Cycle of Tears 2: Coming to Terms
FROM: Mary A. Turner
DATE: October 1997
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: SA
SUMMARY: As Mulder slowly recovers from his injuries, Scully and Skinner
come to terms with their guilt and the possibility that Mulder won't be returning to the Bureau. (This is a continuation of CYCLE OF TEARS. It would make more sense to read that story first.)
DISCLAIMERS: All characters ( except for Leslee Robinson and her lawyer)
belong to Chris Carter. No infringement intended.
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CYCLE OF TEARS 2: COMING TO TERMS
Mary A. Turner

Georgetown Medical Center
January 27, 1996

She had to get out. Now.

Pressing back against the cold, solid wall of her partner's hospital room,
Dana Scully forced down her rising panic and inched toward the only
doorway, silently praying that no one would notice her stealthy escape.
Her eyes darted in horror toward the bed, watching in revulsion as two
doctors and several nurses swarmed around the convulsing body writhing
in agony on the mattress. They spoke in urgent, muted voices, adjusting
monitors, reaching to shift and subdue their patient as gently as possible
but, seemingly, unable to ease his suffering. She cringed as they reap-
plied the soft restraints to his wrists, knowing how he hated to be tied
down, how it made him feel out of control and vulnerable, how it brought
back the terrors of his abduction. She bit her bottom lip and started to
move again but froze at a familiar sound: Mulder was moaning once more
as the pain in his body reflared under the handling of the medical staff.
No matter how gentle they tried to be, they just seemed to hurt him more,
made him more uncomfortable, made his life a living hell.

No. Not them.

The fires of his hell had been lit by that cold-hearted bitch
who'd ripped and torn his fine, strong body and, then, left him in a torment
worse than the burning flames of hades. *She* was responsible for this.
*She* was the one who'd almost killed him. *She* was the one who should
be writhing in agony.

Scully turned away and moved again as his moans turned into harsh,
gasping grunts, her hands creeping up to cover her ears in a lame
attempt to block out the sounds of his suffering. It tore her heart apart to
hear and see him like this but it actually made her physically ill when his
rough, unintelligible sounds suddenly cleared enough and he began to
pitifully moan her name, pleading for her help, her salvation. Bile surged
from her stomach and rose up into her throat, sending her staggering from
the room and out into the hallway. She had to get out. Now.

*Getoutnowgetoutnowgetoutnow...*

Feet moving her randomly and unconsciously, she rounded a corner and
plowed roughly into a solid bulk, dimly aware of strong hands reaching to
steady her as she stumbled back. She would have fallen if those hands
hadn't been securely gripping her upper arms.

"Agent Scully!"

Fighting the resurgence of bile, Scully struggled from the supporting hands
and barely made it to a nearby restroom before vomiting into the nearest
receptacle: a clean, shiny sink. She quickly emptied what was in her
stomach. The coffee with extra sweetner and the diet cola she'd forced
down earlier made a ghastly brown splatter as it hit the white porcelain.
The sight made her heave again. And, once more, again.

Breathing deeply and trying to regain a measure of control, Scully almost
didn't hear the soft knocking at the door before it was hesitantly pushed
open. Leaning against the sink for support, she glanced at the intruder
and recognized the concerned face of Walter Skinner, watching as his
eyes flicked uncertainly around the stall areas before moving the rest of
the way in. He came directly to her side just as she washed the watery
remains of her stomach contents down the drain and, to her utter surprise,
placed a hand at the small of her back in gentle support.

*Oh, God!*

The gesture, so innocent, so familiar, so wanted, made tears pool in her
eyes. Skinner's touch felt so much like Mulder's that, if she closed her
lids, she could almost imagine him standing there by her side, strong,
whole, uninjured. She took a shaky breath and forced the tears back.

"It's okay," Skinner's voice was soft and soothing. The hand at her
back began to rub small, gentle circles at the base of her spine, the
motion simple but so very reassuring. "He's going to make it through
this, Scully. He's going to beat this...you know that."

She could only nod her head at this point, the tears still too close to
falling for responding verbally. Her head knew the truth of his words:
she had spoken at lengths to the surgeon who'd operated and to the
team of nurses in the Critical Care Unit and knew that Mulder could
survive these injuries. It would be a long, painful recovery but he
could get back to being almost as he was before his kidnapping and
torture. Almost.

And, as much as her head recognized this truth, her heart was raw
and bleeding with uncertainty. He was in so much pain now, his body
battered inside and out, his psyche so fragile, that he had actually
pleaded with her to allow him to die. Scully choked on the flash of
that particular memory. She remembered how shocked she'd been
when he'd gasped the request and, as the pain increased and words
were no longer possible, she clearly recalled how he had stared at
her with eyes begging for relief. It had been those eyes that had
almost been her undoing: she'd actually had her hand on her gun two
nights ago as she tried to ease his suffering, dabbing perspiration
from his forehead and seeing his glazed, agony-filled eyes silently
asking the impossible.

Shocked by her reaction, Scully had fled from his presence and
stayed away until the doctors had regulated his morphine intake,
putting him into a drugged, painless stupor. She knew the new
dosage wasn't in his best interest but, God help her, she'd been so
relieved to find him finally resting peacefully last night that she didn't
want to think about the consequences to his health. Not then.

Now, as the doctors had deciced to cut back his intake once again,
she knew she'd have to be stronger...for both of them. She would have
to face his pain, force him to handle it, and ignore all his pleas, both
verbal and silent.

The squeak of the door opening again brought Skinner's head around
and stilled his hand on Scully's back. He looked toward the intruder
with an icy glare, hoping the young, Asian nurse's aide would get the
hint without him having to speak. When she just stood there gaping
at them, her hand still holding the door wide open, Skinner sighed and
gritted his teeth.

"Do you mind?" he asked in annoyance, his words stern and biting.

The aide blinked at his tone and quickly turned away, her dark hair
swirling around like a black curtain. She was gone so fast that it was
almost as if she'd never really been there. Skinner snorted and turned
his attention back to his agent, only now noticing that Scully was gazing
at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, a small uplift at the corners
of her mouth. He huffed softly and straightened in feigned indignation.

"What? Didn't you know I had a way with people?" He asked with his best
deadpan expression. God. He and Mulder were so alike in many ways.

Scully pursed her lips together and took a deep, cleansing breath, her
eyes never leaving Skinner's dark gaze. She felt her control returning and
knew she was drawing some of her strength from her boss. It was a feeling
she embraced without embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," she said evenly, turning to face him squarely. Unlike Mulder, he
immediately took a small step back and vacated her personal space. She
quickly reached out and placed one hand on his arm, letting him know she
was not offended with his physical closeness. "I've always known of your
effect on others."

Skinner dropped his gaze to glance at her hand and then looked back into
her tired, blue eyes, seeing the returning strength and determination. He
cleared his throat before speaking.

"I know it's hard when you have to see him like this." He sighed, watching
as she dropped her gaze. "Unfortunately, we've got another problem. I ran
into Mrs. Mulder as she got off the elevator a short while ago and had a
hell of a time convincing her to go back to his apartment, to wait until we'd
contacted her before coming back to the hospital. She didn't like it one bit
but I thought, in his present condition, she would only get upset again."

Scully nodded her head as she recalled Mrs. Mulder's sudden appearance
two night's ago, just as the doctor was trying to get her son settled for the
evening. No one had been prepared for the woman's arrival and she had
thrown the whole room back into mass confusion. With a voice louder than
Scully had ever heard from her, Mrs. Mulder had shrieked at her son's
appearance and had all but gone ballistic, demanding to know why he was
in so much obvious pain, why the doctors were letting him suffer and,
ironically, why his *supposed* best friend and partner wasn't doing something
for him. That had hurt. Terribly.

"I think that was wise. She shouldn't see him like he is now."

"No."

They stood silently for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts,
comfortable in the shared silence. Since they'd rescued Mulder from the
clutches of his female kidnapper/serial killer four days ago, Scully and
Skinner had formed a gentle, supportive relationship and they still found
it comforting to be in each others presence. Skinner had kept Scully from
taking a step that would have ruined her career and, quite possibly, put
her behind bars and she had had the insight to assure him that he was
not responsible for Mulder being taken and tortured. It was a strange but
soothing companionship.

"Listen," Skinner finally broke the quiet, "let me take over for the rest
of the afternoon so you can get some sleep." The words were barely out of
his mouth before she was shaking her head. "Damn it, Scully, you're
wearing yourself out staying here like you do and I can't afford to have
another agent in the hospital. Just take today. Go home, or better yet,
go to your mother's home...she and I spoke yesterday and she's
very concerned about you. Let her spoil you a little."

"No, sir, I can't..." she sighed and decided to reword her phrase, I *won't*
leave while he's in so much pain. Maybe after he settles a bit, I'll think
about going to my mother's. I can't let him think I've deserted him again.
Not now."

Skinner eyed her in silent resignation. There was no sense in trying to
convince her into changing her mind. He knew she was battling her own
guilt about the uncharacteristic squimishness she'd exhibited at Mulder's
injuries and pain but knew she would, eventually, get a handle on it. And,
God knew, merely reading or listening about Mulder's wounds had made
him cringe and squirm, and he was suppose to be a hardened veteran to
violence. Scully had much more to come to grips with than he did. She was
trained in medicine, believed in the purity of science, and supported her
professional colleagues and their healing abilities.

Until now.

Something had changed for Dana Scully during Mulder's abduction. It wasn't
readily visible to those who did not know her but to Skinner and, to a greater
extent, her mother, Scully was an altered woman. Nervous, harder, darker.
In those terrible moments when she had held her weapon on Mulder's kid-
napper, those long, uncertain seconds when everyone thought she was going
to execute that hideous woman who had brought Mulder so much pain, Scully
had lost a part of her essence. Something vital, something innocent, some-
thing unique. It made Skinner's heart ache to see her like this now.

Well," Scully broke the silence first, straightening her spine and smoothing
her hands down her jacket, "I need to get back. Those quacks..." she
caught herself too late but plunged on regardless, "those doctors should be
finished deciding Mulder's new morphin level by now. If they've given him
any, he should be more calm. I need to let him see that I'm still here with
him."

Nodding, Skinner turned to follow her out of the womens' restroom, ignoring
the questioning looks and whispers from several hospital employees, and
kept pace with his agent as she walked briskly back toward the ICU area.
For such a short woman, she certainly could eat up the distance quickly.

The sight of Margaret Scully standing outside of Mulder's room brought
them both up short. Face lined with worry, hands nervously clutching her
purse, Mrs. Scully's eyes darted around the quiet unit in silent desperation.

"Mom!" Scully was at her mother's side in a flash, with Skinner right behind.
"What's wrong? Are you all right? Is it Mulder? Has something..."

"Dana," Margaret interrupted and grabbed ahold of her daughter's arm,
sagging slightly in relief. "No, no... I'm all right and Fox is... well, Fox is
like he was. I just thought for a moment that I'd somehow missed you and
I didn't know what to do because you weren't answering your cell phone and
they wouldn't tell me where Mr. Skinner was, " she belatedly nodded at the
man but continued to babble nervously, " and I didn't know if I should tell
someone else but I really didn't know who, so..."

Scully had enough. She grabbed her mother by the arms and shook her
gently.

"Mom, mom...calm down and just take a breath. I can't understand what
you're trying to say."

Margaret looked at her daughter and then up to Skinner. Breathing deeply,
she fumbled for a moment with the clasp on her purse and slowly removed
a neatly folded piece of paper, handing it to Dana.

"Someone called for you at my home, thinking you might have been there.
I guess they couldn't get a hold of you either."

"I left my cell phone in the car," she gave as her excuse as she took the
small, white scrap of paper, "and I've been here for several hours."

A frown appeared between her eyes as she read the name written on the
slip her mother had presented to her. She shook her head, showing the
name to Skinner and then focusing back on the woman before her.

"Jeffery DeVincent. Mom, I don't know who this is. What did he want?"

The nervousness evaporated from Margaret's eyes and they turned cold
and angry. Walter Skinner was amazed at the change.

"It's *her* lawyer, Dana. *That* woman wants to talk to you."

No one had to explain further. Since Mulder's abduction, there was only
one *her* in their conversations. The bitch that had tortured her partner
wanted to talk.

Leslee Robinson wanted to talk to Dana Scully.

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Lawyer Jeffery DeVincent was one smooth operator.

He broke all the stereotypes that Dana Scully secretly harbored about
lawyers who defended the criminally insane or the ridiculously rich and
presented himself with an alarming honesty that made her feel slightly
confused. Quiet, soft spoken, and dressed in a tastefully subdued navy
suit, Mr. DeVincent met Scully and Skinner outside a private conference
room in the high-security section of the District's Womens' Facility.
Leslee Robinson had been arraigned and was scheduled to be transported
to a maximum security facility tomorrow, where she would wait until her
hearing. But, before she left, she wanted a private conference with Dana
Scully.

"Agent Scully. Mr. Skinner."

Jeffery DeVincent offered his hand in greeting to the two federal officers and
found his gesture rudely ignored. Dropping the slighted appendage, he nodded
his head in silent understanding, his warm, brown eyes wincing briefly in
compassion.

"Ms. Robinson will speak only to Agent Scully. This is a private conversation
and everything discussed is off the record." He said quietly, getting right to
the heart of the matter.

"Now wait just a minute," Skinner bristled and eyed the lawyer suspiciously.
"Agent Scully is a federal officer and has the right and the obligation to repeat
anything she hears during a confession."

"A confession?" DeVincent looked totally confused. "There's been some
misunderstanding. Ms. Robinson has no intention of 'confessing' anything
to Agent Scully. She has merely asked that Agent Scully come to talk to
her about what has happened."

"And there's a difference?"

"Of course. We all know Agent Scully will be called to testify during the trial
but she will be asked to give testimony concerning her part in the apprehension
and arrest only." He looked pointedly at Scully. "I understand it was quite an
interesting arrest."

Scully gazed coldly back and squared her shoulders. She wouldn't let this man
know how her actions during the arrest of Leslee Robinson had affected her
current composure or how she felt like she'd betrayed her profession or how
she knew, in her heart, that she would do it all over again without changing
a single thing. She was learning to live with the guilt and the doubts.

"I agree," she said simply, her voice strong and determined.

Skinner's head whipped around, his eyes wide with disbelief. Grasping her
arm gently, he steered them several steps away from the lawyer, bending to
lower his face close to her. His expression was grim.

"Are you out of your mind?" He whispered in amazement.

"Sir, I know what I'm doing."

"Obviously not. It's in your job description, Agent Scully, to precisely and
intelligently report on any and all confessions you hear. You know she's
going to talk about what she did to Mulder and the other victims, you know
she wants you specifically because of your actions during her apprehension,
and you know she's going to say things vital to the up-coming trial. I don't
think you've got a choice in this."

"Yes, sir, I believe I do."

Reaching into her jacket pocket, Scully pulled her leather identification
wallet into view and held it out to Skinner. He looked down in surprise
and held his hands away from it.

"What the hell is this?" He all but hissed.

"If I have to resign in order to do this, I will. Is that what I have to do?"

Skinner gritted his teeth as he looked into the determined eyes of his agent.
"This is something I'd expect from Mulder. You're playing right into her hands,
setting yourself up to take a huge fall. Don't do this."

"I need to see her. I need to hear what she has to say. But, mostly, there
are several things I need to tell her."

"And what will it accomplish, Scully?" He asked quietly. "Will it ease your
mind to hear her talk about how she cut and beat and tortured Mulder? Jesus,
do you think she'll be able to give you back what she took from you in that
cold, damp warehouse during the arrest? Do you?"

Scully jerked back, shocked that he was aware of her feelings. She steeled
herself and looked into Skinner's eyes, seeing the cold truth of his statement
reflected in his intense gaze. He *did* know. And, if he knew, chances were that
her mother and, eventually, Mulder would know. She took a deep, steadying
breath and exhaled it slowly.

"It's something I feel I have to do," she said honestly. "I only know that I
can't leave here without seeing her again, without hearing what she has to
say..."

"No matter how personal she gets with her descriptions of Mulder's torture?"
He interrupted. "Jesus, Dana..." he took a deep breath now and shifted his
stance, "this is why she wants you here. She wants to keep torturing her
victims, even after she's behind bars, and since she can't get to Mulder,
you're the next best thing."

"Don't you think I know this?!" She asked hotly, trying to keep her voice
quiet. "What happened in that warehouse will be with Mulder and me for
the rest of our lives...it will never go away...but I need to confront her now
and show that I can stay in control, that I'm a stronger person than she is,
that she can't keep making victims out of everyone she meets."

Skinner stared at Scully for several long moments, seemingly searching
her soul, looking for some sign of her real intentions. He glanced back over
his shoulder toward DeVincent before speaking again. The young lawyer was
staring back at the two officers, his brown eyes taking in everything he was
witnessing, filing away the information for later use.

"I trust you, Agent Scully," he said as he looked at the woman standing so
close, his eyes locked with hers. "I trust you to keep my trust. Do you
understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then put your badge away and let's get this over," he growled as he
shifted to block Scully's face from DeVincent's eyes. "Just do me one
favor."

Scully arched an eyebrow . "What's that, sir?"

"If you have to hit her, make sure you knock her out."

They gazed silently at each other for a few seconds, both faces perfectly
expressionless, and then turned, as one, to face the defender awaiting their
decision. Jeffery DeVincent swallowed nervously at the impressive calm he
saw on their faces and, for the first time, questioned the logic of allowing
the small federal agent visiting rights to his client.

Leslee Robinson was waiting for her guest.

Slouched bonelessly in the hard wooden chair on the far side of a huge table,
she lounged leisurely in her blue jumpsuit provided by the facility and idly
played with a paperclip someone had carelessly left on the scratched surface.
She looked small, unimposing, and it was difficult to believe that she was
responsible for the torture and death of five able-bodied men. But looks were
decieving and she was about the most devious thing Scully had seen in years.

When Scully closed the door and approached the table, Leslee Robinson
became a different woman. Now that they were all alone, with no chance of
interruption, she didn't need to hide her true self.

She straightened in the chair and smirked at the agent, her pale, blue eyes
looking dead and void of all emotion...except for a slight tinge of gloating
around her lips. She let her gaze drift lazily over the agent's trim figure, taking
in the nicely tailored suit and sensible shoes. Scully stood calmly and endured
the perusal without expression or comment.

"We meet again, Agent Scully," she said unexpectedly. "I knew you'd show
up but I didn't know it would be this soon."

"What do you want?"

"Right to the point, huh? No 'how are you' or 'nice weather we're having'?"

Scully remained quiet and waited. She knew it wouldn't be long until this
woman made her intentions known and that she was merely trying to
exert her power over the situation. Scully just had to be patient.

"Have a seat," Leslee gestured toward the chair placed directly across
the table from hers and waited until Scully was settled before beginning.
"So..how's Fox?"

Bingo.

The question was so expected, it was unexpected. Leslee Robinson saw
the flash in Scully's eyes before she could control it and let her smirk grow.

"He's fine." She lied.

"No, he's not. I'm too good at what I do for him to be 'fine'. If you think that
lying to me is going to prove anything, you're wrong. Dead wrong." She
smiled at her choice of words and leaned her elbows on the table's flat
surface, opening the paperclip and using one end to make a scratch in
the wood. "I cut him up too good for him to be feeling fine." She glanced
up and drilled Scully with her pale eyes. "Have you ever cut anyone, Scully?
Have you ever felt the smooth glide of a sharp instrument slice into human
flesh?"

So. It was going to be like this. Power play time.

"Yes."

Leslee blinked at the surprising response, her smile slipping a bit before
reappearing. "Of course you have. I knew you were different...I could tell
when you held that gun on me. You were really going to kill me, weren't
you?"

"Yes."

Leslee sat back in the chair and eyed her visitor, studying the cool, calm
facade and the smooth, unblemished complexion. This federal agent wasn't
like any other law enforcer she'd had the pleasure of knowing in her criminal
past. She didn't necessarily like 'different' but, in this case, she found herself
intrigued with the red-headed officer.

"So, Scully," she said the name as if they'd been life-long friends and saw a
slight bristling in Scully's composure, "I know you have things to ask, things
you just have to know. Go ahead. I'm all yours."

"Why?" Scully asked simply and straight-forward.

Leslee waited for her to finish her question but, when nothing else was
forthcoming, she shook her head in confusion. She gestured absently with
the hand holding the clip, making small, slashing arcs.

"Why what?" She prompted. "Why do I do it? Why do I enjoy it? Why did I
start doing it? Why do..."

"Why Mulder?" Scully interrupted, trying to keep her voice level.

"Ah-h-h...now I understand," Leslee all but purred. "Well, just let me ask you
this: why not Mulder?"

"I don't follow you." Scully said honestly.

"Well, let's face it, Scully," she grinned and brought the clip down to the
table, making one, long, deep gash, "I was ready for my next toy and he
sort of fell right into my lap. Dennis..you know Dennis," she asked and
scratched the table again idly and waited for Scully's nod, " he was actually
next in line but, when he started talking about 'Spooky' Mulder, I changed
my mind." She refocused all her attention on the agent. "Too bad about
Dennis, huh?"

There was no remorse in the comment, nothing to indicate that she felt any
emotion concerning the man who'd killed himself because of his involvement
with her. Another meaningless death.

The laughter that errupted from her mouth was harsh, loud, and totally
out of porportion, and Scully found herself unconsciously leaning away. This
woman was absolutely insane. She waited apprehensively until the laughter
wound down and ceased.

"Anyway," Leslee continued after regaining her control, "Dennis told me
about Fox being sick and I knew I could get him instead. I wanted him
instead. I *needed* him instead. He was suppose to know all about me,
you know. He was suppose to be some hot-shot profiler who could get
inside my head and make sure I got caught. Well, I showed him a thing
or two."

"But you did get caught," Scully stressed quietly.

"Fuck you," Leslee snarled. "I might be in this stinking place now but I'm
not out of the game yet." She twisted in her seat so she could put one
ankle up on the edge of the table, her body language indicating her dis-
comfort. She remained like this for several long minutes and Scully wondered
if she was being dismissed by this bitch queen. Finally, she spoke again, her
eyes glancing up toward the ceiling. "Do you want to know all the gory, little
details, Scully?"

"No."

"Oh, I think you do," she turned her head to glance at the other woman. "I
think we're too much alike for you to turn down an opportunity like this. I
think you came here to hear all about it and to get your thrills vicariously.
Didn't you?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway," she whirled in the seat and was, once
again, leaning heavily on the table, her eyes wild and hard. "I want you to
know how it felt to hold his life in my hands, to feel his blood spurt hotly
from his skin, to hear his screams echoing in that building. It's better than
any drug, Scully. He thought he knew what I was going to do to him just
because he'd studied my case." She laughed again in her own horrible
way. "He didn't know anything. I did things to him I've never done before and
it was so good. He was so good."

Scully gritted her teeth but remained silent, her hands clenched tightly in
her lap, holding her anger and disgust tightly in check. She would not give
this woman the satisfaction of reacting to her tale. She was stronger than
her, she was able to control her emotions, and they were, certainly, nothing
alike.

"You know what I do, Scully. You know I take them apart. I was taking Fox
apart when you came in. And he was feeling so good in my hands and I wanted
it to go on and on. I guess that's where I made my mistake: I was enjoying
him just a little too much and I should have just done the job, killed him,
and moved on to the next town. But, Scully, he's so-o-o sweet, and so-o-o
beautiful, and his skin is so-o-o soft. Especially on his stomach. Have you
ever run your hand over his stomach? Jesus, it's so fucking nice! I got a
little side-tracked with the rest of his body...it's nice too...but his stomach
is simply to die for." She made a strange noise. "When I had enough of the
outside, I cut him open so I could feel the inside, and it was just as nice:
warm, wet, alive." She shivered slightly in her seat as she relived the
sensations, her eyes drooping. " I could have an orgasm just thinking about
him now."

Scully couldn't help the snarl that leapt to her lips. She felt the smooth
curves of her nails dig into the soft skin of her palms, trying to keep the need
to hurt this woman tamped down. But it was hard. So hard.

" He's probably the best I'll ever have and you stopped me from finishing.
I would have liked to have taken him all the way, to know how he carried
himself into death, to have felt him slip away." Leslee stared hard at Scully.
"But you stopped me."

"Yes." She managed to sound unphased but her heart was pounding.

"Well, I think you owe me, Scully. I think you need to be truthful with me,
just as I'm being truthful with you. You stopped me from finishing my work."

"I don't owe you anything," Scully gritted, amazed at the woman's nerve.

"How's Fox?" Leslee asked again suddenly, her smirk reappearing.

"I already told you."

"You fucking lied to me!" She yelled, jabbing the paperclip into the
wood surface to punctuated each word. "Now, I expect you to be just
as honest with me as I've been with you! So, tell me: how is Fox?"

Scully swallowed but decided to let this farce run its course."Not too
good."

The honest words seemed to have a strangely calming effect. "Huh,
just like I thought. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Don't be coy," she snapped angrily. "I want to hear all about what the
doctors say, about his prognosis, about how he's coping."

"I'm sure Mr. DeVincent has kept you up-to-date with Agent Mulder's
medical condition. You don't need to hear it from me."

"What Jeffery and I speak about has no bearing here, Scully. This is
just between you and me today. We can pretend to be two girlfriends
discussing an acquaintance."

Scully bit back her angry reply. No. They were absolutely nothing alike
and they would never be friends, real or imaginary.

Leslee's lazy grin turned hard, cold, and calculating. "Give me what I
what I want, Scully. Be honest with me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I deserve to know!" She yelled, gripping the edge of the table,
her eyes huge and crystal blue. "You took him away from me and you
owe me this last bit of satisfaction."

Again, Scully sat still and waited for the woman to calm, the outburst
leaving as quickly as it had arrived. She took a deep breath and decided
to give her a little bit of what she wanted but would deliver it in the coldly
detached medical terminology that was second-nature to her. There would
be no emotional outbursts in the listing of injuries, no choking tears of
anger, nor would there be any cause for them to ever have a personal
conversation again. They would finish this now.

"He's fighting a nasty case of pneumonia," she began tonelessly. "As you
said, he was sick when you took him and his time on that cold, wet ware-
house floor took a toll on his lungs. They're infected badly and the anti-
biotics don't seem to be helping much at this time.

"His throat is badly bruised and there's some damage to his larynx and
tracheal area but they aren't sure if it's permenant. He was intubated upon
arrival of the paramedics, so it's probable that anything you did to him was
aggrevated by the medical personnel.

"His left wrist was dislocated. It's suspected that he did it himself as he
tried to pull out of the restraints you had on him. Both wrists were raw from
the metal cuffs and there may be some muscle damage but it's a little too
early to tell about this too.

"The emergency room doctor used ninty-six sutures to close the wounds
scattered about his body: on his chest, his arms, his legs. Some of the
wounds were not deep enough to require sutures and butterfly strips were
used instead.

"There was muscle and tissue damage in the penis and rectum and
surgery was required to correct the injuries. There is some concern about
impotency but a specialist will be brought in at a later time to make an
evaluation and recommendation.

"The wound to the abdomen was substantial. It required four hours of
surgery to repair."

Scully dropped her eyes and stopped speaking. She did not want to go into
any more depth concerning Mulder's condition with this woman but knew,
somehow, that they weren't quite finished. Not yet. Maybe never. Scully knew
she would be carrying this woman with her forever: each time she pulled
her gun on a suspect, every time she looked at Mulder, every time she
looked at herself in a mirror...

"Go on," Leslee was prompting quietly. "Tell me more."

"There's nothing else to tell."

"Now, now, now," she scolded gently, "I can tell you're holding back. What
are you holding back from me, Scully? What is it that you don't want to
share?"

"Nothing." Scully lied again.

"You owe me the truth." It was a taunt, a jeer, and it hit Scully full force.

Her eyes flashed up in undisguised anger, her fist arching up just high
enough so she could bring it back down to slam against the table's
surface. She let her hatred flow. There was no sense in trying to hold it
in now.

"I don't owe you a damn thing, you heartless bitch! You took my friend
and damaged him so bad, he may never fully recover from what you did.
And if he does recover, the doctor's will only say that he *might* be able to
resume his work. You've taken away just about everything you could,
except for his life, and there's nothing that I'd like to do more than get
my gun and end your miserable existence!"

Leslee Robinson was smiling wildly, her eyes alight with delight. "But you
won't, will you, Scully? You won't kill me, just like you couldn't kill me in
the warehouse."

"I would kill you now if I had my gun."

"Would you?"

"Yes!!" She hissed between gritted teeth. "I would kill you!"

The room was silent as they stared into each other's eyes, each daring
the other to look away, to break the contact first, to exhibit some sign of
weakness. It was a test of wills that neither wanted to lose, that neither
could afford to lose. The battlelines were clearly drawn and, at the heart
this war, was Scully's soul.

Then, as suddenly as her anger had arrived, Scully felt the calming touch
of her own inner strength. She was above this, she was stronger than this,
she was not going to be dragged down to this woman's level.

The two women glared at each other across the small expanse in silence
until Scully, finally, pulled herself back under control and turned to move
away. Just as her hand reached the doorknob, Leslee Robinson had one
more thing to say...and she said it with a calmness that raised the hairs
on the back of Scully's neck.

"When you see Fox, send him my best and let him know that we'll meet
again sometime. Maybe sooner than he expects."

Scully turned and gazed coldly at the woman lounging in the chair. "Over
my dead body."

"Oh, Scully," Leslee purred, "you don't realize how happy you've just
made me."

The laughter that followed Scully out of the conference room echoed off
the walls and rebounded in her skull. And, as she and Skinner left the
facility's compound and drove back toward the city, the horrible sound of
Leslee Robinson's laugh was still ringing in her ears.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dana Scully was not there when Fox Mulder finally found himself awake
and coherent enough to understand that he was alive and, probably, going
to stay that way. Nor was she there that evening or the next day. He didn't
ask where she was but her absence was reflected in his eyes. His mother,
when she visited, could see it every time the door opened and his eyes
would hopefully seek out the identity of the new arrival. She could also
see the terrible disappointment that he tried to mask and was, somewhat
selfishly, glad to be the one available to soothe and comfort her lonely,
injured son.

His pain was manageable now, with the aid of plenty of Demoral and the
considerable support of the hospital staff, but Mulder seemed unable or,
more likely, unwilling to make an effort in helping his own recovery. He was
silent most of the time, the injury to his throat making speaking a chore. He
would mumble quietly when asked direct questions but, more times than
not, he'd simply dismiss the inquiry and ignore the person speaking to him.
He tuned out the doctors and the nurses, he tuned out his mother and her
constant hovering, and he tuned out Margaret Scully and Walter Skinner
when they visited...especially after he realized they weren't going to say
anything about his partner.

Something was wrong and, in his weakened condition, it was easy for him
to believe that he was the cause of her absence. So, he didn't ask about
her or speak her name...but, in his heart, he was crying for her. Crying,
too, for the emptiness that he felt in his soul.

He refused to eat, the thought of swallowing the thin, tasteless broth and
the weak tea enough to make him sick to his stomach. His stomach. He'd
only looked at that particular grotesque, twisting cut just once and decided
never to look again. He could see the disgust on the faces of the nurses
as they assisted the doctor when he examined the wound during his daily
visits, could see the horror in his mother's eyes just before she forced
herself to look away, could tell that he was now considered a disfigured
freak...even to those who were, supposedly, on his side. He didn't need to
see any more. He didn't want to see any more. He only wanted Scully
and she was somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't go, somewhere
far away from him.

So, in less than a week, he found himself being forced to endure a
lecture from his mother, her perfectly coffed silver hair and precisely
starched pastel blouse an ideal frame for her scowling face. He could
see the anger, the distaste, the annoyance in her cool eyes but let
those emotions roll over him. It didn't matter. But, as his mother took
his chin in her hand and forced him to continue to look in her direction,
he knew he'd have to listen to her.

"I want you to stop this right now, Fox," she said angrily, her fingers
still holding his chin tightly...maybe, a bit too tightly. "I've been here
for almost a week and you've done nothing to help yourself get
better. What is wrong with you?"

Mulder let his lids close and remained silent. There was nothing he
could say to make her understand how he felt at this moment. He
wasn't even sure how he felt. Tired, maybe...so very tired.

"...and Doctor Albright says that you've given up," Mrs. Mulder was still
talking, " and that you don't want to get better...that you want to die.
Is that true? Do you want to die?"

The grip on his chin tightened and a flash of pain registered in his
numb consciousness. Pain. He remembered pain. He forced his eyes
back open and looked up into his mother's face. Her eyes looked angry
and disappointed... unhappy and frustrated...bitter and cold. Mulder
swallowed as he realized he'd seen this look in her eyes before: long
ago when he'd been just a boy and had lost his sister.

"Well, I won't stay and watch this any longer," she announced and
removed her hand from his face, absently letting her fingers smooth
down the front of her skirt. "You're an adult and, if this is what you
want, then I wash my hands of you. Waste away. Lay there and wallow
in your misery, be useless to me and to yourself. I don't care anymore,
Fox. Do you hear me? I don't care."

He closed his eyes and felt the pricking of tears.

Mrs. Mulder was still speaking as she stood by his bed, her arms
crossed defiantly in front of her chest. "I've done fine in my life without
you and I can continue to do fine when you're gone. I was willing, for
awhile, to try and bridge this gap between us but I can see now that it
was a mistake to come here. You will always do what you want, never
thinking of others, bringing sorrow and heartache every step of the way.
Well," she huffed as she grabbed her jacket and purse from the chair
in a corner, turning once more to address her son before leaving the
hospital room for the final time, "I know now why that snippy little
partner of yours hasn't been here to see you. She feels just like I do.
She's seen you for your true self and has decided she's better off without
you too!"

The tears were running freely down his cheeks but his sobs were quiet.

"She probably knew you'd react like this. She knew how vain and self-
centered you are. Well, Fox," she walked to the door and looked back
to the man in the bed, "I hope you're happy. You drove her away and, now,
you've driven me away too. Goodbye, Fox. Try not to ruin anymore lives
before you die."

With that, Mrs. Mulder left. As the door closed, the tears and sobbing
grew until Mulder was weeping openly, all emotion he thought he'd
purged himself of rising once again to torment his aching heart. He was
truly alone now: no family, no friends, no Scully...

*Scully!*

What seemed like hours later, Mulder found himself drawn into a soft,
gentle embrace, warm arms wrapping around and drawing him up, holding
him securely in a loving circle of flesh and bone. Words, soft and soothing,
filtered through his grief and heartache, and he blindly reached up to grasp
the arm that supported his weight. His cast-encased wrist thudded painfully
against the person but the feeling was nothing compared to the lost, desolate
ache housed in his soul. His fingers clutched this savior, trying to draw closer,
to regain a bit of his lost humanity.

The words were continuing their soft assurances but the arms were relaxing
their hold and urging the injured agent back to the mattress. Mulder tried to
resist the movement, wanting to stay in the loving embrace, but was too weak
to maintain the gesture by himself. Relunctantly, he lay back against the cool
sheets and tried to focus on the face of his savior, the tears making the image
blur amd run together. He could feel a hand brushing his hair back from his
forehead, could feel the wonderful sensation of a damp cloth against his cheeks,
could imagine this was his mother...back to apologize for her hurtful words and
actions.

"Mom..." he moaned weakly, hopefully.

The hand stilled for a moment and then continued its gentle touches. When
it didn't identify itself, Mulder fought his fatique and tried to clearly see the person.
The image was still blurry but it seemed to be male, so Mulder tried again.

"Skinner?" He rasped, eyes blinking in confusion and hope.

The man lowered his face closer and smiled. "No, Agent Mulder. I don't think
we've been properly introduced as of yet."

Mulder blinked and saw a set of warm, brown eyes looking down from above.
The man had a honest, open expression and a smile that was friendly and
sincere.

"Who..." Mulder gasped but was stopped by a finger to his lips.

As the finger continued to press, Mulder tried to turn away. The fingers
reached to grasp his chin and held him in place.

"Let me introduce myself," the man's smile was changing. "My name is
Jeffery DeVincent and I have a message for you from a mutual friend."

At Mulder's confused expression, DeVincent slipped his hand into a
pocket and pulled out a small metal instrument, bringing it forward and
into Mulder's line of sight. It flashed dully in the room's dim lighting but
Mulder was instantly aware of its identity. He flinched and feebly tried to
move away, pulling against DeVincent's restraining hand and edging
slightly up in the narrow bed.

"Ah, ah, ah," DeVincent chided as the easily held the agent in place,
bringing the blade of the knife to rest against Mulder's left cheek and
letting a flat side stroke the skin in a parody of a lover's touch. "You
remember Leslee, don't you? Or, maybe, you remember her as Jenny
Sullivan." He waited as Mulder's eyes widened in comprehension, then
into fear. He smiled at the sight. " Yes. You remember. Well, Leslee
has a message and she asked me to deliver it personally."

The knife flashed away from Mulder's face and was suddenly at the
tender wound on his abdomen, the tip piercing the skin with the feel of
fire. Mulder hissed and arched, trying with all his strength to get
away from the blade. It was futile but, ironically, Mulder found he wasn't
ready to die. He pushed his cast-encased wrist down and tried to deflect
the knife, feeling the burn spread around the wound, feeling the warmth
of blood running down his side, feeling his energy fade.

*Oh,God!*

There was a loud sound in the small room, a boom that seemed to shake
the walls and rattle the standard clock hanging by the door. The knife
was no longer pressing but a dead weight had settled across his chest,
trapping the blade between Mulder and his assailant. But, as quickly as
the weight had settled, it was removed and he was able to breath easier.

"Mulder! Mulder, can you hear me?" A voice was calling, rousing him from
a slowly-approaching peaceful place. "Damn it, Mulder, don't you hare
out on me now!"

*Scully! It was Scully!*

"Scully..." he choked, tasting a coppery tang and recognizing it for what
it was. He swallowed shakily. "Where...where have.. you been?"

"Oh, Mulder," Scully felt the tears on her cheeks and watched as her
friend struggled to stay conscious, the thin line of blood trailing from the
corner of his mouth scaring her more than his waxy complexion and
shallow breathing. She holstered her still-smoking gun and reached for him.
Now was not the time to tell him of her days spent following Leslee
Robinson's lawyer, of her time trailing the man and watching him as her
suspicions grew. This was as time to reassure him of her presence.

"I'm here now...I'm here now. Don't you leave. Do you hear me, Mulder?
Don't leave me now!"

"...okay..." he said in a whisper so soft that he sounded like he was
already miles away from her.

Scully gently shifted the sheets away, pulled up his hospital gown and
pressed her hands to the reopened wound, wincing as he shifted and
moaned. "It's okay, Mulder...it's okay."

The room erupted in a frenzy of activity as medical personnel and other
officers entered the small area. Scully was edged away by the doctor
on call and felt strong hands pulling her back and out into the hallway.
She turned to see Skinner, his face a mixture of concern, fear, and
relief.

"You were right, Scully," he spoke with a slight bit of amazement. "How
did you know DeVincent would make a play for Mulder?"

She could only shake her head. It was too soon for her to try to make
her feelings and findings known. She wanted to go back to check on
her partner, wanted to be there as they made a decision about his new
injuries, wanted to be near the one person she'd forced herself to stay
away from for the past four days.

Skinner saw her need and nodded his understanding. But before they
could re-enter the room, a nurse was pushing out, indicating with a nod
of her head for them to follow. They shifted into step beside her as she
moved toward the unit's main desk.

"He's going back to surgery now," she explained as they stopped to
watch as she punched a few numbers into her computer and reached
for the phone. Her eyes rose to lock with Scully's. "Doctor Albright will
be contacted but I think the surgeon on call will do the operation. There's
respiratory bleeding, fluid sounds in the left lung, blood pressure almost
bottoming out."

A gurney was suddenly rushing by, travelling back toward Mulder's
room. Both Scully and Skinner watched its passing with an anxious
dread, knowing it would only be a matter of moments before it would
reappear with Mulder stretched out atop. Skinner felt Scully lean
slightly toward him, her small frame just a whisper of pressure at his
side, and gently lifted his arm to circle her shoulders.

It was such a tiny bit of comfort but it was enough. Enough to ease
them through the surgery, enough to see them through the shakey,
uncertain days that followed, and enough to ensure that they would
work to get Mulder back into their private fold...no matter how long it
took.

As the days turned to weeks and the weeks progressed into months,
both Scully and Skinner escorted him through the recovery, watching the
first baby-like steps as Mulder decided he wanted to try living again,
helping him regain a bit of his confidence and easing him into the
rigors of caring for himself. They shared his successes and failures,
felt each pain during rehabilitation, and let him vent his anger and his
helplessness when he got emotionally weak.

And, the day he finally took the stand and raised his right hand to swear
to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, they both sat proudly in the
courtroom, listening intently as he calmly and dispassionately related
the dark, sordid tale of his capture and torture. They marvelled at his
professionalism, at his display of utter serenity, and his ability to
recall even the smallest detail of his time in the warehouse.

Afterwards, as she held Mulder's head while he vomited in the men's
restroom down the hallway from where the trial continued, Scully
cursed his precise memory and the woman who had scarred his soul.
She knew Skinner stood guard at the door and would be there in a
moment's notice if needed but this was her time to be with her
friend, her partner, her...

"Scully..."

She focused on Mulder's face, seeing the perspiration dotting the fore-
head and beading his upper lip, and used her handkerchief to gently
wipe the corner of his mouth. He spit distastefully into the rusty commode
one last time before reaching for the handle, watching the water swirl
away.

"What, Mulder?"

"Remind me never to eat breakfast on days I have to testify."

She smiled as he began to rise shakedly to his feet, watching as he
dusted half-heartedly at the knees of his pants. She kept a hand on
his arm as they moved awkwardly out of the stall and toward the
small row of sinks, knowing how the scar across his abdomen
sometimes pulled tight and made him stand slightly bent at the waist.
He was more than slightly bent now, his right hand pressing against
his stomach in an attempt to ease the pain. Scully reached into her
coat pocket and found the container she religiously carried now, no
matter where she went. Popping the lid open, she tilted one of the
small, blue tablets into her hand and held it out.

"Here, Mulder," she offered, placing the hand in front of him. Her
other hand came to rest on his back, rubbing gently as she saw him
frown in disgust. "You need this now and you know it. Don't be such a
baby."

He snatched the pill and swallowed it dry, turning to face her for a
moment. He stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout before
turning back to the sink.

"I'm not a baby." His mumbled retort sounded awfully lame.

Scully watched as he cupped his hands under the water and bent
slowly to splash a bit of water on his face. She saw him rinse his
mouth and then swallow a couple of handfuls before slowly moving
back to his almost-upright position again. Suddenly, he closed his
eyes and swayed.

"Whoa," Scully put both hands on his arms and turned him until
he could sit back on the edge of the sink, watching as his head
drooped to his chest. "You going to be sick again?"

"No..." he whispered toward the floor, "but I...I think I might want to
rest here for a bit."

"Should I get Skinner?" She asked, starting to turn toward the door.

"No," he said hastily and looked up into her concerned face, his
right hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder. "Don't leave. Just
stay here with me for a minute. Okay?"

Scully saw a flash of something in his eyes before he looked
away. "Okay, Mulder."

She eased to his side and, when he shifted over a little, she rested
back against the sink too, enjoying the quiet and the closeness.
There were no need for words right now.

"Scully," Mulder finally broke the silence, his arm brushing against
hers, "I was thinking..."

"About?"

He shifted and Scully got the impression he was a little shy about
what he was about to say. She remained quiet and let him set his
own pace.

"Doctor Albright said I could start doing some light exercising soon."

"Well, that's good, Mulder. I'm sure he wouldn't recommend it if he
had concerns." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.
"What kind of exercise did he suggest?"

"Well, you know, stuff like walking. No contact sports, no running
yet," he sighed miserably, "but I guess it's a start."

"Walking sounds like a good idea."

Mulder made a non-committal sound in his throat and shifted again.
"He said...he said I could probably do a few slow laps in the pool."

Scully turned to face him fully, her smile wide and bright. "Oh,
Mulder, that's wonderful. I know how much you like swimming. I'll
bet you can't wait to get back in the water again."

"Yeah, well...I guess."

At his forlorn look, Scully's smile died. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Mulder...give."

"No, really. It's nothing."

"Mulder."

"I..I put my swim suit on last night and..." he took a deep breath
and let it out in a rush, "...shit. Never mind."

Scully frowned and moved to stand right in front of her friend.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and shook him gently
until he looked up. She could see embarrassment and fear in
his eyes. He swallowed and took the plunge.

"I can't even stand to look at it, Scully. How will other's react
when they see it?"

She was totally confused. "See what?"

"This," he placed a hand on his stomach and she immediately
understood. "This...scar."

"Oh, Mulder," she sighed, her heart aching for his discomfort.
"No one will even notice..."

"You can't help but notice it. It's ugly, it's hideous, it's..." he
swallowed and shook his head in defeat.

"Let me see."

Mulder's head snapped up. "What?"

"Let me see it."

"Scully...no."

Her hands were already pushing apart his jacket and reaching for
the buttons of his shirt. He swatted feebly at her fingers, his head
shaking negatively. He'd kept himself totally under wraps since being
released from the hospital, making sure he was never seen without
a shirt, and he certainly didn't want to do this now.

"Scully, please...don't."

They played a small game of tug of war with his shirt tails until,
finally, they stopped and regarded each other breathlessly. Mulder's
eyes were wet with unshed tears and Scully's mouth was set with grim
determination.

"Let go, Mulder," Scully said quietly. "Just let go."

He blinked at her, his fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, a lone
tear breaking free and trailing down one cheek. He searched her face
and saw nothing but her strength and resolution. With a small cry
of defeat, his fingers fell away from his shirt.

Scully raised a hand and tenderly brushed the tear away with the
backs of her fingers, gently lifting his chin so she could see his
eyes. He blinked miserably at her but remained silent.

"It's okay...it's okay. You know it doesn't matter to me. You know
I'll accept you as you are. You're my best friend, Mulder, and nothing
could ever make me change my mind...especially nothing as
insignificant as a scar."

She pushed apart the shirt and had to keep her gasp of surprise
trapped inside. Mulder was right: it was ugly and it was horrible but,
as she had stated just moments before, it just didn't matter. She
put her hand gently against the puckered flesh and felt him tremble,
his head coming forward to rest against her shoulder.

He was crying openly now and Scully wanted nothing more than to
put her arms around him and keep him sheltered in her embrace.
But she kept her hand on the scar and tried to transmit her acceptance
and affection through the touch of her skin on his. The flesh under her
fingers was warm and alive. Yes, it was damaged and, yes, it would
probably be offensive to anyone who didn't know Mulder and how he
had obtained the mark, but it was so good to have him alive and in
one piece. Her fingers stroked the scar with more boldness, travelling
up to where it ended just below his diaphram and then back-tracking
to where it started, just above his pubic hair.

With her hand inside the waistband of his pants and his face nestled
in the hollow of her neck, Scully used her free arm to pull him into an
awkward embrace. She felt him respond and hug her back carefully,
almost as if he was afraid she'd, somehow, find the gesture repulsive
and want to pull away. She tightened her hold and brought her other
hand out of his clothes, wrapping that arm around him too, pulling him
solidly against her small frame. She wasn't going anywhere...

Scully let Mulder purge himself of his tears and then helped him
pull himself back together, her hands never straying far from his body.
She touched his face, smoothed his hair, rubbed his shoulder...all
in an unconscious attempt of comforting his self-doubts. Her fingers
carefully rebuttoned his dress shirt and steadied him as he retucked
it inside his pants, her fingers aching to heal him more than she could
with just a mere touch.

"Scully..." his voice was whisper-light.

"What, Mulder?" she asked, hoping he'd raise his face so she could see
his eyes.

"Would you come with me?"

Scully was confused by his request and reached to gently cup his
face between her hands. She tilted his head until she could see his
eyes clearly and was not surprised to see the tinge of fear in them.

"Come where with you?" She inquired softly.

His lips pressed together in a thin, determined line. Finally, taking
a deep breath, he took the plunge.

"Would you come swimming with me?"

There it was.

Scully realized he didn't want to be alone when he exposed his
new-scarred body to the world for the first time, even if it would just
be in the Bureau's private pool. He wanted her support, her calming
assurrances, her company. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

"I'd be honored," she said honestly and watched as his eyes searched
her face for any hesitation or disgust. "Is this a date?"

Her coyness brought a flash of the old Mulder back and he offered a
small smirk. "Well, you did just have your hands down my pants."

"Am I interrupting anything here?" A strong voice inquired from the
doorway and Scully and Mulder jerked apart, startled by the intruder's
words.

The two agents watched as Skinner eyed them suspiciously, taking
in Mulder's rumpled clothing and puffy eyes, Scully's rapidly blushing
face, and the nervous way they shifted from foot to foot. They were
acting as if they'd been caught in some compromising position and
Skinner couldn't help the devilment he felt as he looked at them.

"Did I just hear you making a date? Are you two fraternizing?"

"No, sir," Scully was quick to stammer her reply. "It's not what it
looks like..."

"It looks like you two have been involved in a little private investigation
of your own."

Scully blushed all over again but Mulder, unbelievably, began to
laugh, his quiet chuckles growing until he was leaning heavily against
the sink once more for support and had both arms wrapped protectively
around his middle. Scully looked at Mulder in concern and then shifted
her gaze to Skinner, only now seeing the grin on his face. As she
realized that Skinner was toying with her embarrassment and that
Mulder was finding the whole situation hysterical, her anger grew.

She pushed away from her partner and nailed him with a stern stare.
"For your information, Mulder, I was already planning on doing a little
swimming with you after things settled down."

"Oh, yeah," he managed to calm enough, wiping the moisture from
his eyes, "I seem to recall someone telling me about a bikini you
were going to buy."

Scully turned quickly to look at Skinner who, at this point, seemed
to be fascinated by the restroom's old, overhead light fixtures. He was
the only one who knew about her private conversation with an uncon-
scious and terribly injured Mulder months ago, he was the one who
suggested she let Mulder decide on the swimsuit's color, he was
the one who had made her feel alive and cared-for on that day.

And, obviously, he had been the one who had told Mulder about her
bikini ramblings.

She eyed the two men in front of her and straightened her posture,
one eyebrow arching in her own special smirk. "Well, if you must
know, Mulder, I decided against the bikini."

"Why does that not suprise me?" He chuckled softly, his beautiful
eyes dancing with amusement.

Scully crossed her arms and stepped closer to her partner, sparing
a quick glance at Skinner, just to make sure he was watching and
listening. She seductively took Mulder's tie between her fingers and
rolled the soft fabric for a moment.

"Why bother with a new suit," she tugged once to make her point,
"when skinny-dipping is so much nicer. Don't you think?"

Dropping the tie, Scully turned and vacated the restroom, hearing the
silence behind and imagining the faces of the men she'd left in
that public washroom. It had been enough to see Mulder's eyes
widen with stunned surprise but the quick look at Skinner had made
her day. No one would ever believe she'd actually seen the blush
of embarrassment on his cheeks...but she had and it had been
wonderful.

Exiting the massive courthouse and easily descending the steps out
front, Dana Scully walked briskly toward their waiting car, not caring
that she'd have to wait for them before leaving. She had the keys but
opted to bask in the warmth of the late-afternoon sun, tilting her face
to catch a few of the remaining rays. There had been so few of these
types of days lately and she wanted nothing more than to enjoy them
while she could. The warm sun and fresh air made her think of beaches
and clear water and she found herself smiling at the sky, imaging
tropical breezes and cool plunges in the sea. Maybe it was time for a
vacation...maybe it was time to return to the ocean.

Hearing a set of footsteps nearing, Scully turned and watched the slow
approach of her partner and their boss. They were both attractive men
but, right now, were oblivious to all the looks they were recieving from
passing women. Their eyes were for her only. She smiled at their small,
restrained grins and felt her heart swell, realizing how important both
men were in her life now.

She unlocked the doors and helped Skinner settle Mulder in the back
seat, grinning when he softly touched her cheek in a silent thanks. She
strapped herself behind the wheel, started the ignition but, before
pulling out of the parking space, spoke to her two companions without
taking her eyes away from the windshield.

"So, how does Hawaii sound? Anyone want to join me?"

And, as the car pulled away, their combined laughter rolled out into
the sunshine and was carried away by the breeze.

END?

Feedback and cyber-roses to:Mary A. Turner