soon as I can."
        "We'll see to it," Chloe promised.  She placed her hand on
Dana's shoulder.  "Take care of him," she said.
        Dana nodded.  "Look after Sammi?"
        "Always," Chloe promised, and Dana managed to smile
before she turned away to accompany the paramedics.
        "Pizza and a video tonight?" Mickey asked softly.
        Chloe turned to him with sad eyes. "Somehow, I don't think
so," she said, and he marveled at his ability to always say the
wrong thing at the wrong time.  Chloe smiled and rubbed his
shoulder and they went out to the car together.  "It's going to be
okay," she said, and he managed to stop berating his insensitivity
long enough to smile at her briefly.  This had shaken them both.  It
had been a little too close. This case had been a little too rough. 
But Mickey nodded as he looked out the window at the blurring
scenery.  It was going to be okay in the end.
 
end of part twelve.

Bed Springs III
by Megan Reilly and Char Hall
part thirteen

-----

        Dana sat in the hallway with her head down and her eyes
closed, but she was awake.  Mulder wasn't expected to regain
consciousness for another few hours, and the beeping of the
machines in his room had begun to drive her out of her mind. She
couldn't sit there another second, watching him and waiting for
him to open his eyes.
        "Hi."  The soft female voice appeared at her side, and she
felt the weight of another person settle on the chair linked to hers.
        Dana opened her eyes and looked. "Hello," she said,
surprised to see Mickey's friend Purity sitting there.
        "He's going to be just fine," Purity told her with a gentle
smile.
        "Isn't that what I should be telling you?" Dana asked, only
half-joking.
        "You looked like you needed some reassurance."
        "Thanks."  She managed a token smile that she didn't feel.
        "Samantha's not here?" Purity asked, still studying Dana's
face.
        Dana shook her head.  "She's just a little girl.  Since he's
going to be okay, I don't want to scare her with the vigil. Not this
time."
        "Understandable," Purity agreed.  "But don't you think his
sister should be here?"
        Something about the way she said it only made Dana look
at her harder, looking for...something in her face that she didn't
find.  Again, she felt lingering traces of memory of a time she
didn't want to remember edging their way into her brain.
        "Have you gotten any rest?" Purity asked her.  Dana shook
her head.  "You have to take care of yourself," she advised, and
Dana nodded. She was exhausted.  All she wanted to do was curl
up next to her husband in bed, and she couldn't do that.  She
couldn't even cry, because, all told, this wasn't as serious as it
could have been. She had to save her tears for when she would
need them, and in the meantime hope that day would never come.
        Purity patted Dana's hand calmly.  "You need to tell him."
        Dana just looked at the mysterious woman who at that
moment, seemed to be omniscient.  She didn't ask.  She just said,
"I should have told him before."
        "Maybe," Purity said with a smile.  She got to her feet and
Dana looked up at her, wondering where she was going.  "I think
he's awake now."  Dana couldn't find the words to ask her how she
knew that, and let the other woman walk away.
        Curious, with Purity's words nagging at her, she was unable
to sit in the hallway another moment.  She pushed on the door and
walked into Mulder's room just as he groaned.  She made it to his
bedside as his eyes opened. His eyes fixed on her face. "You're
okay," she told him.
        He nodded.  "You're here."
        "Of course I'm here."  Had he really doubted she would be
at his bedside? she wondered. Had things gone so wrong between
them?  Suddenly she felt grateful to Purity's intuition, or whatever
it was.  She wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if she'd
listened to the doctors and been sitting out in the hallway. 
"Mulder, I'm sorry."
        "For what?" he asked, surprised.
        "For the way I've acted.  For not even trying to understand."
        "That's not important," he told her.
        "It is. I was nasty and I was unsupportive."
        "You were scared," he said, and his the target head on.  "I'm
sorry I wasn't able to be more open with you."
        "I guess we still have some things to work on," she said.
        "I love you," he told her.
        "I love you too," she said.  Then she broke into a grin.  "I
have something to tell you."
        "You're pregnant."
        She gaped at him.  "You know?"
        "I guessed."  He was starting to grin now too.
        "When?"  She was really shocked.
        "Just now, when you said you had something to tell me." 
He grinned and she stared at him.  "Something clicked in my head
in that carpet plant, but it didn't click all the way until this
moment."
        "I should have told you before," she said, feeling ashamed
and blaming herself again.  If she'd told him, he wouldn't have
gone off after the killer alone.
        "I'm glad you told me now."
        "Are you happy?" she asked him.
        "Are you?" 
        "What kind of a question is that, Mulder?" she demanded.
        "I'm thrilled, Dana."
        "Well so am I," she told him. "Even if I'm terrified."
        "I don't think I've ever heard you admit when you were
afraid before," Mulder said, looking at her pensively.
        "It's been a hell of a week," she retorted.
        "Come here," Mulder said, patting his bed.  "Come on."
        "Mulder, there's not room in these beds for two."
        "Good, I like it better that way," he informed her.  She
climbed up onto the bed, squeezing into the small space with him.
He fit her body against him and they lay there together, quietly.
"Did I ever tell you the best way to share body heat is for a naked
body to climb into bed with another already naked body?" he
asked, as he put his chin against the top of her head and stroked
her hair.
        "I seem to recall hearing that one before, Mulder, yes," she
replied.
        "I think it's working," he murmured to her, and they
laughed together.

-----

        Mickey hung up the phone and was acutely aware of three
pairs of female eyes trained on him.  "Dana says he's awake and
doing fine," he reported, and a cheer filled the living room that had
up until that point been tensely quiet.
        "I'm so relieved," Chloe Grant said, shuffling through her
pile of colored play money to cover the strength of her relief.
        "Me too," added Margaret Scully, who was acting as
banker as she worked on her knitting.  It was either going to be a
sweater for Mulder or an afghan, but she said she hadn't decided
yet and since there was plenty of time until Christmas...
        "Good," Samantha Mulder grinned, the first time she had
smiled the entire night. She wiggled her feet in the air from where
she was lying on the rug. It was good to see her smile.  Both Chloe
and Mickey had been worried to see her studiously concentrating
on the game of Monopoly, as though she was trying to keep her
thoughts away from her brother and the hospital she wasn't
allowed to visit.
        Mickey took up his place on the floor near the game board
and began to tidy up his already pristinely sorted piles of money. 
"She also said she had a question for you, kiddo," he said casually
to  Sammi.
        "What's that?" she asked, when he didn't tell her the
question immediately.  "What is it?" she cried, poking him in the
stomach to try to get him to relent sooner.  Now that she knew her
brother was all right, she was a bundle of energy again.
        "All right, all right!" Mickey cried, grabbing her poking
fingers.  "She wanted to know..."  He paused to see how long he
could keep her hanging there.  Then he grinned at her.  "She
wanted to know how you felt about being an aunt."
        It took Sam a moment to work through the complex family
relation to understand the implication of the question. "No way,"
she said.
        "Yes way," Mickey said, and Samantha shrieked.  "Hey!"
he said, and she shrieked again, jumping up from the floor and
running to the phone.
        "This is too cool. I have to call them!" Sammi cried, dialing
as fast as she could, and then waiting while it rang.   
        Chloe caught Mickey's eye.  "You're serious?" she asked,
and he nodded.  "Wow," she said, smiling.  At the same moment,
they had the same thought and looked at Mrs. Scully.  She had
tears streaming down her face.  "Hey, are you okay?"  Chloe asked,
moving over to put her arm around the woman.
        "I'm so happy," Margaret said and smiled through the tears.
        "Grandma Margaret, Dana says she wantsta talk to you,"
Sammi reported from the telephone.
        "I want to talk to her, too," she answered, and moved to
take the phone from her adopted...daughter in law?...from a child
she already loved as dearly as any of her grandchildren.  "Dana,
what's going on?" she asked.  "Yes, I am crying....don't you
start...oh, Dana honey,  I'm so happy for you both," she said.
        "Hey," Mickey said, reaching across the game board and
touching his partner's chin to try to raise her face up to the light. 
"Are *you* crying too?" he asked.
        Chloe shook her head.  "Course not," she said, and he let
her get away with it.  After a moment, he brought his arm back and
she said, "That was just a ploy to move your piece ahead, wasn't
it?"
        "No!" he cried.
        "It was!  I saw you!  You swept your ratty old shoe off my
Boardwalk with a hotel and hoped I wouldn't notice!"
        "I would never do that!"
        "You just did, you big...cheater!"
        "Sam, come tell her where my piece was!"
        "Yeah, you come tell us both!"
        "Children, settle down!" Margaret ordered from near the
phone.  And none of them could stop smiling for the rest of the
night.

-----

        It was difficult for the restaurant to find a table for ten to
accommodate them all, but they did, and the table was filled with
smiles and laughter and people meeting others they had only heard
about.  Of the ten, the table had no less than seven guests of honor. 
Not an everyday feat.
        "I'd like to propose to toast to the guests of honor here
tonight," Mulder said, rising from his chair and holding up his
glass.  "To Mr. and Mrs. Grant, the parents of one of the brightest
agents I've ever had the honor of working with.  It is a pleasure to
know you."
        "Oh, come on," said Chloe's father.
        "We're just glad that you're looking after our little girl,"
Chloe's mother said.
        "Mom!" Chloe cried, but she was smiling.  She reached
over and put her arms around her mother's neck.  "I'm glad the two
of you could stay to meet everyone."
        "So are we, sweetie," her mother said, hugging her back.
        "I'd like to welcome Mrs. Mulder to our table," Mrs. Scully
said, but without rising from her chair.  She smiled at the other
woman across the table, perhaps because she had noticed how out
of place she appeared, not knowing anyone at the table except her
children very well.  "I hope that you'll grow closer to our family
now."
        "I think I will," Mrs. Mulder said, but it was her son she
was smiling at.  "This is my first grandchild."
        "First of many," Samantha offered.
        "Was that a hint, brat?" Mulder asked his sister.
        "Take it how you want to," she offered regally, but then she
winked and grinned at him.  He kicked her under the table and she
kicked him back.  Mulder was about to kick her again and begin a
great kicking war, but Dana gently placed a hand on his arm and
reminded him that he was not twelve years old any more and he
had to be a good example for his sister.  He took the hint, but not
before mock-punching his sister, sending her into cascades of
giggles.
        "I have to thank Mickey and Chloe for all their support and
for taking some of the burden off me and Mulder," Dana offered. 
"And for all the babysitting they're going to be doing in the future."
        "Gladly," Chloe said.
        "Double for me," Mickey replied.
        "And Skinner," Mulder added.  "For assigning me a couple
of pain-in-the-ass rookies and making me train them so I could
give all my cases away to them whenever I want to sneak off with
my wife."
        Skinner just nodded, but didn't say anything.
        "Go on, isn't there anyone you want to toast?" Mrs. Mulder
asked, since she was sitting next to him.
        "I'd just like to thank you all for inviting me," Skinner
offered, and fell back into quiet. It was his nature, they knew.  A
few more of these gatherings and he would be laughing and
smiling as much as the rest of them.  Mrs. Scully thought he could
use a bit more laughter in his life.
        "Of course, we all know who this special celebration is
for," Samantha said, rising to her feet and commanding the table
with her presence.
        "Who's that?" Mulder asked, as though he had been
coached earlier in the evening.
        "Me, of course!" Sammi said.  "Because I got the two of
you together."
        "Hold on just a minute," Skinner said, "I thought I did that."
        "Actually, I seem to remember some subtle matchmaking
on  my part," Mrs. Scully said.
        "Wait, I thought we paired them up," Mickey said to Chloe.
        "Yeah, you pushed him right when  I bumped her and..." 
Chloe played along.
        "Everyone takes the credit when something goes right,"
Mulder said.  "Thank you, whoever has done this.  But the blame
for this union has already been discussed...if you remember the
wedding reception."
        "Blame?" Dana asked her husband.
        "Beautiful, blissful blame," he told her.
        "Good," she said.
        "We all know there's only one person who can take credit
for what we're celebrating tonight," Mulder continued.
        "Who's that?" Dana asked.
        "Me!" he answered.
        "I seem to remember having a little something to do with
it," she pointed out.
        "Nope, it was all me."
        "My medical degree tends to disagree, Mulder."
        "Too bad because I know I'm right."
        "What did you do that you didn't do any other night?" she
asked him.  The crowd at their table whooped at that suggestion. 
"I'm the one who did all the work here."
        "No, Dana, I really think -"
        "Shut up and kiss her already!" Samantha cried, shoving
her brother closer to his wife.
        "Sound like a good idea to you, Mrs. Scully-Mulder?" he
asked.
        "Sounds like a wonderful idea to me, Mr. Mulder. And
that's Dr. Scully-Mulder to you." 
        He didn't get to make a clever retort because she'd taken
matter into her own hands and kissed him deeply.  Another cry
went through the members of the party, who then began to talk
amongst themselves, laughing and talking and generally enjoying
themselves, allowing Dana and Mulder the time to celebrate in
their own style.
        Which they did.

the end.
        



-- 
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________________I REFUSE TO BELIEVE_____________________
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