TITLE:     MIRROR IMAGES 3
AUTHOR:    DONNILEE
E-MAIL:    Donnilee@snet.net
WEBSITE:   http://donnilee.tripod.com
RATING:    NC-17
CATEGORY:  MSR
SPOILERS:  Minor for Pusher.

SUMMARY:   Scully gets her first chance to use her 
new abilities to solve a case.  Meanwhile, Mulder is 
discovering he may not be left out after all.

DISCLAIMER:  All characters used from the show, The 
X-Files are the property of Chris Carter, Ten 
Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting.  No 
copyright infringement intended.  No money made here.

THANKS:  Once again, to my beta reader, FatCat, who 
never fails to flex her claws and clean up my stuff.


XXXXXXXXXX
PART 1 (PG-13)
BISHOP & MIRANDA'S TOWNHOUSE
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
FRIDAY - 9:00 PM

I looked at Miranda as she slept with her head on my 
shoulder.  The TV was turned down low but I wasn't 
paying attention to it anyway.  I'd thrown up my 
mental shields and was getting ready to nod off 
myself, trying to decide whether to sleep here, or 
take Miranda into the bedroom.

Therefore, I was surprised to hear Bonnie's footsteps 
echoing down the hall.  She practically skidded on 
the hard wood floor as she came up next to the couch.  
"Bishop!" she cried.

I sat up, disengaging from Miranda who grunted but 
then woke, wiping her eyes with her fist.  "What 
Bonnie?"

"Agent Mulder just collapsed," she pronounced into 
the silence of the room.

XXXXXXXXXX
THE LONE GUNMEN'S LAIR
ALEXANDRIA, VA
FRIDAY - 8:50 PM

Scully sighed and looked at the guys.  "This is all 
very interesting but I don't see what it has to do 
with us."

"It's extra terrestrial, I'm telling you," Langly 
insisted.

She sighed again.  "What am I supposed to do with 
that information?  It's a damn rock, guys."

"Test it," Frohike suggested.  "Just take it and do 
some tests.  You have more access and equipment than 
we do.  We believe our source but we have no proof."

I finally said, "You think we can find proof?  When 
have we ever been able to find proof?"

Byers looked at him.  "It's not like you guys not to 
try," he said softly.

I clucked my tongue.  He was right.  I didn't know 
why I was reluctant.  It just seemed like a waste of 
time and we had so many other things to worry about 
right now.  A killer was stalking the streets of 
D.C., leaving no trace evidence behind and no one 
believed us.  The victims were all listed as 
suicides, five so far, killed in various ways.

One D.C. cop had become suspicious that these weren't 
suicides, despite all evidence to the contrary, due 
to small articles on manifestations of fear found at 
each scene.  She'd contacted us and asked us to look 
into it, against the advice of her chief of police.

Scully looked at me.  "What do you think?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt to check it out.  At the 
very least, we rule it out as a piece of granite or 
various known elements or we don't.  I do know it's 
pointless to sit here any longer and argue over a 
rock."

She nodded.  "You're right.  We'll take it.  It might 
be a few days.  We're working a case right now."

"I know," Langly said.  "There's no hurry."

"Thanks guys, we appreciate it," Frohike added.

"Want something to put it in?" Byers asked.

"Yeah," I said, standing up.  I reached out to the 
coffee table and picked up the palm-sized rock.  My 
head spun and I gasped, feeling like I couldn't get 
any air.

My free hand went to my head as a sharp pain flashed 
behind my eyes.  I heard Scully's voice but it 
sounded like she was calling from a distance.  
"Mulder!  What is it?"

I tried to tell her I was dizzy but all that came out 
was a grunt.  Then everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXX
ALEXANDRIA GENERAL HOSPITAL
ALEXANDRIA, VA
9:30 PM

I looked at the Gunmen, sitting in a row opposite me 
on the worn orange plastic chairs in the waiting room 
of the emergency room.  I heard footsteps and looked 
up to see Bishop, Miranda, and Bonnie rounding the 
corner into the room.

I stood up and glanced, seeing the Gunmen openly 
staring.  I'd told them about Bishop and Miranda but 
they'd never met.  "Agent Scully?" Bishop asked.

I didn't bother asking how he knew I was here, 
although I thought it.  Bishop answered my unasked 
question, "Oddly enough, Bonnie told us."

I saw the guys watching us suspiciously.  "How is 
he?" Miranda asked.

"We don't know yet," I answered.

"Any ideas?" Bishop asked.

Bonnie walked to a chair and shakily sat down.  Her 
eyes rolled back in her head and Miranda rushed to 
her, kneeling on the floor and taking her hands.  
"Bonnie, stay with me," she said urgently.

Bonnie groaned gently and opened her eyes.  She was 
staring into space over Miranda's left shoulder but I 
could tell by the glassy look in her eyes that she 
wasn't seeing anything in that room.  

Miranda said, "Bonnie, talk to me.  What do you see?"

In an oddly toneless voice, she said, "A man, older, 
late fifties, receding hairline, brown hair shot with 
gray, face wrinkled."  She spoke as if she were 
reciting statistics.

"What else?" Miranda asked.

"He's trying to tell me something."

"Can you hear him?"

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense."

"What is he saying, Bonnie?"

She was silent a moment and cocked her head to one 
side.  "He said Mulder's rock is extraterrestrial, 
and its mineral, fiox, has activated the 
Deoxyribonuclic acid in his system."

"What?" Miranda asked.

I said, "That's the complex molecules in DNA that 
determine the form and function of the cells."

Bonnie said, "Only Mulder's have something attached 
to them.  A dormant virus or something.  I can't tell 
what he's trying to say."  She was silent a moment 
and then said, "Oh dear.  He's going to need me."  
After another pause, "What's your name?"  Another 
pause.  "I'll tell him."

"Bonnie, come back to me now.  Please, Bonnie."

Her eyes closed and then opened again slowly.  She 
looked a little wobbly but smiled at Miranda.  "I'm 
all right."

"Whom were you talking to?" Miranda asked after 
Bonnie looked at her for several seconds.

"He wouldn't tell me his real name, said Mulder never 
knew it anyway."

"What did he say his name was?"

"Deep Throat," she said clearly.

The Gunmen and I gasped in unison.  Frohike said, 
"Well, shit."

Langly intoned, "Holy shit."

Byers merely looked at the floor.  "Did this just get 
really weird?" he asked.

XXXXXXXXXX
ALEXANDRIA GENERAL HOSPITAL
ALEXANDRIA, VA
11:00 PM

I was sitting next to the bed when he finally woke 
up, groaning and immediately reaching for his head.  
He felt the bandage there and then looked around 
franticly for a moment until his eyes lit upon me.

He stilled and said, "What happened?"

"You passed out and hit your head on the Gunmen's 
coffee table.  It cut you, but that's the least of 
your problems."

"Why did I pass out?" he asked, his voice a bit 
hoarse.

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?  What's the 
last thing you remember?"

He was silent a few moments and then said, "Byers 
asking me if we wanted something to put that stupid 
rock in."

I nodded.  "You picked it up and then passed out 
cold, Mulder."

"That's weird."

Just then the door opened and Bonnie walked in.  "It 
gets weirder too."

He looked to the foot of the bed and watched her 
approach.  She laid a hand on his foot under the 
covers.  "How are you feeling?"

"Foggy," he said.

She nodded and pulled a chair over to the opposite 
side of the bed from me.  "Have Bishop and Miranda 
talked to you about me at all?"

He said, "Other than to warn us from asking any 
questions about you, not really."

I stared at her long, brunette hair that brushed her 
waist whenever she moved.  She was a mini-Miranda.  
She'd just turned 18 a few weeks ago.  She was in her 
senior year of high school.  One look in her eyes and 
you knew that this was a girl wise beyond her years.  
She had 'old eyes' Mulder had said.

She smiled.  "They tend to want to protect me.  
Nobody likes to be a freak, and kids are cruel, you 
know?"  She'd said it casually, but I could tell 
she'd already been subject to some cruelness from her 
peers.

Mulder nodded.  "I'm surprised they let you in here 
without them."

"They don't have a choice.  I told them I needed to 
talk to you.  He didn't come to them.  He came to 
me."

"He?" Mulder asked.

She smiled but there was no humor in it.  "I'm the 
medium.  Although Miranda has a limited medium 
capability, it's not her strong suit.  She's highly 
precognitive and clairvoyant, but being a medium is 
my strong suit."

Mulder repeated his question, "Who came to you?"

"Deep Throat," she said.

Mulder gasped and his eyes widened.  I felt his hand 
tense in mine and I squeezed it for reassurance.  
"What's going on?" he asked.

Her expression softened as though he were the child 
and she were the parent trying to soothe him.  In 
effect, she was.  "He told me what happened to you 
and wants you to know."

Mulder looked fearful.  "I'm lost," he admitted.

She nodded as if she'd anticipated his response.  
"That rock you picked up has a mineral in it I can't 
pronounce but I can spell out for you.  It reacted to 
the dormant virus attached to your DNA that is 
extraterrestrial."

Mulder's eyes flicked between Bonnie and me.  "What 
does that mean?"

"You're a latent, Agent Mulder.  I told Bishop and 
Miranda that months ago.  They decided not to tell 
you because often such things can interfere with the 
future and events happening the way they are supposed 
to."

"I'm still lost," he said.  "A latent what?"

She captured his gaze again.  "Medium, Agent Mulder.  
You are a medium."

"Excuse me?" he said.

"You want the simple explanation?"

"Yes."

"It took the correct shock to your system to activate 
the part of your brain that controls your psychic 
ability.  Touching the mineral in the rock activated 
it and now it can work on a conscious instead of a 
subconscious level.  Have you ever gone to bed 
worrying over a problem and woke up the next day with 
the answer?"

He nodded carefully, jerkily.  "Yeah," he said 
cautiously.

"That's because the answers were probably provided 
for you in your dreams, but you were unaware of them 
and suppressed the memories."

"Why am I creeped out right now?" he asked 
facetiously, but I could hear the fear behind his 
teasing tone.

She smiled at him gently.  "You don't need to be 
afraid.  I'll help you."

"Help me what, for god's sake?"

"Learn to use your new ability."

"What ability?  Nothing's happened to me.  I just 
passed out and woke up."

"It will," she said mysteriously.  She stood up and 
pulled a card out of her jeans pocket, writing a 
number on it.  "That's my cell phone number.  I never 
go anywhere without it."  I looked at it hanging on 
her belt as she tapped it gently with her free hand 
and handed the card to Mulder.

He reached out tentatively and took it.  "What's 
going to happen?" he asked.

She didn't say anything right away.  "At some point, 
the dead will try to speak through you, Agent Mulder.  
It can be a rather unsettling experience the first 
few times."

"You've got to be kidding," he said.

She shook her head in the negative.  "I'm serious as 
a heart attack, Agent Mulder."

"Just Mulder," he corrected.

She grinned, amused with his insistence on the last 
name, no doubt reminding her of Bishop.  "Call me."  
She started toward the door in an unhurried fashion.

"Wait!" Mulder called out.  "What will happen?"

She turned slowly and looked at him again from her 
position next to the door.  "It will get cold.  
You'll probably break out in goose bumps.  Wherever 
you are, the details of your environment will become 
fuzzy and the spirit will appear to you, sometimes 
clearly, sometimes faintly.  They usually try to talk 
to you, but you can't always understand them.  If you 
are in control of your faculties, try to sit down.  
It's draining, and being unaware of your surroundings 
can be dangerous.  You're safer sitting down."

"Safe from what?"

"The mundane, tripping over a coffee table, 
etcetera," she said with a tease.

He smiled but I could tell he wasn't really amused.  
"When will it happen?"

She frowned.  "There's no way to know."  With that, 
she turned to face the door, opened it and went out, 
silent as a wraith.

Mulder blew air out of his pursed lips.  "Well," he 
said, and then didn't continue.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded uncertainly and then looked at me, 
squeezing my hand.  "Guess I won't feel left out 
anymore, huh?"

I huffed.  "I don't know if that's a good thing or a 
bad thing, Mulder."

"Neither do I, Scully.  Neither do I."

A knock sounded on the door and Bonnie opened it and 
stuck her head in.  "Can I talk to you for a minute?" 
she asked me.

I nodded and stood up, kissing Mulder on the forehead 
and whispering, "Be right back."

He nodded and closed his eyes.  I followed Bonnie out 
into the hall.  "What's up?"

"He's going to need you when this happens."

"How so?"

"We call it a life line.  You know how Bishop's 
taught you to use Mulder as a life line when you're 
seeing things happen so you can follow his voice back 
into your body, become aware of your surroundings 
again?"

"Yes," I answered numbly.

"It works both ways.  It's good to be in physical 
contact with someone else when this happens.  It's 
not always possible, and depending on how deep the 
visitation is, it isn't always necessary but it 
doesn't hurt."

"He could get lost?"

"Not like you could, but he could try to follow them 
if they were leading him somewhere, for instance, and 
you should be there as his eyes in the real world."

"Because he won't be seeing the real world," I 
stated.

"Right.  He'll be seeing the spirit."

I shook my head.  "Do we know for sure that this will 
happen?" I asked.  I saw Miranda and Bishop 
approaching from the other end of the hall.  I waited 
for them and Bishop said, "It will happen."

I turned my attention back to Bonnie.  "Do you know 
that for sure?"

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Miranda.  
"No, but she does.  Miranda saw it."

"How long?"

Miranda shook her head.  "I can't tell you that."

"Because you don't know?" I asked.

She looked down and then caught my gaze again.  "No, 
because I can't tell you that."  

Bonnie shook my hand and they all turned and walked 
away from me down the hall.  I had a weird sense of 
abandonment.  Then I remembered some of their cryptic 
comments about not interfering in the future.  
Miranda often saw things that were going to happen.  
The way she explained it was that she went on these 
journeys into the future.  She and Bishop had a rare 
connection that allowed her to take Bishop with her 
on these sightseeing tours.  

Sometimes they saw one outcome and knew that there 
was nothing to be done.  The event would happen just 
the way they saw it.  Other times, they saw two or 
more endings to an event, indicating that it was 
possible to change the future outcome.  That's where 
things got sticky.  They then had to decide whether 
or not to interfere or give information that might 
change the outcome.

The way they explained the process this was a heavy 
responsibility, fraught with unknowns.  They never 
wanted to be responsible, for instance, for someone's 
death due to an action they took based on what they 
had seen.  I couldn't even imagine that kind of 
power.  It was a bit like playing God, and according 
to Miranda, that was exactly what they couldn't do, 
play God.  Therefore, her telling me that she 
couldn't tell me more indicated to me that she was 
unwilling to interfere with the outcome.  That meant 
either that the outcome wasn't good, or she'd only 
seen one outcome.  Either way, it made me uneasy.

I opened the door and reentered the room, determined 
to be positive about this new development.  We'd seen 
no manifestation of it yet, and I hoped Mulder would 
have at least a few days to recover from this 
incident before he had to deal with anything new and 
weird.

I should have known better.


XXXXXXXXXX
PART 2 (R)
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
SATURDAY - 5:30 PM

We decided to stay at my apartment, since it was 
close to Miranda and Bishop's townhouse.  Should 
Mulder need Bonnie's help, she would be closer this 
way.

They'd released Mulder this morning and I'd brought 
him back here and tucked him into bed.  He healed 
like a dog and I wasn't surprised that he'd been up 
and dressed within a few hours.  By noon, he was 
prowling and driving me crazy with his restlessness.  
Skinner had ordered him to take next week off and I 
didn't see how he was going to do it.  He was already 
wearing a hole in my carpet.

"Want to go for a walk?" I suggested.  We'd just 
finished dinner and I watched his knee bob up and 
down in a characteristic display of excess energy.

He sighed loudly.  "Not really.  I want to do 
something though.  I'm going crazy."

"I see this," I teased as I took the last of the 
dishes to the sink.

"Should I go home?  I know I'm driving you nuts."

"No, how about we work?"

He looked up at me and said, "It's Saturday.  You 
deserve a break, Scully."

I shrugged.  "Sitting around waiting for it to happen 
is going to drive you insane, Mulder.  You need to 
work.  Get your mind on something else so you aren't 
focusing on it.  In fact, that may be what's 
preventing it.  Besides, it could be months for all 
we know.  Nobody said how often it would happen.  I 
don't imagine you're going to walk around seeing dead 
people 24/7."

He sighed loudly again.  "I know, I guess I just want 
that first experience over with.  I want it and dread 
it at the same time."

"Okay, let's work.  You brought the file home?"

"Sure did.  It's on your desk by the computer."

He leaped up from the table and dashed out of the 
kitchen.  I smiled as I continued to do the dishes.  
I looked at the ceiling.  "He's driving me nuts, do 
something, please."  Then I chuckled to myself and 
finished the dishes.

By the time I emerged into the living room, he had 
papers, crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and 
police statements spread out all over the floor, 
coffee table and couch.  "Want coffee?" I asked.

"Yes," he said without looking his up.  His nose was 
buried in a police report.

XXXXXXXXXX

I knew I was driving her nuts and vowed to settle 
down.  I took some deep breaths and tried to tell 
myself that it would happen when it would happen.  
Bonnie had made it sound like it was an imminent 
event but I had nothing to back that up, probably 
just a wish on my part.  I'd never admit it to 
anyone, but deep down, I'd been jealous of Scully.  
Even seeing the toll it took on her from time to 
time, the headaches, the exhaustion, I wondered what 
it would be like to have a psychic ability.

It almost seemed storybook that I would develop one, 
considering how hard I'd contemplated what it would 
be like.  Maybe, if there was a God, he was answering 
my prayers.  On the other hand, maybe I would regret 
my petty jealousies.  Only time would tell.

I was startled out of my reverie when I heard the 
crash of something breaking in the kitchen.  I was on 
my feet and moving before I could even place the 
sound.  I entered the kitchen and saw the broken mug 
on the floor, coffee dripping off the edge of the 
counter, and Scully.

She was on all fours in the floor, her face turned 
up.  It appeared she was looking right through me and 
I felt a chill go down my spine.  "Scully!" I shouted 
and kicked some porcelain shards out of my way, 
kneeling on the floor.  I grabbed her wrists, 
establishing a physical connection with her, which 
I'd been told was critical.  "Scully, what do you 
see?"

"Oh God," she moaned.

"Talk to me, Scully!" I demanded.

She swayed but then sat back on her knees, then on 
her butt, her legs curled off to one side.  I kept a 
firm hold on her wrists and knelt beside her, 
ignoring the protest of my knees on the linoleum.  
"He's excited," she said in a whisper.  "He's reading 
about a woman."

"Reading?  What is he reading, Scully?" I asked, 
prompting her to focus as I'd been taught.

"A report, a psych report," she said, almost as an 
afterthought.

"Where is he, Scully?  Look around."

She was silent for a few moments and then said.  
"He's in an office.  There's a fern in the corner."

"What else?"

"Bookshelves, a desk, but he's not behind the desk."

"Where is he, Scully?"

"He's kneeling on the floor, next to a file cabinet."

"Can you see the report?  Any certificates on the 
wall?"

Her head swung from side to side.  "An APA award for 
doctor of the year."

"Okay, Scully, concentrate.  What's the name on the 
certificate?" I asked, feeling my heartbeat 
accelerate.  This could be the break in this case we 
were waiting for."

"I can't see it."

"Try, Scully.  This could be important."

"It says Gerry, I think."

"Last name?" I asked.

She shook her head in frustration.  "I can't see it!" 
she whined.

"Okay, that's okay, Scully.  How about the report?"

"He's looking at it."

"Is there a name on it?"

"I don't see one."

"Is there a folder?"

"Wait, yes.  A folder, manila."

"Is there a tag?  What does it say?"

"Rebecca," she said without hesitation.  "She's 
pretty.  He's seen her.  He's thinking about her now.  
Blonde, short, but busty."

I swallowed hard.  "Forget what he's thinking, 
Scully.  What's the name on the tab of the folder."

She frowned.  "Rebecca."

"Last name?  Is there another name, Scully?"

"Ummmm, Foster!  Rebecca Foster!"

"Okay, come back to me now, Scully."

"Wait, I just want to see," she said, cutting off.

"No, pull back, Scully.  Pull back NOW!" I shouted, 
sensing that I was losing her.

She jerked and her head fell forward.  She gasped and 
then looked up at me.  The glassy look was gone and I 
knew it was over.  She was back with me again.  "Oh 
shit," she said.

"Was it a shrink's office?"

"Yes, and he knows who his next victim is."

"Rebecca Foster," I said quietly.

She nodded, not excited about the information.  "We 
have to find her before he does."

"Yes, we do."  I helped her to her feet and sat her 
in a kitchen chair.  "Stay put.  Let me clean this 
up."

I took her dustpan and whiskbroom from under the sink 
and cleaned up the broken mug, throwing it in the 
garbage.  I wiped up the spilled coffee and poured 
her some milk instead.  "Living room?" I suggested.

She nodded and stood up.  I saw her hand go to her 
head.  "Headache," she said.

"Go sit.  I'll get some aspirin."

She nodded and left the kitchen.  I took a deep 
breath and let it out slowly.  Then I went to another 
cupboard where she kept all her drugs and vitamins 
and pulled down the aspirin, shaking out four of 
them.  I went into the living room and found her on 
the couch, her head resting on the cushions behind 
her.  I handed her the aspirin and sat next to her.  
I watched as she swallowed and chased them with a 
mouthful of milk.  

"It's the weekend," she said out of context.

I knew what she meant.  "Police are on duty."

"Yeah, I know, but what about the Bureau?"

"They never sleep either," I teased.

She smiled but then said, "Who do we call first?"

"Sergeant Tasker," I replied.

"Sheila is probably in bed," she said.

"I don't think this can wait, do you?" I asked.

She pulled her head up straight and turned to look at 
me.  "No, I don't.  Let's find out where Rebecca 
Foster lives and what shrink's in the area have a 
first name of Gerry."

"You think he's the killer?" I asked.

She hesitated.  "I don't know.  He didn't think like 
a shrink."

I grinned.  "And how would you know how a shrink 
thinks?" I asked.

She grinned back.  "I know you, don't I?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist," I said, playing along.

"Psychologist, close enough," she replied blandly.

"Should we call Bishop and Miranda?" I asked.

"No, not yet."

I frowned at her reluctance.  "Any particular 
reason?"

"I want to see if we can handle this one alone.  I 
need some independence from them."

"If my ability kicks in that may be impossible."

"Maybe, but I need to start branching out on my own."

"Okay, it's your call."

"Don't sound so dejected," she scolded me lightly.

"I'm sorry.  I'm just on edge, waiting for it to 
happen."

"It will.  In the meantime, let's focus on other 
things."

"Like a shrink killer."

"Yeah, that would be good," she said dryly.

"You need to sleep and kill the headache," I said, 
not knowing what else to say.

"Will you call Sheila Tasker?" she asked, gulping the 
rest of the milk as she stood up.

"Yes, and I'll start a search for Rebecca Foster and 
Gerry the shrink on my own."

"Good, I have to lie down."

I stood and kissed her forehead.  "Go sleep.  I'll 
join you later."

"Thanks, Mulder.  Sorry I can't help right now."

"You just helped a bunch.  Go sleep."

She smiled tiredly and then went down the hall.  
"Night, Mulder."

"Night," I said softly.  Helped?  She might have just 
busted this case wide open.

I picked up my cell phone off her computer table 
where I'd left it and pulled Sheila's card from my 
wallet after yanking it out of my back pocket.  
Sheila Tasker was the lead detective on the string of 
five 'suicides' that occurred in D.C. over the last 
six months, one a month so far.  It had been three 
weeks, so we were anticipating another real soon.  
The fact that there was no evidence of homicide had 
put a definite damper on things.

I dialed the number and waited.  It rang three times.  
She answered without a greeting.  "This better be 
good."

I smiled even though she couldn't see it.  "How about 
the name of your next victim?" I asked without 
ceremony.

"Agent Mulder?" she asked, instantly becoming alert.

"The very same."

"Did you just say what I think you just said?"

"I did."

"Lay it on me."

"Rebecca Foster," I said simply.  "She's your next 
target.  She sees a shrink named Gerry."

"Last name?"

"No can do.  I'm hoping if she's alive, she can tell 
us the last name.  Then we need a warrant for his 
office."

"That will be tricky.  We have no homicides, 
remember?"

"Let's find Rebecca first."

"Any ideas?"

"Nope.  Happy hunting."

"Great," she said sarcastically.  

"Searching from home?" I asked.

"Only way to fly," she replied.  "So, how did we come 
up with this name?" she asked, intentionally 
including herself.

"I'd rather not say," I replied.

"Your girlfriend have one of her trips down funky 
lane?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Something like that."

"You know, I'm beginning to like this psychic shit 
more and more."

"You're in enough trouble.  I'm an anonymous 
tipster," I informed her.

"Yes, you are.  Isn't that neat?  I'm on it," she 
said, effectively ending the discussion.

"Let us know what you find."

"Count on it," she promised.  The line went dead and 
I flipped the phone shut.  I turned on Scully's 
computer and waited for it to boot up.  "I need more 
coffee," I said to the empty room, and stood up, 
scooping up my mug off the coffee table and heading 
for the kitchen.  Before her little mishap, Scully 
had made a full pot.  I had a feeling I might need it 
tonight.

I filled my mug and returned to her desk in the 
corner of her living room.  I sat down and brought up 
Google's search engine.  I typed in Rebecca Foster; 
Washington, D.C.  So far all the victims were in D.C.  
Therefore, I was surprised when the first entry on 
the list was for a Rebecca Foster in Macon, Georgia.  
Other names yielded no better information, so I 
clicked on it.

Soon, I had Rebecca's name, address, and 
frighteningly enough, her telephone number.  I didn't 
have her social security number but wasn't too 
stressed out about it.  It was ridiculously easy to 
find this stuff.  I knew the Gunmen had virtually 
erased all this information from the net on Scully 
and me, so that only a background check through 
proper channels could turn up information on us, but 
it was still a little scary.

I picked up my phone and dialed the phone number I'd 
gotten from information using her address.  A tired 
male voice answered the phone.  "May I please speak 
to Rebecca?" I asked.

"Who the fuck is this?" a harsh male voice asked.

"An old friend from high school," I ad libbed.

"Oh, what'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's William, Sir.  Everyone calls me 
Billy."

"You that Hamster boy?"

"Excuse me?"

I heard a female in the background.  "Jack, that's 
Hamstein."

"Whatever, some Jew name," he muttered.

"Yes, Sir.  Billy Hamstein."

"She's in college, Billy-boy," he answered.  "Ain't 
it a shame when daughters high tail it out the door 
without so much as a by-your-leave and forget about 
everything that's important, like home?"

"Jack, shut up!" I heard in the background.

"It can be unsettling, Sir.  Uh, where did she end up 
going to college?" I asked, trying to keep my voice 
even.

The next moment, I heard a brief tussle and then a 
woman's voice came on the line.  "Billy?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"She's gone to American University in Washington, 
D.C."

"Really, what's she studying?"

"They had this Postbaccalaureate Premedical 
Certificate Program.  I didn't understand it all, but 
basically it's supposed to prepare you for a career 
in medicine.  She wants to be a psychiatrist, but she 
wanted to take that curriculum before making her 
final decision.  She figured if she liked it, she'd 
continue.  If not, she could switch majors at that 
point."

"I see.  Do you have a phone number for her?"

"Yes, somewhere.  Wait a minute."  More shuffling in 
my ear and then she came back on the line.  "Here it 
is:  (202) 555-1246.  That should ring her dorm room 
directly.  She lives with a roommate, Tracy Haskins."

"Thank you, Ma'am," I replied, scribbling the number 
on Scully's note pad she always left by the phone.

"You were always such a polite boy."

"Thank you, Ma'am," I said again, feeling bad for 
deceiving her.

"I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."

"I'm trying to keep in touch with some old chums."

"That's nice, dear.  I have to go," she said.

"Good night, now."  I hung up before she could say 
anymore.


XXXXXXXXXX
PART 3 (PG-13)
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
10:30 PM

Rebecca wanted to be a psychiatrist.  That was new 
twist.  I wasn't surprised to find that she wasn't in 
Georgia, but in Washington, D.C., after all, and she 
was on American University campus, which I happened 
to know was located at 4400 Massachusetts Avenue in 
NW Washington.  She shouldn't be hard to find.  I 
dialed Sheila again.

"Mulder?" she guessed, when she picked up the phone.

"I've got a fix on your Rebecca Foster."

"You work fast."

"American University premed student."

"Interesting.  Area of study?"

"She wants to be a shrink."

"God help us, more shrinks."

"We may both need one before this is over," I joked.

"Maybe.  Or at least, most people will think we do."

I chuckled with her.  "It's a distinct possibility."

"I'm on it."

"Oh, Sheila," I said, knowing that was her cue to 
hang up.

"What?"

"I think that office Scully saw, might be a 
professor's office rather than a shrink's office, 
like I thought at first."

"Good deduction."

"Not everything I do is spooky."

She laughed outright.  "I'll try to remember that.  
I'll call you tomorrow and let you know where I 
stand."

"Sounds good, good night."

"I'm on it," she repeated and hung up.

I sighed.  I'd done all I could tonight.  I couldn't 
go running to American University at this time of 
night.  Besides, it was better to let Sheila handle 
it.  'Why did I feel so unsettled about sitting here 
doing nothing?' I wondered.

I slugged down my coffee and went to get some more.  
Time to research all the professors in the premed 
program at American University.

XXXXXXXXXX
AMERICAN UNIVERSITY
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SUNDAY - 3:30 PM

I looked at the bloody sheets on the bed and sighed.  
"Well, shit."

"There was nothing we could have done, Mulder."

"I should have come here last night.  I should have 
warned her."  I felt guilt crashing over me like a 
wave.  Stupid.  I knew I shouldn't have just sat 
there last night.  I'd had a funny feeling.  Me, the 
one who always followed his 'funny feelings', sat 
there like a dope.

Sheila said, "You couldn't have known, Mulder."

"How'd it happen this time?  She didn't jump off the 
balcony like the last one."

"Nope, she was stabbed."

Another cop that was by the door said, "She stabbed 
herself."

"Allegedly," Sheila added.

He turned.  "You still believe that, Sheila?  This is 
getting ridiculous."

"It doesn't strike you as strange, Jeff, that six 
girls in the space of six months have committed 
suicide?  They were all college age and all lived in 
this area."

"Finals are coming up," he joked.

None of us laughed.  He shrugged his shoulders.

Scully said, "I think it's time to speak to Professor 
Cranston."

"Mmm, Gerry Cranston," Sheila said.  "He's in the 
building across the green there."

"Let's go, the ME needs to finish up in here."

I brushed my fingers over the small desk in the 
corner of the room.  I suddenly felt a cool draft 
sweep through the room and my knees felt weak.  They 
bobbed and I swung around, sitting on the edge of 
Rebecca's bed, trying to avoid the blood.  "Mulder?" 
Scully asked.

I felt dizzy and reached for the desk again, and then 
the room faded away.  A young girl stood there, 
blonde, small like Scully, and wearing jeans and a 
pullover sweater.  Her mouth was moving but I 
couldn't hear anything.

I felt hands grab mine and say something but I 
couldn't hear that either.  I shook my head and tried 
to concentrate on the girl.  She threw up her hands 
as though frustrated.  I said, "I'm sorry, I can't 
hear you."

There were vague murmurings in the background and I 
tried to tune them out.  Then she was pointing 
frantically to the desk.  "The desk?" I asked.

She nodded frantically in the affirmative.  Then she 
faded away.  The room came back into focus and I was 
hanging onto the desk in a death grip.  My other hand 
was wrapped around my stomach and I felt sick.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asked.

I shook my head, bolted off the bed and ran for the 
hall.  I heard Scully behind me as I crashed into the 
door marked 'Men's Room'.  I barely made it to the 
toilet before I was throwing up lunch.  I heaved and 
shuddered.  I felt cold but remembered Bonnie saying 
I might.  I finally wiped off my mouth and flushed 
the toilet, breathing hard.  I exited the stall to 
find Scully there.  I turned on the water and rinsed 
my mouth, then splashed water on my face and ran my 
fingers through my hair.  "What did you see?" she 
asked.

"I saw Rebecca," I said.

She nodded, no longer the questioning doubter she 
used to be, taking me at my word.  She waited 
patiently for me to dry my face with a paper towel.  
"Do you need Bonnie?" she asked quietly.

I shook my head.  "No, I think I'm all right now.  We 
missed something in the desk."

She nodded, and wrapped her arm around my waist.  We 
returned to the room slowly.  Jeff, Sheila's new 
partner and Sheila were eyeing me strangely.  "I'm 
really sorry.  I got sick all of a sudden."

"Don't worry about it."

I walked to the desk and opened the pencil drawer.  
The pencil tray was overflowing with pens, pencils, 
and highlighters.  There was some change and business 
cards in the bottom.  I sifted through them, not 
seeing anything catch my eye.  I tried to open it 
further and it stuck.  I frowned and went down on my 
knees, crawling into the space where she would have 
put her legs.  Taped to the bottom of the drawer was 
a manila envelope.  "Gloves," I said.

Scully handed me latex gloves and I pulled one on.  I 
pulled the envelope off.  It had been taped to the 
underside of the desk drawer.  I emerged and Sheila 
was eyeing me warily.  She wasn't entirely convinced 
of all the psychic stuff, but she was willing to be 
open-minded.  She'd finally gotten used to the idea 
that Scully had some sort of ability.  She didn't 
know anything about mine.  Neither of us had said a 
word.  Scully was watching me like a hawk, her eyes 
shining with interest.

I laid it on the top of the desk and picked up a 
pencil, carefully prying open the end that was 
secured with two metal prongs, but not sealed.

I tipped it up and a small, thin one-subject notebook 
slid out onto the desk.  "Bingo," I said, hurrying to 
open it up.  

It was filled with notes, precise handwriting filling 
the page after page with case studies.  I didn't see 
anything jump out at me except the name G. Crantson.  
It was obvious she was assisting him in some sort of 
case study.  I wondered if it was a side bar or part 
of the curriculum.  I also wondered if this was an 
official study or something he was doing on his own 
and had recruited Rebecca's assistance for.

I flipped to the back and opened the flap of the 
notebook.  She'd written a list of names on the back 
page under a column entitled, 'Subjects'.

Sheila grunted and I turned to look over my shoulder.  
The Dean of Students was standing in the doorway.  
He'd been cooperative so far but our presence was 
making him nervous.  "The other students are 
beginning to get too curious," he said.

"You have security here?"

"Yes," he answered cautiously.

"I think you should station one person here at the 
door.  We're going to put crime scene tape up until 
we're finished and clear the scene, but I don't want 
some curious student coming in here and messing with 
things."

He nodded.  "Are you leaving soon?"

I scowled.  "We'll leave when we're ready," I said.

He nodded nervously and turned on his heel and left.  
Sheila grinned at me.  "You always so pleasant?"

Scully nodded.  "Sometimes he's even more congenial 
with the locals."

"Oh joy," she teased, and held up an evidence bag big 
enough for the notebook.  I looked at her and shook 
my head.  Jeff was looking out the door on the look 
out for intruders and so didn't see me.

Sheila's eyes widened for a moment but then she 
nodded.  I took the notebook and slipped it into the 
bag, taking it from her and wedging it inside the 
briefcase Scully had brought with her.  "I think I'm 
done here," I said.

She nodded.  "The crime scene guys are waiting 
outside for our okay."

"Did the coroner say when he'd do the autopsy?" 
Scully asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Think I can sit in?" she inquired.

Sheila licked her lips.  "I'll make a call, see what 
I can do.  He likes me.  He doesn't like the feds 
though."

"Who does?" I joked.

She smiled.  "Get out of here," she said firmly.  I 
caught her meaning.  If we were absconding with 
evidence, she didn't want to be a part of it and she 
wanted it out of here before the crime scene techs 
came in.

"We're gone," Scully replied.  I followed her out of 
the room and down the stairs to the first floor.  
Rebecca's room had only been on the second floor.  I 
felt shaky inside and a tad disoriented.

"You okay?" Scully asked.

"I feel weird," I admitted.  "Slightly disoriented, 
like I'm not quite back in the real world yet."

She looked concerned.  "Let's get you home."

"Aren't we going to see Cranston?" I asked.

"No, not now."

"Scully!" I protested.

She shook her head firmly.  "No, home now.  I don't 
think he's here anyway.  It's Sunday, Mulder, 
remember?"

"Good chance to snoop in his office," I said.

"No," she said, ending the conversation and marched 
to the car.  I looked longingly at the building and 
felt another wave of nausea.  Maybe now wasn't the 
time.  I followed her to the car and got in the 
passenger side.  I was too shaken up to drive and she 
knew that without me having to say so.

I wondered if I should call Bonnie.  As if she'd read 
my mind she said, "Call Bonnie."

"Did you know I just thought that?"

"Yes," she said simply.  "You're broadcasting like a 
radio again."

"Well, shit," I muttered, pulling my cell phone off 
my belt and flipping it open.  

XXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
SUNDAY - 5:30 PM

Bonnie sat in the wing-backed chair adjacent to the 
couch.  "So what happened next?" she asked.

Mulder cleared his throat.  "She seemed frustrated 
that I couldn't hear her and threw up her hands."

Bonnie smiled.  "You were not ready to open that 
connection."

"What do you mean?"

"Seeing them is one thing, hearing is another.  We 
have to be open to it and you're not ready yet, 
obviously.  It will come.  It's scary to make 
ourselves vulnerable like that."

"Do you mean if I can hear her, she can hear me?"

"Yup.  Usually.  She could hear you talking.  If you 
open up enough to hear her, she can probably read 
your thoughts.  That's why it's important to 
establish identity of the spirit first.  If it's 
unknown to you or feels malicious, you don't want to 
open that avenue for them."

"You're creeping me out," he admitted.

"So what happened next?" she asked, ignoring my 
pronouncement.

"She gave up trying to talk and began frantically 
pointing at the desk, as though I'd missed something 
there.  I asked, 'the desk?', and she nodded in the 
affirmative.  Then she vanished."

"Then?"

"I got violently ill and had to run to the bathroom 
and lose my lunch.  Speaking of which, I'm starved."

I rolled my eyes but got up and headed for the 
kitchen.  "I'll fix you something."

"I'm often hungry afterwards too.  I think it takes 
something out of us and we need to refuel," I heard 
Bonnie respond.  "I always carry a Hershey bar with 
me.  Something about chocolate seems to restore my 
equilibrium.  I've tried hard candy, thinking it was 
the sugar, but that didn't work.  You might try the 
chocolate."  

I was listening to the conversation as I quickly made 
a ham and cheese sandwich on toast with just a little 
mayo the way he liked it.  I put it on a paper plate 
and carried it out to the living room, handing it to 
him without ceremony.

He took a huge bite and chewed slowly, groaning with 
satisfaction as he swallowed.  "So then I looked in 
the desk, didn't see anything right away, but then 
the drawer stuck and I looked underneath.  That's 
when I saw the envelope."

"Business envelope?"

"No, a manila one.  It was taped to the bottom of the 
drawer, near the back," Mulder replied.  "I took it 
off, opened it up.  There's a bunch of notes on case 
studies and a list of subjects in the back.  I don't 
know if that means test subjects, or just subjects of 
interest.  It would be good to know if those names 
are real people at the university or dead people from 
history, or what," he said, his brain already working 
through the bit of information he'd read.

I nodded and made a mental note to check on them as 
soon as we were through here.  "When will they get 
here?"

Bonnie shrugged.  "Soon, Miranda had to go pick him 
up."

"What's his name again?" I inquired.

"Tim Snell," she answered.

"Bishop and Miranda think he can help?"

"They think he might be able to and he certainly 
can't hurt."

"He's a touch telepath?"

"Yes.  You don't need to touch something to tap into 
your connection with the ability, but Tim does.  
Although, as you've discovered, touching something 
does make the connection stronger."

Mulder scrunched his brow and rubbed his forehead as 
he continued devouring the sandwich.  "Hmmm," he 
murmured.

"What did you just think of?" Bonnie asked.

"I had the vision when I touched the desk," he said.

"Why didn't you mention that before, Mulder?" I 
asked, sounding testier than I realized.

He shot me a hurt look but then hung his head.  "I 
just remembered now," he said.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to sound peeved," I 
apologized.  He nodded, but I knew he was still hurt.  
I slid closer and laid a hand on his forearm.  He 
looked at me trying not to frown.  "I'm sorry, 
Mulder.  I'm just rattled that's all."

"I'm rattled too," he shot back.

I ran my hand over his back and felt the tension in 
his muscles.  "I know, I'm sorry."  He eyed his 
sandwich as though wondering whether to finish it.  
Then he popped the last bite in his mouth and chewed 
slowly.  "I love you, Mulder," I whispered.

He smiled at me then and finished swallowing.  "We're 
both jumpy," he qualified, telling me he was letting 
it go.  

I leaned in and kissed his temple.  "What next?" I 
asked softly.

He looked at Bonnie.  "We wait for Tim.  Where's the 
notebook?" she asked.

Mulder pointed to my briefcase by the computer table.  
It was still sitting there from when we came in.  I 
had dumped it there, more concerned about Mulder than 
the evidence we'd stolen.

A knock sounded at the door and I got up and went to 
answer it.  I peered out the peephole out of habit, 
even knowing who was probably out there.  I opened 
the door and smiled, waving Miranda and her companion 
inside.

"Tim Snell," he announced.  "You must be Agent 
Scully."

I nodded and held out my hand.  He shook his head.  
"Better not," he replied.  Then I remembered touch 
was a big part of his skill and retracted my hand.

He entered the room and introduced himself to Mulder.  
He obviously knew who Bonnie was and she smiled a 
greeting.  "Tim, how are you?"

"Good, thanks.  I hear we have something to go 
exploring with," he announced.  

I pointed to the couch and he sat on the opposite end 
from Mulder.  I retrieved the notebook from my 
briefcase and carried it to him.  He carefully opened 
the evidence bag and slid it out onto his lap.  "Any 
questions before I get started?" he asked.

Miranda shook her head.  "Just tell us what you get."

He nodded.  He didn't open the notebook.  Simply 
pressed a palm to each side with it closed, holding 
it upright between his hands above his lap.  His eyes 
closed and he swayed slightly.

Air rushed out of his lungs and he was silent.  Then 
he made several indistinct noises.  This went on for 
about two full minutes, which seemed like an hour.  
Then he opened his hands, letting the book drop into 
his lap.  He carefully scooped it back into the bag 
and set it gingerly on the table.

"How much do you want to know?"

"Everything," Mulder said.


XXXXXXXXXX
PART 4 (NC-17)
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT 
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
8:30 PM

Miranda broke in. "What he means is that he often 
picks up personal things and things that aren't 
relevant to the subject at hand."

Mulder's brows went up.  "Don't sift.  You never know 
what might be relevant.  It's not for him to decide.  
No offense," he added, looking at Tim.

Tim smiled and said, "A man after my own heart."

Miranda was shaking her head in good-natured 
tolerance.  "Well?" she asked.

"Rebecca Foster, 20 years old, from Macon, Georgia.  
Grew up in Hicksville.  Considers her father an 
idiot.  Loves her mother but doesn't think she's too 
bright either.  Wanted to be a research psychiatrist 
who conducted studies about the human mind.  She and 
Cranston were conducting a study of five men and five 
women with documented schizophrenia using different 
medications.  They were charting their progress with 
weekly sessions.  Cranston is licensed to practice in 
Virginia, D.C., and Maryland.  He's a full-tenured 
professor at the American University.  Foster would 
sit in on the sessions.  All subjects had agreed to 
that."

"Nothing exciting so far," I commented.

Mulder asked, "What else?  Anything on the subjects 
or Cranston that doesn't seem right?"

Tim held up a finger.  "Just getting to that.  There 
were two subjects they were worried about, both, they 
felt, were deteriorating.  One was a chap named Frank 
Amber.  He's thirty years old, lives in D.C. with his 
mother.  He's schizophrenic but apparently had other 
problems, including a disassociative disorder where 
he would periodically be violent and exhibit no 
remorse over his actions."

"Violent how?" Mulder asked, perking up.

"Small things, like hurting animals, kicking puppies, 
pulling wings off flies and the like.  Never hurt 
himself really, but would periodically bang his head 
on the wall and claim he was trying to relieve the 
pressure.  They'd done MRIs and the like and found no 
evidence of tumors or anything else."

"The other guy?" I asked.

"The other one was John Freeman.  He was less of a 
worry, but kept complaining that he still heard 
voices and the medication wasn't working.  There's 
another interesting tidbit here though."

"What's that?" Mulder asked.

"She was sleeping with Cranston."

"What?" I asked.

Mulder shot me an amused glance.  "Happens all the 
time, Scully."

I shut up, realizing he was gently alluding to my 
affair with my own teacher.  I could hardly throw 
stones.  I was humiliated over that entire affair and 
didn't like to talk about it.  "Sorry, just surprised 
me for a minute."

"I'm going by Rebecca's thoughts here, not his, but 
she thought he was unbearably handsome.  In fact, 
he's only forty years old, has dark hair, no gray, 
keeps himself fit and is gentle and kind and more 
importantly, takes great interest in her, gives her 
credit.  This was a big thing with Rebecca.  Daddy 
never gave her any credit, criticized all her 
decisions and tried to make her feel dumb.  Thought 
she should stay home, marry and be barefoot and 
pregnant for most of her life."

"So Cranston is going to take this hard.  Has he been 
notified?" Mulder asked.

I shrugged.  "I think Sheila was going to call him.  
Nevertheless, just because she was besotted with him 
doesn't mean it goes both ways.  He could be boinking 
numerous students," I suggested.

Mulder looked amused again.  "Such faith, Scully," he 
teased.

I brushed him off with a wave of my hand, not wanting 
to go down that road.  "Okay, anything else?" I 
asked.

"Yes, I got an ominous feeling about Frank, of 
course, we're talking about Rebecca's feelings.  
Although John was the one hearing voices, Frank was 
the one that creeped her out."

"Okay, well, that gives us two more people to dig 
into.  We'll look into all the subjects, but I'm 
certain this is a male perp."

"This may have nothing to do with the killings," 
Mulder reminded me.

"I was seeing through his eyes in an office.  It was 
a man.  This may narrow it down.  We have to 
interview both of those men along with Cranston."

"I agree.  I'm just saying we shouldn't jump to 
conclusions."

"True.  She obviously thought there was something in 
that notebook to lead us to the killer.  She thought 
is was important enough to contact you, Mulder."

"She's right," Bonnie added.  "Spirits don't come to 
us to tell us that life was grand.  It's usually a 
trauma, mystery or a violent death that precedes the 
contact.

"So her killer is in that notebook," Mulder 
concluded.

Bonnie shrugged.  "Probably.  I'm not willing to say 
anything for sure, but if I had to place a bet, I'd 
say yes."

XXXXXXXXXX

They'd all left by 9:30.  It had been quite a day.  
Without a word, Scully held out her hand and I took 
it, following her into the bedroom.

I held her gently as we stood next to the bed, just 
marveling that I could do this now.  I could go to 
her for comfort whenever I wanted it.  We were in 
virgin territory with our psychic abilities, and it 
didn't escape me as cosmically coincidental that both 
of us were manifesting them after years of struggle 
and strife.  I didn't know if it was a blessing or a 
curse yet, but I knew that I didn't believe in 
coincidences.  

I kissed her and she responded enthusiastically.  I 
could feel her need for me in her kiss and sent her 
sentiments right back to her.  "I need you tonight," 
I whispered.

"You have me," she whispered back.

XXXXXXXXXX NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXX

We were naked in no time and I laid her back on the 
bed, crawling between her legs.  I kissed her again 
and searched lightly between her legs with my 
engorged shaft.  I eased myself up to kiss her 
forehead, then her cheeks and moved down to her ears 
and the sensitive spot on her neck.  I could feel her 
juices sluicing over the head of my cock and rubbed 
gently.

She grunted softly and lifted her hips.  I smiled 
against her skin and pressed slowly inside.  I 
couldn't wait to feel her tight walls around my cock.  
It was always hot and snug.  I slipped inside and her 
muscles squeezed the end of my cock.

I moaned and stopped, enjoying the sensation.  My 
balls were churning already and I wanted this to 
last.  I slid in slowly, watching her face as it 
flushed with arousal.  I loved to see her pouty lips 
open with excitement in response to the sensation of 
being filled.  I pressed deep and began to make long, 
strong strokes into her belly.

Her hips rose to meet my every thrust.  "You like 
that, huh?" I asked as she groaned loudly and nodded.

"Suck my nipples," she requested.

I moaned, always excited when she talked like this or 
asked for anything sexual.  She still had trouble 
veering away from her clinical terms like breast and 
clitoris, but I didn't mind so much.  It was part of 
who she was.  She knew it turned me on.  

She still wouldn't admit that dirty talk turned her 
on and she didn't have to.  "Oh God, you're starting 
to clench on my cock, baby," I growled, feeling her 
muscles quiver.

She flushed red and thrust her hips harder against 
me.  I changed the angle being sure to brush her 
pubic bone with mine at the end of my strokes.  "Love 
me, Mulder."

"Oh, I do, you have no idea how much," I said, 
kissing her again.

I could feel her labia swelling, making her entrance 
even tighter for me as I swiveled my hips and felt 
her release with a gush of fluid that covered my 
balls in sweet smelling arousal.  "Jesus, yes, 
Mulder!" she shouted.

I sped up, unable to stop myself.  I used one hand to 
twirl her hardened nipple and revel in the feelings 
rushing through me.  We were one.  I always felt that 
when we are together this way.  I thought about how 
much I loved her and needed her and she suddenly 
gasped with pleasure.  I knew she'd heard me in her 
mind, and I wondered how I ever got so lucky.

XXXXXXXXXX

The moment his fingers found my nipple, fire streaked 
from my breast to my groin, igniting it.  I was 
trembling and whimpering and didn't care.  I felt 
waves of love and caring and need flow over me.  I 
knew it was coming from him and I dropped my 
defenses, feeling it pour into me like a tidal wave.  
Sometimes, like tonight, he felt massive.  The steely 
length of him was pounding in and out of me with 
sure, hard strokes, filling me completely.  

His hard body always kept me aroused and the powerful 
strokes pushed me quickly to the limit.  I cried out 
a second time, feeling my muscles spasm on his 
length.  He was scared and needed me.  I could feel 
that too and I quivered inside, helpless to prevent 
the love for him that always welled up when I felt he 
needed me.  I quivered inside.  He was using me for 
comfort and I couldn't have cared less.  I 
concentrated on meeting his thrusts with my own, 
lifting my hips in his rhythm.  His strokes became 
slightly erratic and I knew he was close.

My hands ran all over him, squeezing his ass and 
getting as close as I could.

XXXXXXXXXX

My cock began to swell unbearably and I felt it 
banging into her cervix.  I felt a rippling sensation 
begin to move out from my groin.  I was helpless to 
stop the inevitable, but I wanted this feeling to go 
on forever.  Her hands were brushing over my arms, my 
back and finally down to my ass, making the 
titillation of my whole body complete.  Her feelings 
of love and caring showed plainly in her eyes and 
surged through me like waves, building to my climax.  
I felt my balls pulsing and tingles racing up and 
down my spine.  

I cried out as my shaft stung with the force of my 
first ejaculation and I felt my balls turning 
themselves inside out as they pumped spurt after 
spurt deep inside of her.

XXXXXXXXXX END NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXXX

I collapsed on her and we cuddled and kissed for long 
minutes, waiting for my cock to deflate.  It still 
throbbed and I shuddered with the aftershocks.  I 
slid out carefully, hissing as the cold air hit the 
damp skin of my shaft.

Scully rolled me onto my back and straddled me, 
bringing her face down to mine.  "I love you, 
Mulder."

"I love you too, Scully."

"Are you okay?"  She knew I was scared by what had 
happened today, even though I'd anticipated it.

"Yeah, I am now."

She chuckled and pulled the covers over us, using me 
as a mattress.  I didn't mind.  I was more tired than 
I ever remembered being, though, and was asleep in 
minutes.  For the first time in a long time, I slept 
for eight hours.

XXXXXXXXXX
GERALD CRANSTON, PhD's OFFICE
AMERICAN UNIVERSITY
BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
MONDAY - 9:00 AM

"Have a seat, Agents.  God, I'm just sick over what 
happened.  I feel so guilty.  I mean, she was my 
student.  I was her mentor.  I should have seen the 
signs."

"You're sure it was suicide?" I asked gently.

His head snapped up.  "That's what I heard.  Why?  Is 
there evidence to the contrary?"

"No, we just wanted to get a feeling for who Rebecca 
was," I said.  "Agent Scully and I want to cover all 
the bases.  I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, of course."  He sat behind his desk and 
pointed to the man in the chair next to ours.  "This 
is my brother, Kurt."

Scully looked at him, nodding acknowledgement.  "Why 
are you here this morning, Mr. Cranston?"

He smiled, "Moral support."  He looked like he was a 
few years younger than Gerald Cranston, but was much 
better looking.  

"What do you do for a living?" she asked casually.

Gerald answered for him.  "He's a junior football 
coach over at Georgetown."  

I glanced at Curtis Cranston, taking in his interest 
in Scully.  He obviously worked out and his five 
foot-ten inch frame was in top condition.  He was 
only slightly bulkier than me.  His brown hair was 
neatly combed and parted on the side, short on the 
sides and long on the top with a wave that fell over 
his forehead.  He probably fancied himself a playboy.  
He was dressed in a blue polo shirt and pressed blue 
chinos.  He was exactly the type of guy that would 
have made me surge with jealousy just a few short 
months ago.

"Two brothers working at Universities in the same 
city," Scully said idly.  

Gerald chuckled.  "I always used to joke that he got 
the body, I got the brains."

We all laughed at his joke.  I turned my attention 
back to Dr. Cranston.  "So I understand you were 
conducting a study of five subjects on various 
schizophrenic medications."

"Who told you that?" he asked.

I raised my brows.  "Um, her roommate, Tracy, 
mentioned it, along with some other things," I 
hinted.

His face colored, but didn't become a full-blown 
blush.  "What are you implying?" he asked, now 
sounding peevish.

"I'm not implying anything.  I'm telling you that the 
more up front you are with us, the more you 
cooperate, the quicker we can get through this and 
find out what happened.  Nothing that isn't relevant 
to the case will be spoken of outside this room."

He laughed with a sarcastic tone now.  "Yeah, right."

"Gerry?" Kurt asked, clearly confused about this 
exchange.

He met my stare.  "Yes, I was sleeping with her.  I 
cared deeply for Rebecca."

"Jesus, Gerry!  She was 18 years old!" Kurt cried.

I held up a hand for silence.  "You two can duke out 
the morals of it later.  I'm not really concerned 
with that.  What I am concerned with is the fact that 
you probably know her better than anyone, other than 
her roommate."

He nodded.  "Rebecca was brilliant.  She had a 140 
IQ.  Did you know that?  She was very intuitive."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"She could read people.  It amazed me really.  She 
often caught things I missed, and I was supposed to 
be the expert."

"Things like what?  Can you give us an example?" 
Scully asked.

"Body language.  She was very good at reading body 
language.  I'd be sitting here going over the 
subject's weekly log of activities and asking them 
about them.  They would seem upset and teary.  I'd 
ask, 'Why are you sad about that?' and Rebecca would 
ask, 'Why are you angry about that?'.

"She could tell from the body language that he was 
angry, not sad, and the tears were a show.  It was 
amazing."  He sounded wistful.

"Did Rebecca have any problems in her personal life 
that didn't include you?  Something that might have 
made her depressed or angry or suicidal?" Scully 
asked.

"I can't think of anything, unless it was something 
to do with that idiot of a father she has."

"What about her father?" I asked.

"He's an idiot.  I mean that in the truest sense of 
the word, a real Neanderthal.  I have no idea how he 
produced a daughter as smart as Rebecca.  Her mother 
must be smart, despite her lack of education.  She 
was a sweet woman.  They both came here during mid-
semester break and Rebecca brought them here to meet 
me.  I think she wanted to impress them.  Needless to 
say, they were not impressed.  Maybe her mother was, 
she seemed proud of her.  All her father could do was 
snort and grunt."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Just comments like, 'What do you need all this fancy 
learnin' for?  You need a husband, not a bunch of 
textbooks.'  I try to avoid stereo-types, I truly do.  
However, this guy was a typical redneck, ignorant 
asshole."

"I take it he didn't like you much either?" I asked.

"No, I think he perceived me as the wicked professor 
that took his little girl away from home.  As though 
I was the one that induced her to go to college."

"And do you know who did induce her to go to 
college?" Scully asked.

"Rebecca.  She was a real self-starter, despite her 
circumstances.  She knew there was life beyond Macon, 
Georgia.  I applauded her courage, walking away from 
everything she'd ever known and everything that had 
been expected of her.  She wanted a better life.  She 
wanted to help people and use her brain."  He paused.  
"Now, of course, I wonder if she'd stayed in Georgia 
... she'd probably be alive."  Wetness pooled in his 
eyes and he looked at his blotter.  

"Playing the 'what-if' game can drive you crazy," 
Scully said gently.

He nodded and looked up at her.  "I know you probably 
don't understand.  But there was a deep emotional 
attachment between Rebecca and me.  I'm not sure if I 
was ready to commit.  I knew our relationship was 
wrong, unorthodox at best, but I loved her, Agent 
Scully.  Despite the difference in our ages, we got 
on famously.  She was old and wise for her years, and 
me, well, maybe I'm not as mature for my age as I 
would like to think."

I examined him while he talked.  He didn't have his 
brother's obviously athletic body, but he wasn't a 
dumpy professor either.  His dossier said he was 
forty-one years old.  He still had no gray hair, 
although it was receding slightly at the temples.  He 
had a very small pouch of stomach over his belt when 
he leaned forward, but would never be considered 
overweight or fat.  He could still be considered an 
attractive man, even to an eighteen year old girl.  I 
sensed no malice or evil in him.  Then again, I'd 
been wrong before.  If anyone knew that evil wore the 
face of an angel, it was me.

"Anything else, Scully?" I inquired.

"No.  I think we're done.  Thanks for your time, 
Professor Cranston.  If we think of anything, may we 
call you?"

"Of course," he said, standing when we did.  He took 
a couple of business card from the front of his desk 
and handed them to us.  "Call any time."

"Thank you," I said.  "If you think of anything, 
anything at all, please call us.  You never know what 
might be significant."

Kurt stood and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"  We 
nodded, waiting.  "What is the FBI doing 
investigating a suicide?"

Gerald Cranston looked uncomfortable with the 
question, but intrigued as well with what our answer 
might be.  Scully glanced at me, telling me to 
answer.  "We've had six suicides of young women in 
and around college campuses in D.C. in the last six 
months.  It seems like an unusually high rate of 
suicide.  The local police asked us to look into it 
and just make sure that these really are suicides."

"You suspect foul play?"

"We don't suspect anything.  We're just following 
their tracks and seeing if anything is missing."

Kurt nodded but was clearly not really satisfied with 
the answer.  Apparently, he decided not to push it.  
"Well, good day then," he said.

We nodded and left, not saying anything until we 
reached the car.  

XXXXXXXXXX

"Was that the office you saw in your vision?" I 
asked.

"Yes, I think so, but it's hard to tell.  The vision 
was dark."

"What did you think, Scully?" I asked.

"I'm not sure.  He didn't strike me as particularly 
shrewd or violent or even angry over her death," she 
replied.

"That may be what bothers me.  Shouldn't he be?"

"Angry that she killed herself and he knew nothing 
about it?" she asked.

"Yeah, or that she didn't tell him she was in 
trouble.  I mean he did display some signs of grief 
but not what I would expect from a lover."

"I don't know, Mulder.  It's only been a day.  It may 
not have really hit him yet that she's gone.  We all 
handle grief in our own ways.  Plus, he wouldn't want 
to break down in front of us.  He was clearly 
fighting tears there a few times."

"Yeah, maybe I'm reading into it.  Well, time to go 
find Frank."


XXXXXXXXXX
PART 5 (PG-13)
FRANK AMBER'S HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.

Fort Carroll neighborhood in the Southeast section of 
D.C. wasn't a war zone yet, but it wasn't the nicest 
section either.  Drugs were prevalent on the streets, 
and kids hung out on corners.  Prostitution for money 
or drugs was not unusual.  By day, however, it 
appeared only slightly substandard from your average 
suburb.

Lawns were a little too unkempt.  Broken down 
vehicles littered the backyards and sometimes the 
curbs, missing tires or hubcaps.

The small ranch house tucked between two apartment 
buildings on Martin Luther King Street seemed out of 
place.  The lawn was mowed, if a little dry.  There 
was a late model green Cadillac in the driveway.  No 
stray garden implements or other debris littered the 
yard.

I rang the bell and a small woman, standing no more 
than five feet tall answered the door enough to peer 
beyond her chain lock.  She was stooped over and 
peered up at us with green cloudy eyes that indicated 
untreated cataracts.  "Hello Ma'am, we're looking for 
Frank Amber," I said.

"Who are you?" she asked, eyeballing our attire.

"FBI agents, ma'am, I'm Agent Mulder and this is my 
partner, Dana Scully."

"What do you want with my Frank?"

"Are you his mother, ma'am?" I asked politely.

"I reckon."

"We just want to ask him a few questions.  Someone on 
campus committed suicide, ma'am, and we believe Frank 
knew her, so we just want to check it out."

"Oh, okay.  Wait.  Got any I.D.?"

Scully smiled and we pulled out our badges, handing 
them through the crack in the door.  She took her 
time studying them and I wondered if she could see 
them at all.  Finally she handed them back out and 
closed the door.  We heard the whisk of the chain 
being removed.  

The door opened and she stepped back, gesturing us 
inside.  "Frank isn't here, but he should be home in 
a about a half an hour."

"He comes home for lunch?" Scully asked.

"Yes.  He works over at the Fort Dupont School as a 
janitor.  It's only part-time, but at least it's some 
money to help out.  Have a seat," she offered, waving 
at the afghan-covered sofa along one wall.  

We sat down and she sat in an overstuffed faded 
maroon chair that seemed to swallow up her bird-like 
body.  "So one of Frank's friends killed himself?"

"Not exactly," Scully replied.  "Frank is involved in 
a study over at American University.  Are you aware 
of that?"

"Yes.  I'm on a fixed income and my Frank has only 
part-time work.  We don't have insurance for him so 
it's a problem getting his medications."

"Right, so he was trying out something new that 
University offered in exchange for being able to 
monitor his progress, right?"

"That's what I understand."  I realized this woman 
was not senile or slow.  She looked faded, but she 
was sharp as a tack.

I continued, "The Professor running the study had an 
assistant, Rebecca Foster."

"Never heard of her."

"Well, probably because the Professor was running the 
study.  Rebecca was a student assistant, and all the 
subjects in the study agreed to let her sit in on the 
sessions and ask questions and learn from Professor 
Cranston's study."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"It looks like she killed herself sometime Saturday 
night."

"Oh dear.  That's sad.  She was a student?  How old 
was she?"

"Eighteen, ma'am," I said.

She sighed.  "That's awful but I don't see how my 
Frank can help."

"Well, we're just covering the bases.  He knew her 
from his sessions with Dr. Cranston and I wanted to 
see if he ever got the idea that she was depressed or 
if they ever talked privately.  We're trying to get a 
feel for Rebecca."

"Why is the FBI investigating?"

I thought fast.  "Well, the study was being done with 
government grants, and so the government doesn't like 
it when things go wrong."

"And their money is involved," the woman said, 
snorting.  "Figures.  Always about the damn money, 
isn't it?"

I smiled.  "Yes, ma'am.  Unfortunately.  Since the 
continuation of the project hinges on the government 
grant, we want to make sure they aren't doing 
anything wrong."

"I see," she said.

A screen door slammed at the rear of the house and a 
deep male voice shouted, "Mama, I'm home."

"Frank, we have guests," she shouted.

He sauntered into the room, holding a dishtowel, 
wiping his hands.  "Hello."

We stood and introduced ourselves.  "We'd like to ask 
you a few questions."

"About Rebecca?"

"You knew her?" his mother asked.

"Yeah, mama.  She sat in on my sessions."

He was a tall man, about six feet.  He had broad 
shoulders and a good figure.  His hair was jet black 
and he was wearing nondescript brown coveralls over 
an orange tee shirt that was smudged with dirt.  His 
eyes were a striking shade of clear light green.

"Let me change my clothes, I'll be right back."

He disappeared and reappeared wearing worn jeans and 
a clean white tee shirt that hugged his developed 
chest and abdomen.  'He could easily take a woman 
down,' I thought.

We sat again, and he pulled a straight back chair 
from the corner, flipped it backwards and straddled 
the seat.

"Francis Miller!  How many times do I have to tell 
you not to sit on that chair that way?"

He shrugged sheepishly at her and stood, turning the 
chair around and sitting correctly, his hands on his 
knees.  He winked at Scully and I went instantly on 
the alert, leaning forward into his line of sight.

"Mr. Amber.  This is serious.  Rebecca killed herself 
last night."

He looked at me calmly.  "Yes, I know.  It's 
splattered all over the morning papers."

'Splattered' was an interesting choice of words. 

"What can you tell us about your relationship with 
Rebecca?" Scully asked.

"Nothing.  I didn't have one.  She sat in on the 
sessions, asked a question now and then, took notes 
like a demon."

"Did you ever meet with her alone?"

"No."

"Did she ever mention any personal problems or try to 
relate to you as a patient?" I asked.

"Subject, not a patient."

"Excuse me, subject."

"They made a point of that, not calling us patients.  
Wanted us to think we were 'normal'," he emphasized, 
making quotation marks with his fingers in the air.

I always hated it when people did that.  "And do you 
think you're normal, Mr. Amber?" Scully asked.

His gaze shifted to her and went up and down her 
body.  I gritted my teeth.  "Sometimes, darlin'.  
Other times I'm a little off the beam, that's why I 
need those keen little blue pills."

"Excuse me, Mr. Amber.  You will address my partner 
with respect," I said, an edge in my voice.

He smirked at me, clearly amused.  His eyes flitted 
to my knee as Scully brushed it lightly and said, 
"Mulder, don't worry about it."

"So you don't know much about Rebecca?" I asked, 
trying to get back on track.

"Only what I saw," he said.

"Which was what?" I asked.

"She had a great set of tits."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Well, wasn't he just charming," I said sarcastically 
after we got into the car.

Scully chuckled.  "Subtlety isn't his game, that's 
for sure."

"I wanted to deck him."

"Don't let that get in the way of your personal 
judgment," she admonished.

"I didn't like him.  He said Rebecca's suicide was 
'splattered' all over the papers, and she took notes 
like a 'demon'."

"That could be totally innocent."

"I don't think so.  Those are not adjectives normal 
people use.  I think he's too clever by half, and 
very arrogant.  He wasn't even a little intimidated 
by our presence.  Didn't you find that weird?"

"Maybe.  He's probably been persecuted because of his 
mental illness for a large portion of his life.  
Judging by the look of him, he doesn't intimate 
easily.  The bravado is probably a defense 
mechanism."

"Is that your official opinion, Dr. Scully?" I asked, 
sounding more sarcastic than I meant to.

"What's wrong, Mulder?"

"Sorry, I don't mean to sound testy."

"Testy doesn't cover it.  He was a jerk for sure, but 
this guy really rubbed you the wrong way."

"Yeah, he did."

"Why?"

"I don't know.  If I figure it out, I'll let you 
know."

XXXXXXXXXX
JOHN FREEMAN'S APARTMENT
ALEXANDER GARDEN APARTMENTS
1615 17th Street SE
APARTMENT 253
WASHINGTON, D.C.

Next stop was Alexander Garden Apartments where John 
Freeman, the other 'subject' that worried Rebecca was 
residing.

We knocked and got no answer.  After finding the 
landlord in a first floor apartment we asked about 
John Freeman.  "Apartment 253?  There ain't nobody in 
there now," he declared.

"Was there someone living there recently?"

"Yeah, moved out about a week ago.  His name was 
James Focar, though."

"Can we take a look in there?"

He agreed, never even asking for I.D. or what we were 
investigating.  One of those that didn't want to get 
involved, I assumed.  At least he was being 
cooperative.  It saved me from having to come up with 
another lie.

He opened the door and swung it open.  We went in, 
eyeing the dusty floors.  The place was devoid of 
furniture.  Obviously, these didn't come furnished.  
He closed the door behind us and retreated to the 
first floor.

"Not a curious guy," Scully commented.

"Nope, probably rents to drug dealers and the like 
and doesn't want to know what goes on behind closed 
doors.  Better for his health that way."

We walked through the place finding nothing until we 
came to a closet in the bedroom.  I opened it and at 
first glance, it looked empty.  Then I saw a piece of 
paper on the floor in the corner.  I picked it up.  
It was about a quarter sheet of thick paper, and 
there was some kind of watermark I couldn't make out.

The ink had run but I could read it.  "Scully!" I 
hollered.

She left the bathroom and peered over my arm at the 
note.  

"R. Foster - (202) 555-1246."

"Bingo," I whispered.

XXXXXXXXXX
THIRD PRECINCT
DETECTIVE BUREAU
WASHINGTON, D.C.

We met with Sheila Tasker and her partner, Jeff to go 
over what we had so far.  

"I didn't like Frank Amber.  He rubbed me wrong but I 
don't have anything concrete on him, other than he 
was an arrogant, little prick."

Sheila laughed.  Scully didn't, giving me an 
exasperated look.  She continued our story.  "Then we 
have John Freeman a/k/a James Focar, not being where 
he said he was on his University papers."

"Something is bugging me," I said, and I can't put my 
finger on it.

Sheila said.  "If we've got a rabbit, I'd guess this 
is our guy.  Why would he run otherwise, or change 
addresses without telling anyone."

"Holy shit!" I shouted as it finally clicked into 
place.

"What?" Sheila and Scully asked at the same time.

"The victim before Rebecca, what was her last name?"

All the color drained from her face.  "Oh shit, it 
was Danielle Focar," Shelia said.

Scully blew air out of her pursed lips.  "You've got 
something there, Mulder."

"Our guy is killing them, moving and using his 
victim's last name.  God, that's fucking bold."

"If it checks out," Scully reminded me.  "He could 
have been a relative."

"I doubt it.  We need to start checking.  What were 
the other victims' names, in order?"

"Sheila consulted her notes.  First, was Jennifer 
Modine, second was Catherine Aikens, third was Hanna 
Hopkins, fourth was Christine Grossman, and the fifth 
was Danielle Focar."

I nodded.  "Sheila, you have to start searching for 
rentals in D.C. under those names in the last six 
months.  Most particularly, if the pattern emerges 
and I'm right, he just rented somewhere under the 
name of Foster.  If we can find out where, we can 
nail him."

Scully frowned.  "We still don't know that these are 
murders."

"Yes, we do," I said.  "If we find him, we'll find 
the evidence."

"I'm on it," Sheila declared.  She turned on her heel 
and left the room.

Jeff asked, "Anything you want me to do?"

I was surprised.  "Can't think of anything, except 
helping Shiela run down those rentals."

"Will do," he said.  Agreeable guy, that one.

XXXXXXXXXX
HOOVER BUILDING
BASEMENT OFFICE
WASHINGTON, D.C.

"Oh shit," I mumbled and fell backwards into my seat.  
It creaked and rolled backwards until it hit the 
wall.  I gripped the armrests in a death grip.

My body shuddered and broke out in goose bumps.  I 
looked up at the door.  A young woman stood there, 
indistinct around the edges, but clear.  Her lips 
were moving and I struggled to read them.

'Stop it!' I told myself.  'Don't read her lips.  
Hear her!'

I closed my eyes for a second and focused on my ears.  
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, feeling my 
ears pop.

"Mulder ... look into ... Cran ... subj," she said, only 
half of her words filtering through.

"I can't hear you!" I cried out.

She shook her head, clearly frustrated.

She seemed to quiver and then shouted, "Not subject!"

Then she was gone.  I closed my eyes, feeling a wave 
of nausea.  When I opened them she was gone and my 
lunch was coming back up.  I grabbed the wastebasket 
and began vomiting up my tuna on rye.  I made a 
mental note to ask the janitorial people to start 
using plastic liners in our office trash.

This is the way Scully found me when she returned 
from the bathroom.  "Jesus, Mulder!  What happened?"

She got me paper towels and glass of water to rinse 
my mouth out with.  Then she took the wastebasket to 
the bathroom to clean it out.  

She returned and I was still slouched in my chair.  
"Which victim was brunette?" I asked.

She went to her desk and opened her copies of the 
files Sheila had given us.  "Jennifer Modine and 
Hanna Hopkins," she answered.  "They both were."

"It was one of them."

"What did you see?"

"Her trying to talk to me.  I was only catching 
single words and parts of other words, '... der ... look 
into ... Cran ... subj ...,' then she blurted at the end, 
'Not subject!'"

"She was trying to tell you the killer wasn't one of 
the subjects of the experiments?"

"I don't know, that's my best guess."

"What about the parts you didn't hear completely?"

"I was half hearing, half trying to read her lips.  I 
think she said look into Cranston, but I can't be 
sure.  That's cryptic.  She could mean his patient 
files, his notes, his academic career."

"We haven't done a thorough background check on him."

"No we haven't, but I think we should."

"I'll call Jeff and ask him to do it.  He seemed to 
want something to do that wasn't dogging Sheila's 
footsteps."

"Good idea.  Tell him to go back as far as he can go.  
Maybe the good professor isn't so good after all."



XXXXXXXXXX
PART 6 (R)
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
TUESDAY EVENING

"Anything?" I asked, when I answered my cell phone, 
not even bothering with a greeting.

"Hello to you too," Sheila greeted me.

"Sorry, I'm a little on edge."

"I never would have noticed.  My partner did your 
background check."

"And?"

"Gerald Cranston is clean as a whistle.  Made his way 
up the ladder the hard way, if not the fast way and 
has tenure as professor.  Did his undergrad at 
U.C.L.A, and his post grad at Georgetown.  Did an 
internship with Georgetown, a residency with Mid-
State Medical and then on to professor at American 
University.  Has published in various psychiatric 
magazines and journals."

"Publish or perish," I mumbled.

"Apparently.  Childhood in Richmond, Virginia was 
unremarkable."

"So you found nothing."

"I didn't say that."

"Get to the point!" I said, louder than I meant to.  
I sighed.  "Sorry, Sheila."

"Forget it.  Gerald is clean.  However, Jeffrey got 
ambitious and decided to check out the rest of the 
family."

"Parents and his brother."

"That's the interesting thing.  He doesn't have a 
brother."

"What?"

"Gerald Cranston does not have a brother.  Jeff was 
looking at the copies of your notes that mentioned 
the brother sitting on the interview.  He figured, 
'why not?', ran his name, nothing.  He went back to 
the parents and the high school records, even checked 
with the town clerk in Richmond.  No birth 
certificate for Kurt Cranston."

"How is that possible?  They'd have to know it was 
easy to check."

"I'm still working on it."

"What are thinking?"

"Adopted?"

"Could be, would still be records, school records, 
college transcripts, something."

"One would think.  That's my next move."

"Should I talk to Cranston?"

"Hold off.  Let's have as much information as we can 
before we confront him.  And when you do, I want to 
be there, Agent Mulder."

"I promise not to leave you out."

"Yeah right."

"I promise.  Just do that digging."

"I'm on it," she said with her customary sign off, 
and hung up the phone.

I turned to Scully and explained everything they had 
found.  "Well, we can't talk to him yet.  We don't 
want to scare old Kurt off.  However, we could stake 
him out," she said.

I groaned.  "I'm really not up for a stake out."

She smiled.  "Well, then let's see what we can find 
on our own about Kurt Cranston.  What?  You look 
disappointed or something."

"I don't know why.  I guess I was really hoping it 
was Amber."

"Mulder," she said with exaggerated patience.  "You 
have to let go of Frank Amber.  If he's guilty, we'll 
get him.  However, he may be guilty of being nothing 
more than a lech."

"I hate it when people disrespect you," I said, 
knowing it sounded lame.

She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair.  
"I know you do, but I can handle it."

"I know, doesn't mean I don't want to knock his 
lights out."

"My very own caveman," she said affectionately.  Then 
she kissed me and I forgot all about Frank Amber, 
Kurt Cranston, and the rest of the world.

XXXXXXXXXX

I followed her docilely into the bedroom and we 
slowly stripped off our clothes.  I kissed her until 
I couldn't breathe and then moved her to the bed, 
following her down and squishing her into the 
mattress.

There was no urgency tonight, just a sense that I 
needed to connect with her.  She stiffened under me 
and I pulled back, smiling, thinking it was in 
reaction to me pinching her nipple. 

One look at her face and I knew that wasn't it.  I 
rolled off her quickly and grabbed her hands.  
"Scully?  Can you hear me?"

"Another file, Mulder.  It's Cranston's office again.  
Oh Jesus."

"What?"

"He's thinking about what he wants her to do.  She's 
a bitch, they're all bitches."

"Don't go into his head, Scully.  What do you see?  
Does he have a folder?"

"Yes, for Grazianna.  This one's dark, sexy, big 
tits."

"Scully, don't worry about what he's thinking.  
What's the last name on the folder, Scully?"

"Um, I can't see it, he's looking through the 
papers."

"Look for the tab, Scully.  Name.  Focus, last name, 
Scully."

She shuddered and went pale.  "Oh shit, he's got an 
erection."

"Forget that!" I shouted.  "The folder!"

"Oh Gaawwwddd, he wants to rape this one first."

"Scully!  Pull away!"

"He's closing the folder.  He heard something."

"What's the NAME?"

Her face crumpled, "I can't see it!"

"Okay, okay, that's okay.  Pull out, Scully.  Walk 
away from him.  Come on, stay with me."

She jerked and mashed her eyes closed tightly.  Then 
she heaved with a couple of deep breaths and went 
still.  "Oh shit," she mumbled, and grabbed her head.

"Scully?  You okay?"

She grunted and opened her eyes just a tiny bit.  
"Aspirin.  I'm sorry, Mulder.  I couldn't see the 
last name."

"It's okay.  We'll figure it out.  We got the first 
one and it's not a common name.  How many Graziella's 
can there be?"

"You'd be surprised," she said dispiritedly.

"Let me get you the aspirin."

"Ibuprofen this time."

"Okay."  I left her and went to the kitchen, my plans 
of making love shot to hell.  Oh well, this was going 
to happen from time to time.  There was no time to 
rest though.  If this went like last time, we only 
had tonight to find Graziella.

I returned to the bedroom with Ibuprofen and a glass of 
water.  Scully gulped them down and her eyelids 
fluttered.  "I'm so sorry, Mulder."

I patted her hair.  "Shhh, don't worry about it.  
I'll ravish you later."

She huffed with amusement.  "Sorry."

"Stop it.  Sleep now.  I have to try to find 
Graziella."

"I should go with you."

"No, you need to sleep.  I'll call Sheila.  I 
promised her that I wouldn't leave her out of 
anything."

"Okay.  Sorry."

"Shhh, sleep.  Nothing to be sorry about."

XXXXXXXXXX

I called Sheila immediately giving her the name.  She 
called American University for a student list and 
found Graziella with a surprising lack of difficulty.

Graziella Cipriano lived in Merriman Hall, one of the 
dormitories for seniors.  She was 21, older than the 
other victims, but still young and vivacious.  Sheila 
informed campus police to get to her room 
immediately.  Make sure she was okay and then wait 
for us to get there and to not leave the girl alone.

As I sped toward the campus, my cell phone rang.  
Something told me it wasn't going to be good news.

"It's Sheila.  Campus security just called.  She's 
not in her room.  Her roommate Celia said she went 
out to a bar, The Fancy Parrott, tonight.  She was 
meeting a new boyfriend, someone that had just asked 
her out recently.

"Shit, I'm on my way.  Where is the Parrot?  Is that 
the one on K Street?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way there too.  I'm calling them 
next and seeing if they can search the bar for her."

"Campus hangout?"

"Yeah.  I never went on Tuesday nights, did you?"

I laughed.  "It's college, they can do that and get 
away with it."

"Oh, those were the days.  I'm on it."

I was growing fond of Sheila but I bet Jeff was ready 
to kill her every time she said, "I'm on it."

XXXXXXXXXX

I squealed tires pulling into the parking lot of the 
Fancy Parrott.  I saw Sheila's beige unmarked car 
parked at the curb.  I rushed inside and spotted her 
talking to the bartender.

It was busy but not overly crowded which was good.  
The bartender was pointing to a girl in a booth along 
the wall to the right.  I followed his finger and 
spotted two girls.  One was dark with black hair and 
olive skin.  The other was blonde, and although dyed, 
she had a light complexion like Scully's.  I figured 
the olive skinned girl was probably Graziella.

I headed straight for her, waving to Sheila as she 
spotted me crossing the floor.  She hurried after me.

I stopped at the booth and the girls looked up at me.  
"Hello, girls."

"Well, hello there to you too," the blonde said, 
obviously flirting.

Sheila arrived at my side, wearing her customary dark 
blue pantsuit and the smile slid off the girl's face.  
I turned to the other girl.  "Are you Graziella 
Cipriano?"

"Yes, who are you?"

I saw the blonde frown and sigh.  Sheila remarked, 
"She gets all the good ones, huh?"

The blonde nodded and Sheila laughed.  I actually 
felt myself start to blush.  Instead, I pulled out my 
I.D. and flashed the billfold at Graziella.  "I'm 
Special Agent Fox Mulder.  This is Detective Tasker 
of the D.C. police department."

Now the girls looked alarmed.  "What's going on?" 
Graziella asked.

"Are you here to meet someone?"

She hesitated.  "Um, sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"He's a guy I met at the Starbuck's near campus.  He 
said he would meet me here an hour ago.  He hasn't 
shown up, so I'm not holding out a lot of hope."

"Can you describe him for me?"

"Um, yeah, tall, about five feet, ten inches tall.  
Brown hair, well built.  Not a body builder, but 
really nice cut, you know?"

"Yeah," I said ruefully, and the blonde laughed.

"Did he give you a name?"

She nodded as if to say she wasn't that stupid.  "He 
said his name was Josh Foster."

"Bingo," Sheila said, echoing my earlier sentiments 
when I'd found the note in John Freeman a/k/a James 
Focar's apartment.  Apparently, our lover boy was now 
going by the name Josh Foster.

I looked at Sheila.  "Run that name with the 
rentals."

"I'm on it," she said, turning away and pulling her 
cell phone out.

"What is this about?"

"I'm sorry.  I don't want to frighten you, but we 
have reason to believe that your life is in danger."

"My life?  What?  I think you better explain 
yourself."

Sheila looked at me over her shoulder as I slid into 
the booth next to the blonde, pocketing my billfold.  
She said, "I'm keeping my eye out."

"Good," I said to her and turned back to face 
Graziella.  "Graziella," I began.

"Gracey.  That's what all my friends call me.  You 
say Graziella, I think my mother's calling me."

I smiled congenially.  "Okay, Gracey.  Have you heard 
about the six girls in the last six months that have 
committed suicide?"

"Yes, it's been all over the papers, and the campus 
publications as well.  It's awful."

"We're not sure they are suicides," I said, deciding 
to shoot straight with her.  If she was afraid, she 
would be careful.

"What do you mean?  They all had self-inflicted 
wounds."

"I know, we're not sure how he does it, but we think 
someone is getting these girls to hurt themselves 
voluntarily."

She scrunched her brows together.  I was trying very 
hard not to focus on her big breasts pressing against 
the lycra material of her white shirt that was tucked 
into a micro-mini skirt.  What a pig I was.  I didn't 
want anyone but Scully.  Then again, I wondered how 
these young girls could complain about being hit on 
when they dressed like this.

I jumped as I felt the blonde's nails scratch lightly 
down my thigh.  She cackled like it was the funniest 
thing she'd ever seen.  I gave her my interrogator 
look and said simply, "Don't."

She backed away from me, pressing her back to the 
wall of the booth.  "Well, you don't have to be a 
spoiled sport about it."

I stared at her for another moment.  "Just don't."

I turned back to Gracey, considering whether to stand 
up and get away from the little tart.  Gracey was 
looking troubled.  "And you think this guy I was 
going to meet is the one mysteriously making girls 
hurt themselves?"

"Yes.  He seems to prey on young girls with some sort 
of fear that has driven them into therapy."

She perked up at that, her eyes going wide.  
"Therapy?"

"Yes, are you in therapy?"

The blonde eyed her suspiciously.  "Yes, I am."

"With a local doctor?" I asked, avoiding the word 
psychiatrist.

"Sort of.  One of the professors on campus takes 
patients on the side.  He does his teaching and his 
research, but he volunteers to counsel students from 
campus who can't afford a doctor and need more than a 
guidance or occupational counselor."

"You're in therapy?" the blonde said with derision.

I looked at her.  "Knock it off, all right, or I'll 
ask you to leave."

"Well, excuse me," she said petulantly. 

I stood up and waved her out.  She actually had the 
gall to look surprised.  "No way!"

"Yes, way.  Out!  Beat it.  Scram."

She looked like she would refuse for a second, but 
then grabbed her windbreaker that was balled up on 
the seat next to her, and slung her long strapped 
purse over her shoulder, shimmying out of the booth.  
She made a disgusted sound with her tongue and then 
walked away toward the other side of the room.  I sat 
back down and met Gracey's eyes.  "I should thank you 
for that.  She's a bitch," she said casually.

I smiled.  "Screw her.  You don't need friends like 
that."

"You ever been in therapy?"

"More times than I care to count," I admitted.

She smiled.  "Guess in your job, it might be 
necessary, huh?"

"More than you know.  Anyway, back to you.  Do you 
mind sharing with me the reason you are in therapy?"
 
"I'm acrophobic."

"Fear of heights?"

"Yeah, doesn't sound like a huge thing, but it can 
be."

"Yes, it can."

"I couldn't even go on the second story of a 
building, even if I couldn't see out.  I couldn't 
ride an elevator, nothing."

"Are you better now?"

"Yeah, I can ride elevators, and generally, if I 
can't see out and down, I'm all right.  I've come a 
long way.  I still have a ground floor dorm room 
though."

"Understandable."

"Why are you asking about my therapy?"

"We think that's how he gets them.  Makes them panic 
somehow over whatever their fear is and they kill 
themselves."

"Like in an anxiety attack?"

"That's one theory."

"Can you tell me how these other girls died?"

I debated and then decided it couldn't hurt.  I 
didn't want to give the girl nightmares, but I didn't 
want her dead either.  "One girl was afraid of water, 
she drowned in her own bathtub."

"Yuck, that's weird."

"Another was afraid of highways for some reason.  She 
died in a high speed car crash on an overpass."

"I'm getting the picture."

"This last one died by stabbing herself in the guts."

"Oh my God!  What was she afraid of?"

"She had a strong fear of knives.  I guess her father 
used to threaten her with them when she was a kid."

"That's barbaric.  God, so what's the connection?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's usually a connection between the 
victims, right?"

"Yes, they are all college age girls in therapy."

"With different doctors?" she asked, trying to puzzle 
it out for herself.

"That's the thing.  We didn't come up with therapy 
angle till after the first three died.  The first 
four went to a doctor named Dr. Carl Goutten.  The 
last two were students at American and went to Dr. 
Cranston."

"Oh God!  You don't think Dr. Cranston did this?"

"Why do you say that?"

"He couldn't!  He's such a nice man.  Mild-mannered, 
soft-spoken.  He's a peach."

I just looked at her.  "We don't formally suspect him 
at this time."

"Listen to me," she said off-handedly.

"What's that?"

"Well, when someone rapes or murders, you always hear 
the neighbors on the news saying, "He was such a nice 
man!"

I chuckled.  "Unfortunately, evil doesn't always look 
like the devil."

"Ain't that the truth."

Sheila tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the 
door.  I stood up quickly, blocking the end of the 
booth where Gracey sat.  "Gracey, is that him?"

She peered around me and looked toward the door.  
"Yup, that's him, Josh Foster.  But you don't think 
it's Josh, do you?"

"Stay here, don't move for any reason."

Sheila took up my post while I headed for Kurt 
Cranston.  He was idly looking around the bar, trying 
to spot his quarry I assumed.  I snuck up behind him 
and tapped him on the shoulder.  He whipped around 
like he'd been struck.  "Fancy meeting you here," I 
said casually.

He looked panicked for a second but then calmed, his 
eyes going blank.  "Oh hi, how are you?"

"Good.  Are you alone?"

"Um, yeah.  Actually, I was supposed to meet 
someone."

"Really, who's that?"

"That's really none of your business, Agent Mulder," 
he said, trying the persnickety tactic on me.

"Oh, I think it is.  I've just had a nice little chat 
with Graziella Cipriano," I informed him.

His eyes got big and he said, "How did you know I was 
meeting Gracey?"

"She's a little young for you, don't you think?"

He scowled.  "Like Rebecca was too young for my 
brother?"

"Run in the family, does it?  A taste for young 
girls."

"I don't like what you're implying."

"I don't either, Josh -- Foster."

Now he panicked.  "I don't have anything to say to 
you."  He turned and bolted for the door.  I was 
after him in flash, crashing out the front door. 

He hopped into a cab.  Sheila was out the door behind 
me and raced to her car on the curb.  "Get in!" she 
shouted.

I heard the locks pop and I vaulted into the 
passenger seat.  She peeled out from the curb and 
followed the cab, which was now picking up speed.  We 
followed it through several turns.  Finally, she 
pulled the cherry light out from the door pouch and 
stuck it on the roof, turning on the light and 
hitting the siren switch on the dash of the car.  
"Fuck it," she said.  

Instead of pulling over, the cab sped up.  She picked 
up her radio and said, "10-80, following a cab 
containing murder suspect, heading northwest.  He 
just turned onto Connecticut Avenue."

The radio cackled.  "10-4 on your 10-80, I'll try to 
intercept at Woodrow Wilson."

She threw the radio mic on the seat and sped up, 
keeping on his tail.  At Woodrow Wilson House, a 
black and white streaked across the intersection, and 
the cab turned a hard left, squealing tires and 
popping a hubcap.  We gave chase, and the black and 
white followed. 

Another black and white crossed the intersection 
ahead of us and stopped dead center.  The cab 
streaked toward the intersection, turning at the last 
minute and sliding its ass end around as it took off 
to the right.  The black and white hit the gas and 
rammed the driver side rear.  The cab spun out and 
came to a rocking halt against the curb, facing the 
wrong way.  

We jumped out along with four officers from the other 
two cruisers.  Weapon drawn, I ran toward the car.  
"Hands where I can see them!  Get out of the car!  
Get out of the car!"

The cab driver opened the door and practically fell 
out of the cab, prostrating himself.  He was sobbing 
and had his hands protecting his head.  

"You dumb fuck!" I heard Cranston yell.  The rear 
window shattered from a gunshot.

I shouted, "Armed!  He's armed.  Cranston, it's over.  
Drop the gun and get out of the car with your hands 
in the air."

The door opened slowly.  I kept myself back and to the 
left of the rear door.  The other officers had 
surrounded the car.  

Cranston's left hand appeared out of the door.  "I'm 
coming out," he said.

"Okay, both hands up and out first," Sheila yelled.
 
Instead, I saw his legs emerge and he stood up and 
out quickly, his right arm swinging up and holding a 
pistol.

He was aimed right for Sheila.  He squeezed the 
trigger as she did a flying leap into the grass past 
the sidewalk.  I heard her yelp, and squeezed my own 
trigger, catching him in the arm.  

He bellowed and dropped the gun.  "Mother fucker!"

"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!  I'M NOT TELLING YOU 
AGAIN, CRANSTON.  DOWN!  SPREAD EAGLE!"

He fell to his knees and acted like he was going to 
obey.  At the last second, he lunged for the gun, 
managing to grab it with his left hand.  I fired into 
his rib cage.

He looked up with a look of surprise on his face and 
then passed out.  "Call 911!" I shouted, and ran to 
Sheila instead.  She was sitting behind me on the 
grass, holding her shoulder.  "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, he just grazed my shoulder.  Hurts like a 
mother fucker and it looks bad, but the bullet didn't 
go in."

"We're getting an ambulance."

One of the uniforms came over.  "You're FBI, aren't 
you?"

"Yeah."

"What do you want us to do?"

"One of you help that cab driver.  See that he gets 
medical attention.  He was scared out of his mind.  
We need an ambulance for Officer Tasker and a 
separate one for the man with the gun."

"You didn't kill him?"

"I don't think so.  I hope not."

"Who is he?"

"Kurt Cranston a/k/a John Freeman, a/k/a James Focar 
a/k/a Josh Foster," I recited.

The guy held up his hand.  "I get the picture.  I'm 
Conrad Mahoney."

"Can you take care of this mess, Mahoney, until we get 
things squared away?"

"Sure.  I'll put a man on Cranston aka, until you 
tell us different."

The ambulances arrived and took everyone away.  I 
drove Sheila's unmarked to the hospital.  

XXXXXXXXXX

GEORGETOWN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
GEORGETOWN, D.C.

When I walked in Bishop, Miranda, Bonnie, and Scully 
were all waiting for me in the Emergency Room.  
"Fancy meeting you here," I said.

Scully stood up and ran to me.  "Mulder!  Are you 
bleeding?"

I looked down and noticed the blood on my dress shirt 
for the first time.  I hadn't bothered with a jacket.  
"No, it's Sheila's."

"Oh, thank God.  Not that Sheila got hurt, but that 
you aren't," she quickly qualified.

"I know what you meant.  I'll be back in a second."

I went to the nurse's station and showed my I.D.  I 
asked where each of them were.  I went to see the cab 
driver first.

He told me the man had held him at gunpoint as soon 
as he saw us following and instructed him to drive.  
He'd had no choice.  I told him I understood and he 
wasn't in any trouble.  We were just glad he was all 
right.  He seemed more embarrassed by the fact that 
he'd pissed his pants than he was frightened about 
having had a gun to his head.  I took his name, 
address and phone number for the record and left him 
alone.  He said his wife was on the way to the 
hospital.



XXXXXXXXXX
PART 7 (NC-17)
THIRD PRECINCT
DETECTIVE BUREAU
WASHINGTON, D.C.
TWO WEEKS LATER

We sat in the interview room waiting for Sheila.  She 
entered a few minutes later wearing a sling on her 
arm.  "Howdy, folks."

"Hi, how are you feeling?" Scully asked.

"Pretty good.  They tell me I can ditch this thing in 
another couple of days."

"So do you need more from us?" I asked.

"Not really.  After digging, come to find out, Kurt 
Cranston is adopted.  Here's where it gets confusing.

"Gerry and Kurt's father was married to a gal named 
Christa Windsor.  Christa couldn't have children.  So 
they adopted Kurt.  Then the marriage went bad.  They 
divorced and the father, Carlton Cranston married 
Julie Best.  They had Gerald.  Meantime, Christa and 
Kurt had moved to Chicago, which is were her family 
hails from and she takes back her maiden name, 
changing his too.  So Gerald didn't know about Kurt 
or the previous marriage until he was a teenager.  
For some reason the parents felt they needed to keep 
it from him.  Apparently Christa and Carlton were not 
on speaking terms.

"Anyway, Gerry decides to look up Kurt, and against 
the protests of the parents, the two meet and get to 
know each other.  They stay friends, corresponding 
until college and then both come to D.C.  Gerry went 
to Georgetown, Kurt went to American.  Ironic, huh?  
Kurt wasn't a great student, but he passed, got a 
bachelor's in English.  Got through mostly on his 
football scholarship.  Then he gets the job as coach 
of the junior football league over at Georgetown.  
These are the guys that don't make the cut for the 
big college ball.  It suits him, he stays.  Gerry 
finishes and gets a job at American, thereby staying 
close to his brother."

"This still doesn't match.  What about the names?"

"Kurt turns 18 and changes his name back to Cranston.  
Really pisses off the mother.  We dig deeper and find 
out that the mother was verbally abusive, always 
telling Kurt he was the reason Carlton left, because 
he was so bad.  Told him he was an ugly little 
bastard."

"Nice," Scully murmured.

"Yeah, well, seems he didn't believe her once he got 
to college and got all that attention.  Aging didn't 
hurt him much and he developed a taste for young 
girls.  Of course, most of them would be flattered so 
it was easy to pick them up.  Then they would find 
out he likes rough sex and dump him.  This goes on 
for a while, and then he starts figuring he needs to 
waste the ones that dump him.  That's what happened 
with the first four."

"And the last two and Graziella?"

"Well, the last two flat out turned him down.  
Graziella's fate was still up in the air.  Although 
from what you tell me, Agent Scully, he planned on 
raping her.  So she probably would have ran, 
reported, or otherwise fled, and would have ended up 
on a slab as well in the long run."

"How did he do it?" Scully asked.

"Our Kurt, although not as brilliant as his brother, 
learned hypnosis.  He could come and go in Kurt's 
office, and had some other professor teach him 
hypnosis.  When he got rejected, he'd just pull out 
the files and meets them someplace with some sob 
story, or even the initial meet.  He plants some sort 
of post-hypnotic suggestion concerning their fear.  
Then when they run or reject him, he says the magic 
word and they off themselves."

"Man, that's creepy," I said.

"Very.  Everyone's been warned not to look this guy 
in the eye for too long.  Apparently, he doesn't need 
any spinning disk.  He's a master hypnotist, can do 
it with just his voice."

"Yikes," Scully said, in an uncharacteristic slang 
comment.

"Yeah, yikes.  Anyway, the judge is holding without 
bail, so we don't have to worry there.  Of course, 
his lawyer is screaming emotional distress and 
diminished capacity and trying to line up every 
defense psych in town to evaluate him."

"He'll probably hypnotize them all," Scully said.  I 
could tell that she was thinking about our old friend 
'Pusher' Modell.

"Yeah, well, hopefully not.  We'll warn them ahead of 
time, defense experts or no."

"Okay, thanks Sheila.  Thanks for taking the road 
less traveled," I said.

She smiled and stood when we did.  "Thanks for your 
help.  I couldn't have done it without you."

"Anytime.  Glad to work with D.C.'s finest," Scully 
said.

She laughed and walked us out into the detective's 
squad room.  Jeff waved from his desk.  "How's it 
going?" Scully asked.

"Thanks to you, I'm up to my ass in paperwork," he 
joked, waving at the archaic Selectric typewriter on 
his desk.

"You don't have computers?" Scully asked.

Sheila laughed.  "They still use freakin' carbons 
around here.  It's like the stone age."

"Well, good luck with that," I said.

XXXXXXXXXX

DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, D.C.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING

"Now, where were we?" I asked, as I cuddled up behind 
her nude body in the bed.

She reached back and palmed my package.  "Right about 
here, I think."

I hissed and pushed into her hand.  She chuckled and 
rolled over.  "I love you, Mulder."

"I love you too, Scully," I said, reaching down and 
finding her wet and swollen.  "Oh, you're ready for 
me already."

XXXXXXXXXX NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXX

"Yes, now be a good boy and don't waste time."

I smiled and leaned down to suckle a nipple.  When 
I'd adequately teased both rosy peaks, I rolled 
between her legs, feeling my prick throb with 
anticipation.

She raised her legs onto my hips and I slid into her 
slowly, savoring the feeling.  Her hips moved with 
mine in the ancient rhythm, building slowly toward 
release.  We kissed deeply and moaned into each 
other's mouths.  

It was slow, sensual, and satisfying to be connected 
to her this way.  I still couldn't believe it 
sometimes. 

I slipped my fingers around her ass and tickled the 
sensitive hairs around her anus.  The light touch 
made her quiver, and I felt the muscle pucker and 
pull in.  "Oh God, Mulder," she moaned, longing 
thickening her voice and making it sound like rich 
honey.

I pressed and circled her muscle, not pushing inside, 
but putting enough pressure to excite her nerve 
endings.  My strokes became sloppy and I said, "Touch 
yourself, Scully."

She reached between us and began circling her 
clitoris.  Immediately, I felt her walls tighten 
around me and pumped faster.  I wanted to come so 
badly.  My groan sounded ravenous to my own ears.

I looked into her eyes and thought about how much I 
loved her.  'Worked every time,' I thought with glee, 
as she choked and bucked and hit her climax, her 
insides squeezing me with exquisite convulsions.

I wasn't far behind.  A few more strokes pushed me 
over the edge and I pushed deep, holding myself 
against her cervix.  My cock throbbed and then 
released its built up pressure, filling her with my 
warm seed.

XXXXXXXXXXX END NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXX

I slid down, canting off to the side so I wouldn't 
crush her, but staying connected at the groin.  She 
brushed my hair off my face and looked at me 
tenderly.  "You were Mr. Gentle tonight," she 
commented.

"Bother you?"

"No, not at all.  Sometimes I like it hot and heavy.  
Other times, like tonight, this was just right."

I smiled and kissed her slowly, not bothering with 
tongue.  I felt my eyelids droop.  "Sorry, sleepy 
already."

"No problem.  Sleep.  I'm just going to use the 
bathroom and I'll be right back."

She was gone for several minutes and returned with a 
warm washcloth to clean me up.  I'd almost been 
asleep.  When she crawled in a couple minutes later, 
I spooned up behind her, pulling her butt into the 
cradle of my pelvis.  "Hmmm," I hummed in 
contentment.

"We need to meet with Noah and Miranda again," she 
said quietly.

I sighed.  "I'm not ready."

"I wouldn't put it off long."

"I won't.  I promise.  Just give me till the weekend, 
okay?"

"Okay.  They really do want to help us, Mulder."

"I know.  I just need a rest after this case."

"I won't push you."

"I know.  I love you, Scully."

"Love you too, Mulder.  We're going to be all right, 
you know?"

"If you say it, I know it's true," I mumbled.

I could feel her smile even though I couldn't see it.  
"Go to sleep, medium boy."

A grunt was her only answer.

THE END.