Subject: Corpse 8/9
Date: 10 Jul 1995

Corpse 26/?

Mulder, Scully and the X-Files property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and
Fox Broadcasting. I used 'em without permission, and don't intend any
infringement.

Emma and her town and everyone in it property of the Goo. Story copyright
livengoo@tiac.net. I love mail, I make no profit, and don't reprint it
without my permission. Those who use my work without my permission do so
in violation of 17 U.S.C. § 101 et. seq. and that's illegal and a mortal
sin.

This story is just littered with violence and profanity. I don't rate
stuff, but will advise you strongly to skip Corpse if that bothers you.
Goo

_____________________
It wasn't a scream. More of a low wail, but it brought me out of sleep
just as surely. I heard feet go past my door and take the stairs down two
at a time. I followed Scully a bit more carefully, pulling my robe around
me. I can't say I was surprised, but I'd sort of hoped the drugs might
push him through the night without any dreams.

It was just the three of us in the house. Douglas had taken over for
Seth, and was outside in his car, ready to suggest, politely, to any
curious persons that curiosity had killed more than cats. Jerry had long
since retreated to his hotel to write notes and do whatever it was he
liked to do when no one was around to notice.

Fox wasn't sobbing, wasn't wailing either. He was just wrapped around a
pillow, trying to catch his breath. Scully had the inhaler and I'd
probably just missed that bit of fun. He kept asking her to make sure the
house wasn't burning, make sure Sam wasn't inside, make sure she got out.
I don't think he was really awake, and she just sat there, stroking his
hair and trying to convince him it was all right. I got them both some
warm herb tea to drink and went back to bed. After all, I could sleep
late.

I'd need to sleep late. I had to get up about three more times that night
and wander around my house, putting my hands over electical outlets and
light switches just to reassure myself they were cool and everything was
safe.

_________________
Mulder really wanted to go downtown with Scully to talk with the
prosecutor. It didn't do him any good. She could out-stubborn him hands
down. She actually managed a skirt and a light blouse today, although the
shoulder still itched too much for the jacket. It gave a definite
psychological advantage, as was obvious over breakfast.

Mulder had gone for coffee and she'd stopped him. "No stimulants."

"Coffee. Scully, coffee is not going to ruin me."

"After a week in the hospital I'm willing to bet you won't go into
caffeine withdrawal."

He had been up a while, and was dressed in jeans and an oxford shirt.
"Yeah, but it will keep me awake while Waverly asks dumb questions." He
yawned. The look Scully gave him made plain that that had not been high
on her list of concerns. I'd taken the better part of valor and kept out
of it. She shook her head and started to write, calling me over.

"Emma, you will be here all day?" It was only a question in the technical
sense. I nodded. "Here's the list of what," she shot an aggravated look
at Mulder, which he pointedly ignored, "he needs to take and when and with
what." God, it was running into three pages from the looks of it. I
gulped and nodded.

I didn't ask why she didn't just leave it with him, with his memory. The
look on his face was enough to convince me that his memory probably wasn't
what she was concerned about. She sat back, satisfied with her pages of
instructions and schedules.

"Real 'tab A in slot B' stuff?" She grinned.

"Hopefully." Fox watched her and tried not to yawn.

_____________________
She snuck out after he fell asleep in front of the set. I heard the
baying of the hounds, but Seth was out there by then, and kept them back.
I found a comfy spot in the sun and settled down to read a murder mystery,
snickering at the wimpy villain, while Mulder slept and muttered and
tossed on the couch. If he had nightmares this time, they weren't enough
to wake him, thank god.

___________
He woke up when Jerry showed at ten-thirty, which was just as well because
I needed to shovel about a pound of pills and liquids down him. Jer
stared at the collection I trucked into the living room, and almost
snickered at the look Mulder gave me and the goodies I'd brought for him.

"You know, if you were my five year old niece I'd have brought puppets to
distract you during this."

"Shut up, Rigg." I seconded Mulder's opinion on that with a nasty glare.
Jerry grinned and did a perfectly wonderful Newt Gingrich imitation that
almost had Mulder inhaling medication that was meant to be swallowed. We
got the inhaler done during a Bob Dole, with a cameo of Janet Reno and
William Sessions. I almost expected the issue of National Enquirer with
Newt's Space Alien Summit meeting as a capper, but even Jerry draws the
line somewhere.

A strong soul would have quailed at the prospect of keeping Fox Mulder
occupied all afternoon. A soul like myself would probably have run
screaming. Fortunately, it wasn't an issue.

"I do *not* want to go to the hospital."

"To begin with, you have no idea how petulant that sounds. Secondly, what
you want is not going to matter in this case. You and I both have
appointments, and even if I cared whether you want to go I wouldn't let
you squirm out of it while I have to go."

He weighed it, and tried to compromise. "I'll go to the respiratory therapist."

"Yes. You will. And I'll get my back checked. And then you have an
appointment with Fitzgibbon."

He glared at me. Jerry was peeking out the front curtains, judging how
well Seth was doing in intimidating his colleagues. I was holding Fox's
coat, ignoring the glare and tapping my foot.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mulder. Do you cooperate or
do I get Jerry to help?" Jerry leered over his shoulder, and Mulder
promptly got into his coat.

"Okay, Emma. Seth's got us some space." He and Jerry had had a ball,
coordinating our escape from the local news services and almost
synchronizing watches. If I'd been a local reporter I'd have given up as
soon as I realized who I was up against. Jerry got the door and Mulder
and I broke for the car. Seth slung himself behind the wheel and Jer took
the passenger seat. They'd gotten a little footage, but nothing much and
no comments, and Jerry and Seth were positively giggling.

Mulder leaned forward, staring at Seth. "Skinner put a giggling Marine on
guard duty?" The words came out wrapped around little pants as Mulder
tried to catch his breath. I was still feeling a little, smoky ache in my
own lungs, and could only imagine how he felt, but some things just
outweigh physical discomfort, and giggling marines clearly made that list.

"Agent Mulder, I haven't been involved in a three ring circus like this
since. . . god. I can't remember an assignment this funny. They'll be
buying my beer for years on this one." Mulder sat back, eyes directed at
the roof in silent prayer to god, or aliens, or whoever to take him now.
Jerry was scribbling notes and smirking to himself, and I would bet on a
sidebar article on all this.

County General was smart enough to have an extra guard out, and we had no
trouble getting to our appointments. More accurately, Mulder had no
trouble getting to his appointments. I can't say I enjoyed having my
burns looked at, they itched and I ached, and wanted to scratch at them.
Dr. Ackerman was very happy with my lungs, and didn't renew my
prescription for antibiotics.

I parked myself outside Fitzgibbon's office and waited. It didn't take
long. Mulder's carefully neutral expression, and Fitzgibbon's frustrated
one weren't any surprise. The fibbie held his cool surface until we got
into the hall, then he leaned back against the wall and just wilted.

"Hey, c'mon." He opened his eyes and looked at me. He was standing as
though the weight of his coat was almost too much for him. I scooped an
arm through his and pulled him along. His feet dragged, but not from
reluctance anymore.

"I hate shrinks."

"You are a shrink."

"That's different."

He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, ignoring everything, and
had to push himself off the wall to stand back up straight. I didn't try
to talk with him. It was clear that he was concentrating on where we were
heading, and not really up to sparkling repartee. Jer and Seth, in the
lobby, were a welcome sight. My place was even more so, and I woke Mulder
up from his fifteen minute nap to get him through the door and back on the
couch. By that time I almost think he was regretting having checked
himself out early. We got his coat off him, but then he just went out
like a light in a corner of the couch, curled up under the quilt, and
looking impossibly small for someone of his height.

Hot tea - with caffeine - for Jerry and Seth, and I was ready to retreat.
This was a lot of excitement after my enforced rest, and I was just as
glad my guests could take care of themselves for a while. I grabbed my
files and headed for my room, while Jer and Seth played chess in the
kitchen and waited for Scully. There had been fewer reporters out front
when we got back, and there was some real hope that they might have
finally found another disaster to haunt. Seth, of course, would be with
us as long as Mulder was likely to cause even more trouble than the press.

And I found myself reading these paragraphs over, and over, and over.
Another strip mall. Rent requirements. Mortgage arrangements.
Obligations and funding and. . . and what was the point? Another big
discount store, so what. More interchangeable restaurants to buy ersatz
antiques. I threw the files at the wall and buried my head under my
pillow and pounded my hands and feet into the mattress until I was out of
breath and feeling really stupid. Then lay on my back, studying the
reflections and shadows on my ceiling.

I dragged myself downstairs when I knew I had to go dose that poor bastard
with more pills and drugs. He looked completely harmless, sprawled out
now with the quilt half tangled around his shoulders. I had to remind
myself the man owned a gun, knew how to use it, could not be what he
looked. I could faintly hear Seth telling war stories, but it was quiet
in here. I shook Fox's shoulder, pulled my hand back when he startled
awake, pulling his knees and arms up defensively until he realized where
he was.

"Hey." I kept my voice quiet. "Hey, it's all right. Wake up." His eyes
still looked a little glassy, but he pulled himself up and relaxed,
rubbing the sleep from his face.

"Is Scully back yet?" He ran his fingers back through his hair. Pulled
upright into the corner of the coudh as I settled on the other end and got
the flight bag full of meds in my lap.

"No, I bet they're really scrambling to get together everything for the
hearing." He gave me a distinctly jaundiced look as I started sorting
through the bottles in that kit of his, checking against the list I'd been
left.

"I can do that myself. I don't have to check a list."

"I don't doubt it. I also don't doubt you'd cheat." He grinned at that.
I kept digging in the bag, even though I was sure I had what I wanted, so
I wouldn't have to look at him for a moment. "Mulder, why are you doing
this?" I felt him go very still next to me.

"Doing what?" He didn't insult me by deflecting it out of hand.

I looked up at him now. The light was soft in here at this time of
afternoon, almost evening. "Why do you take such risks, take such weird
cases? I read about some of your cases. You could. . . I don't know.
But why do you do this?"

His lips had parted just a little, a word half caught there, but finally
quirked in a small smile. "Why do you need to know?"

My spine straightened, and I could feel my chin come up before I knew I
was doing it. "I don't *need* to know, Mulder. I want to know."

"When you're willing to tell me why you need to know, maybe I'll be
willing to tell you why I need to do this." I felt my lips tighten,
watched him turn, almost relieved, to the stack of pills and medicine. If
I'd done nothing else, at least I'd found a way to get him to take the
crap he was supposed to swallow.
_________________

"They didn't get your best side, Mulder." Scully wasn't all that happy
about the evening news but was making the best of it. The footage of us,
scurrying to the car, had Jerry doubled up on the floor. He was making us
tape it for Seth.

Mulder smiled. "That's okay, Scully. I save my best side for you."

"That's not your side, Mulder. That's your back." Even in the light from
the set, I could see him blush. Jerry's teeth shone in a broad smile.
Scully snorted. Not their most inspired, but not bad for people as tired
as they were.

Scully had finally shown up about six-thirty, with carry-out lasagna, and
some pasta for Mulder. I was willing to bet he'd be binge eating as soon
as he was up to it, after the miserably bland and limited diet he was
suffering through now. She hadn't let him have any of the red wine
either, though she'd had to weather some really well-delivered beseeching
looks in the process. They clearly had this routine down to an art, and I
wondered if he ever got to turn the tables on her. Somehow, I figured her
for sensible enough that he wouldn't get the same satisfaction out of it.

Jerry had earned his dinner, too. Not only had he helped that afternoon,
he managed to pull his weight with at least one good argument on covert
activities and cover-ups by US and foreign governments. When they moved
on to the OJ trial I knew he had a winner.

"He's innocent. He was framed."

"Riggins, I can not believe you are backing that idiotic theory!"
Mulder's eyes were wide and his voice practically cracked with
indignation. "Besides the fact that there's absolutely nothing to be
gained by framing a so-so actor and a retired football player, they've got
so damn much evidence, both real and circumstantial. . ."

"They're using him to destroy the image of the successful
African-American. *All* that 'evidence' is either circumstantial or could
be faked. He's too smart. . . " Scully was staring as Mulder went on the
counter-attack. I could see Jerry's eyes sparkling and had to bite the
insides of my cheeks. It went on and on until Jer gave up the ghost and
started to giggle.

"I cannot believe it. . . I can't. Spooky Mulder arguing the government's
case!" Jerry was snickering into his wine.

Mulder leaned back and smiled. "Yeah, well. You have to know how to pick
and choose your conspiracies." Scully rolled her eyes. "Although the
women in yours do wear shorter skirts. . . Shame it's wasted on you. Hard
to pant over Alan Dershowitz."

Jerry gagged and let it drop.

__________________

"Two-hundred and thirty-seven dollars?" My voice must have shrilled up at
least an octave.

"And forty-eight cents," supplied Stu, adding the final bottle to the
pile of little amber and white bottles, and inhalers and creams and
all-around stuff. My hand trembled as I gave him Mulder's card. No
wonder they'd given Mulder all those free samples at the hospital, he'd
have dropped from sticker shock if they'd charged him at the hospital
pharmacy.

"Seen you on the news. That's the only reason I'm letting you sign off.
Is that little partner of his still downtown every day?"

"Stu, I don't feel like discussing this with you, and you will give me
those carbons. . ." I reached over and snatched them before he could tuck
them under the counter. Fox Mulder did NOT need to see a six o'clock
report on what he was taking and how much it cost. The regret on Stu's
face made me glad for my paranoia. "And you are doubtless violating some
oath of confidentiality or other if you tell the vultures about this
stuff." I glared and shoveled all those bottles and boxes into my
carryall. God knows my own five prescriptions and eighty plus dollar bill
was bad enough. Lord, those fucking burns itched.

The wind caught me as I stepped out, whipping rain across to soak the hems
of my jeans. My hair dripped water down my back, to soak my bandages. If
there was justice in the world, Kane's burns were driving him crazier than
he already was.

I'd gotten up early to wind shrieking through the bare branches, freezing
rain rattling on my windows and the television on in the living room.
None of it was any surprise. The rain had awakened me, and I'd heard the
TV running all night long. The channel had changed at least four times.
There's a big difference between C-SPAN and The Comedy Channel.and the
Swedish beach volleyball teams on whatever channel he found at four a.m.

At least he was asleep when I finally got downstairs. Scully had made
coffee and was reviewing her notes.

"Morning, Emma." I yawned. Not my favorite time of day.

"What's on the agenda for today?" I was letting her set the schedules. I
simply couldn't keep track of all Mulder's meds and appointments and my
own.

"Mmm. Seth takes Mulder to the therapist today. Eleven o'clock
appointment. And can I ask you to get these filled?" She looked up and
tapped a short story's worth of prescriptions. Which was how I'd managed
to get light duty, buying his pills and my own, while Seth made sure Fox
got to all the doctors on time for his poking and prodding and nagging.

I'd left after them, letting the house get quiet before I made lunch.
Jerry was off doing something related to making money and filing stories,
and I was alone for the first time in. . . I gave up trying to figure it
out. Every time I thought I knew, different classifications of alone
cropped up. The last time I'd known for sure I was alone, had been just
before Sally McCormick was murdered and dumped. When I stepped out the
door the clean, cool touch of wet air washed me and my car was less refuge
than trap.

A couple skids on wet leaves left me less well-disposed towards the
outdoors. I dropped off the lease I had -finally - succeeded in
reviewing. Seth's car was there, so they must be back. The jackals were
lounging outside their vans. Must have gotten back pretty recently then.

Seth let me in too fast, as though he'd been watching for me. I almost
asked what was wrong when I heard Waverly's voice.

"What is this shit?" Looking through the living room arch I could see
him, waving a sheaf of papers, face flushed. His gaze was levelled across
the room, and I knew I'd find Mulder on his feet when I stepped in.

His arms were crossed and he was pale, but looked very calm. Waverly
turned, mouth tightened as he stared at me.

"Ms. Courtland. I believe I've already spoken to you. I understand your
house is small, but if you could give us some privacy?" Mulder was
watching him, jaw tight, and I could see the way his fingers dug in above
his elbows. I shook my head.

"No. No, this is not privileged, not under an attorney/client situation.
I don't think I want to leave." I caught a flicker of relief on Mulder's
face. He leaned back heavily against the bookcase, letting it take most
of his weight.

Waverly's mouth pursed. His glare lingered with me, then snapped back to
the fed. "I thought we understood our objectives in this."

"*We* understand our objectives just fine. They're just not the same
objectives." Mulder's voice was steady, but it had to have cost him.

"We talked about this! I've seen your profiles. You wanted this man to
go to trial. What the fuck are you telling me now?" Waverly was stalking
across the room, stopping just in arm's reach of Mulder. I'd been that
close to Waverly, in my interviews. At that range, you could smell his
breath.

"I know what I wrote. I know every damned word. I can recite them
verbatim." Fox straightened, away from the bookcase but fenced. "And
every one of those words was written at a distance. Every last word is
speculation."

"I. Don't. Care. This psycho murdered. . . " Waverly stopped,
breathing hard and trembling. Whipped his arm back and threw the profile
into Mulder's chest. It fluttered to the floor as Waverly spun and
marched back across the room, heels slamming crescents into my oriental
rug. Mulder sagged back against the bookcase again, eyes shut, opened
them as Waverly spun on him again. "You're letting this murderer walk
away from his fucking crime, Agent Mulder. You're helping him walk away.
God damn it. If you stand behind this he'll never see trial."

"He's not sane." Mulder sighed. "He's delusional as hell and needs to be
studied, needs to be treated. He does not belong in a prison population."

"Damn you. I knew you'd try to play with this fucker. This is a multiple
murderer, not another one to support your fucking obsessions. . . I should
have known you'd live right up to your rep and go fucking crazy on me.
Spooky-fucking-Mulder." I couldn't even see the hazel in Mulder's eyes
anymore. All black. "You could put the icepick between this bastard's
eyes, but you have to play games, change your tune at the last minute.
You're so damn crazy you can't even remember half of what he said to you.
. . " Waverly was back in his face, watching his eyes narrow, his
cheekbones go tight. "That's what they say in D.C. isn't it. . . "

Damndamndamn. This was too much. Mulder had braced his hands on a lower
shelf and his breaths were too even and deep. It took work to breathe
that way. It was visible on his pale face, visible in the taut bones and
tendons that distorted the dark lines of healing stitches on his hands.
His shoulders were set, almost drawn forward and Waverly was flushed and
right on top of him. I went for the phone in the kitchen.

Seth was in the hall, and caught my arm, glancing back towards the living room.

"How long was he here, Seth?" Kept my voice low, I didn't need to make
Waverly any angrier.

"He was here when we got back. Since about one-thirty." God, and it was
four now? Two and a half hours of this with a man who should barely have
been out of the hospital? I hit the buttons on my phone so hard it hurt.

"Scully here." Neutral enough that I knew she wasn't having fun, either.

"Scully, did you know Waverly would be coming by?"

I could almost hear her straighten up from whatever slump I figured she'd
been in. Her voice had the force of it behind it. "You wouldn't be
calling if everything was going well. What's going on?" Concern, and
barely held anger.

"He's been here more than two and half hours, from what Seth says. He's
in there now trying to ream a new asshole for Mulder."

What?!"

"You heard me. Mulder's not agreeing with him, and Waverly's getting
nasty about it."

"Shit. Get into the middle of it, Emma. I'll leave now." She sounded
angry, not scared. I grinned and relaxed.

"Got it." Hung up. Not scared. So asthma attacks and all that weren't
really likely now, just one tired, upset man who Scully didn't want either
tired or upset. Fine, that I could manage.

Waverly was facing me when I came around the corner of the hall. He
glared at me, but I wasn't the one he wanted to hit. Not yet, at least.
Fox had moved into a chair, and Waverly was using the height difference to
his advantage. God, Mulder had to be exhausted if he'd give up that kind
of tactic to that nasty pimple of a man.

Seth hovered in the hall, and I copied Waverly's physical style and hurt
my rug on the way over. Put a politely impolite hand on his arm.

"Mr. Waverly, I think I'd like you to leave now." Lord, the man must
never floss from the way his breath smelled. His cheeks shook with what
he wanted to say, and little veins were florid on his skin. The flare of
his nostrils was not a pleasant sight.

"I've interviewed you already, you two-bit little land shark. Go cobble
together a deal for a convenience store, I have a crime to prosecute. If
this shrink wasn't having a long range brain-fuck with a maniac, we'd be
able to nail the bastard good."

"I'm telling you, he's delusional. Even if you got to trial, they'd
appeal any conviction. He thinks. . ." Mulder's voice was thin, the rasp
in it more hoarse than husky now. Waverly yanked his arm out of my hand,
braced himself over the back of Fox's chair.

"I don't care what he thinks. He murdered more than a dozen people. He
can walk away from those, but he KNEW killing you was wrong. We can lock
him up for life if you quit playing with yourself." My teeth gritted as
he yanked the chair around, rocking Fox back to look up at him.

"You idiot." Low, hostile voice. Anger pulled right out of his guts.
"He thinks I was abducted by aliens and told to murder my sister. He's
out of his mind."

"From what I hear, they don't know that you didn't murder your sister,
Spooky." Oh god, Mulder's face went *white.* Not pale, white. Two
seconds later Waverly was reeling back and blood was pouring out of his
nose, while Mulder was out of the chair and after him. I could see Seth
charging across the room, hear my own hoarse, angry shriek as I got in
between the two of them. Waverly's bloody fist was drawn back and I think
he'd have tried to throw the punch right over my head if Seth hadn't
wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back.

Mulder plowed right into me, going too fast and too tired not to, and we
both went right over the coffee table as Seth pulled Waverly out of the
way.

"Fuck!" Mulder slammed his fists down into the floor, as I heard Seth
rudely eject the prosecutor and slam the door after him.

"Stop that. You'll pop a stitch and bleed on my rug." I had to work to
keep my voice level. God, I wanted to go. . . what I wanted to do to
Waverly was strictly illegal in every jurisdiction I could think of. Fox
had spun to slam a fist into the back of the couch, and I needed to hit
something almost as badly. Crap, more smudgy little blood smears. I
grabbed his wrist and yanked it back. "Mulder. Mulder!"

He was breathing way too fast, and was way too pale, when he came around
to stare back into my eyes, angry, but under control again. I relaxed,
let go of him. Seth was standing over us, looking at Fox Mulder draped
half across my coffee table, and me scrunched down between table and
couch.

"Better get up, Emma, or Scully's going to think you're trying to make her
partner." Seth reached for him, getting a grip on his arms and pulling
him upright, then offering a hand to me. I let him pull me onto my feet.
"Agent Mulder, I must tell you, I have seldom seen anyone make such a good
connection with local authorities. Nice right hook." Mulder shook his
hand out like it stung, but a rueful grin was slowly creeping across his
face.

"Well, they do try to teach shrinks to communicate effectively." He
wasn't breathing so fast, though he was still too pale. A key in the lock
announced Scully very clearly. She might have been hurrying, but she came
to an abrupt stop, taking in the overturned table, chair out of place, and
me and Seth and her partner explaining professional discourse.

"Do you want to communicate with me, Mulder?" Her strained monotone told
me it was time to go putter somewhere. "And why don't you stay, Emma.
I'm sure Seth can make tea or whatever excuse you were about to find."
Oooh, well. So much for that.

"At least this time we won't need xylocaine." I sighed.
____________________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 27/?
Date: 11 Jul 1995 17:22:28 GMT

Corpse 27/?

Usual disclaimers. I'm going to be haunted by these things forever! Fox
Mulder, Dana Scully and the X-Files and associated characters property of
Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and of Fox Broadcasting. Used
without permission, no profit, no infringement intended and all that.
Emma Courtland, Jerry Rigg and everyone else property of Livengoo, story
and folks copyright Livengoo, and you can't use 'em without my
permission. I like email and death threats.

Fair warning. There's violence and profanity, although not necessarily in
all sections so don't get tricked and think a mild section means a mild
story. Oh, and yeah. There are more than 15 sections. <snicker!>
Goo

____________________________
Scully sat back with a very unhappy look on her face. Mulder had the seat
by the wall, so he could lean back. He looked like that was most of what
was keeping him upright at the moment.

"So Waverly's got a bloody nose, and you won't sign off on the psychiatric
evaluation on Kane?"

"I can't sign off on that, Scully." He pulled his eyes open and
straightened up in the chair. "That report is designed to get him to
trial, nothing more." He gave up on the wall and propped his chin on his
hand.

"At first, at the hospital. . ." Scully stared hard at me. Mulder just
left his eyes closed and waited. "You said you figured killing you was
outside his delusion, that he knew what he was doing then."

Faint smile. "Yeah. I remember. Like I told Waverly, I know what I
said." He poked his fork at the rice on his plate. Scully had finished
her pad thai, but I still had half mine on my plate. The rain still
drummed the house.

"But. . .?" I doubt she really needed to ask, but he smiled at the set up.

"But. . . all that was before I talked with him." I think he was too
tired to even react to the memory. "The way he was building me into the
whole delusion, justifying my presence in his scheme. He'd probably tell
you trying to kill me was self-defense."

"But the way he was trying to strangle you. . ." Mulder looked over at me.

"He wasn't. He didn't try to strangle me, Emma." He swallowed. "He was
looking for scars, or anything unusual." I resisted the urge to point out
that everything about Mulder was unusual but I couldn't let the rest of
that go so easily.

"I always figured if somebody had their hands around your throat and you
weren't breathing it was because they were strangling you. Then there was
that little bit about breaking your neck." He leaned back and looked at
the ceiling with the universal plea for strength.

"The fact is that he didn't break my neck, when he could have. And I
stopped breathing because of smoke damage, not Kane. No. He was looking
for scars like the ones he has under his jaw and along the sinus cavity.
He probably has implants elsewhere, too." He frowned at that. My
priorities might have been getting strangled, but his seemed to those
scars.

"Mulder. . . " Scully leaned in, put a hand on his arm. "Mulder, you're
not thinking this man is an abductee? Please. Go look at your own notes.
. . He's built it all into his psychosis." They stared at each other a
long moment, and he licked his lips.

"Scully. . . the scars are there. If we x-ray him, I think I know what
we'll see." She looked. . . nervous. Not lost, but not comfortable with
all this. I frowned and thought about things I'd avoided considering for
days.

"Mulder, is that why he said you needed to check your x-rays over closely,
too? Because the scars are some kind of mark?" Somehow, I wasn't
surprised when I heard a fork clatter. I winced, eyes all screwed up, and
thought I felt the delicate touch of my heel down the back of my throat.
Scully was going to kill me. I looked up very, very slowly.

Yep. Scully was going to murder me. Her eyes were stone-gray and the
muscles around her mouth were pulled tight. I let my eyes track sideways,
not wanting to really move my head, hoping they might not notice me if I
could sit still enough. Abandon hope. . .

His hand was still frozen above his plate, fork on the table where it had
bounced. He wasn't any paler. He'd have passed out if he'd gotten any
paler. But the muscles along his jaw were jumping and his eyes were
dilated. The motion was slow and controlled when he leaned in to catch my
eyes.

"Emma, would you like to repeat that?"

"No. She wouldn't." Scully had that protective, doctor-ordering-patient
look on her face. She was putting in a real effort at staring him down,
but he wasn't letting her have this one.

He looked back to me. "Tell me what you're talking about, Emma."

"Ahh, well. . . maybe we should wait for. . . "

"Emma. What happened? When? All of it." Scully pulled her arms in
tight, crossed under her breasts, fixed her eyes on the table. Mulder had
shoved the plate away and had his forearms braced on the table, sitting
forward and waiting. I bit my lip and shook my head.

"I don't think it's a good idea. . . " He stared at me, back to Scully,
got up and I heard steps almost dragging into the living room.

"Damn it, Emma. One of these days I'm sewing your mouth shut." Scully
was up and after him, leaving me to wince at the idea and wonder if it
would be safer to let her do that while they were here. I cleared the
table, vaguely aware of Mulder's voice in the living room.

When I finished I followed Scully, hoping the situation might have
improved somehow. Mulder had my phone in his lap and was listening,
ignoring Scully's glare.

"That's right, the notes you collected. . . I'm sure. . . I know better
than that. You've got notes of it, no question. You wouldn't be where
you are if you didn't. . . I don't care. She's not talking and I don't
trust witness reports that far in the past, anyway. I want to see the
notes." Not hard to guess who he was talking to. I wondered how he'd
react if I grabbed the extension and told Jerry not to bring them. None
of the scenarios I envisioned made me very happy.

Mulder sighed. "That's the soonest you'll bring them? All right. . . I
said all right!" Snap in the voice. He glared up at Scully. Hung up the
phone.

She kept her voice very calm. "I don't think it's a good idea right now,
and I do think it's wasted effort. Kane's delusional. No matter what he
said. . ."

"Kane is delusional. No question. But that doesn't necessarily mean
that's all he is." Scully's eyes narrowed.

"You are not up to this. You're pushing too fast. I know you're bored
and tired of this, but pushing is not going to make your body heal any
faster." She kept those measured tones, persuasive and soothing.

"And sitting here is not going to answer my questions. Tell me what I
want to know. It's no worse than sitting here wondering. . ."

"Wondering what? If a delusional madman might be telling the truth?
Mulder, he's insane. He's not an abductee. He knows you. He's hitting
your buttons." Frustration roughened her voice now. "He's fixated.
Don't let him get that kind of hold on you. You were just telling Waverly
the man's insane. Listen to yourself for once. You don't need to scare
yourself with bedtime stories of Kane's ravings. There are enough real
things to scare anyone."

He'd let her go on, but was slowly shaking his head, keeping his eyes
fixed on her the whole time. "Scully, we've seen this once before." His
voice was a whisper. "We've seen this kind of madman before. Don't make
me push you on this. We need x-rays on him, close ones, and I need to
know what he said."

"What do you remember?" I knew I shouldn't get into this, and Scully's
look definitely agreed with that judgment, but Mulder was obviously
working it in his mind.

"Kane's got a ridge of scar under his jaw. Another one just perceptible
along the bridge of his nose. He has a scar behind his ear I've seen in
other abductees."

"And after that?" He swallowed.

"I. . . I remember him holding me immobile." He'd let his voice go flat,
cold and clinical. "He was probing under my jaw, clearly looking for
similar scars. He needs to confirm signs of abduction in me to support
his delusion. But his delusional status does not change the existence of
evidence of interference with Kane himself." Pretty little speech. If I
couldn't see his muscle trembling with exhaustion - at least with
exhaustion - from across the room, it would have been a great deal more
impressive. I could see the muscles flex in his wrists as he held himself
upright in the wooden chair.

Scully was on her feet. "Look, at this point I don't care. We can take
this up tomorrow. Right now you're clearly exhausted and need sleep."
She reached down to unfold the couch.

"Scully, I want to hear what Emma has to say." Quiet, stubborn tones.
She walked over to him, took his wrist and checked his pulse, more likely
from habit, and to establish that she was the doctor, than anything else.
He didn't fight her on it, but didn't get up and go where she wanted,
either. Looked back over at me. "Go on."

God, I hated getting into the crossfire between these two. Scully's mouth
was pursed. "Mulder. . . " I gave up. "He called you little brother."
He nodded. Trick memory. "And after you'd gone into that asthma attack,
well. . . he said you needed to check your own x-rays pretty carefully.
That you and he had people in common." I blurted the last of it, let it
sit there in the air. He watched me and nodded a slow acknowledgment of
it.

"See Mulder. Just ravings. Probably it's going to give you a whole new
set of nightmares, but it's just ravings." She walked into the kitchen,
probably pulling together all his prescriptions and getting water the way
she had the night before. Mulder looked after her with a distant, sad
look in his eyes.

"Yeah." I could barely hear him. "Raving. Just like Duane Barry." I
watched him and wondered.
_________________________

I woke up soaked in sweat, with my sheets pulled loose and wrapped around
my shoulders and neck. My own little scream jarred me awake, where I lay
and tried to judge if I'd awakened Scully or Mulder. No sound from
upstairs. I panted and tried to slow my own pulse. No real sound at all,
but just past the edge of my hearing I was aware of that whine you feel
more than hear, and I knew the TV was on. Mulder had been asleep when I
came upstairs, and the TV had been off. . . I glanced at my clock. The TV
had been off four hours before, when I'd gone to bed at eleven-thirty.

My bare feet didn't make any sound on the stairs and I was slow and silent
walking across the hall. Bluish light flickered over the couch, the
walls. I leaned into the room, looking down at Fox. The faint gleam of
eyes under lashes, then he spun, startled, onto his back. I jumped,
smiled ruefully at the sight of him on his back, arms defensively braced
in front of him. He let his eyes fall shut and puffed out a breath of
relief.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I kept my voice soft.

"Then don't sneak up on me." He relaxed, half smiled, watched me settle
on the arm of the couch. "Nightmares?"

I nodded. "I keep dreaming of Kane, of the fire. Or of him. . . in the
hospital."

Mulder sighed, sort of pulled himself up into a corner and pushed the
sleeves of his sweatshirt up his arms. "We did have reasons to want to
keep you out of it."

"Yes. I understand that. I'm not going to sue." He smiled at my tone.
"But. . . do you have nightmares every night?"

He pulled the blanket up around him and thought. "I have. . . bad
dreams. A lot. But I've had them most of my life. It will take time,
but yours will fade." He was watching me now, in the inconstant light.

"Were the dreams part of why you started doing this? Hunting people like Kane?"

I saw him pause, lips parted as though he was holding back a thought. Saw
his chest move in a sigh I couldn't hear. "No. I had to know what
happened to my sister. When I started. . .I couldn't remember. Now I
remember, but I still don't know."

I could feel a puzzled frown on my forehead. Pulled my knees up into a
tuck. "Why tell me now when you wouldn't before?"

"Maybe right now, I think you've paid enough to deserve to know."

"Why is Scully doing this?" He smiled again.

"You'll have to ask her that. If I'm knew, I wouldn't say, but I'm never
totally sure I understand. Not really."

I sat with that for a moment. "Maybe she's not totally sure."

"Maybe. I tend to think Scully knows the bounds in her life better than
almost anyone I've ever met. Even now, she's so sure of so much. . . "
Wistful, trailing off. I thought about watching her when she wasn't sure
he would live, or be all right. Times when I thought she prayed for the
bounds to be as elastic as possible, offer chances no sane person could
expect.

"You'll find the boundaries will firm back up again, Emma. You need to go
back to your work, your life." He was staring at me. I shivered, and
wondered if I'd said anything.

"I don't think so, Mulder. I don't think so at all." His eyes were
pensive. When had I stepped off the sidewalk? Where had the streetlights
stopped? Back before Kane. . . not with Tommy, but. . . "Mulder, it's not
evil that breaks the boundaries. I can accept the presence of evil and my
world would still have its walls." I got up and stuck my hands in the
pockets of my robe. "I got lost when you. . .when you started asking me
where the boundaries lay, and I started trying to answer. That's the
first time I'd ever asked, and now I find I don't know the answer." I
felt my lips purse, saw the lonely, self-recrimination on his face. And I
couldn't offer a word of comfort, because there was none to be had.

I could only have offered comfort if he had not been responsible for the
walls falling down, he and Scully. And it just wasn't true. They'd asked
the questions and I'd followed them down that path. I'd been lost since
the quiet, cold night when whatever had snared them both so long ago had
followed them into my home. It had come to stay.
_____________________________

Radio voices rousted me out of sleep with the trained reflexes of years.
I lay on my belly, idly scratching at the center of my back through a
thick wad of bandage and trying to recall what I was supposed to do this
morning. Oh, yeah. Bandages. I got to go to this hospital with Mulder
this morning, lucky me.

I pulled out a comfortable two piece, more from habit than because I
needed to. So many of my clothes were suits and dresses, it was strange
to have been in blue jeans for extended periods. Alien. The dress at
least had the superficial aspects of my normal life. I snorted, recalling
a late night talk in front of shifting lights. Surfaces. Normal
surfaces.

My normal surface and every other part of me needed coffee, and I could
smell it from downstairs. Back down, and into the kitchen where Mulder
had managed to cadge a cup. Scully was toasting bread, and Mulder already
had cinnamon toast. The soft, gray light caught her hair and made it
stand warm and brilliant against the clouds out the window.

"Lucky you. Does this mean you're going to do the dishes?" He grinned
and Scully let me have the next pieces of toast, though the look that went
with them was not too happy. I'd done it again, and she was keeping
score.

Mulder had the paper spread open by his plate, and toast crumbs on his
chin. Scully leaned past him and snagged the sports before he could stop
her. He coughed on a couple crumbs and gulped coffee to clear his throat.

"Hey, I was going to read that next! Here, I'll trade you the funnies."
As he pulled them loose I grabbed them and went to ground with my toast
and coffee, looking for Dogbert's latest words of wisdom. Scully's cheeks
dimpled with a smothered grin, and Mulder fumed his way through the rest
of the editorials, then had to wait for me to finish and trade before he
could get her piece from her. "I thought you hated football."

"I do. But college basketball is starting soon and I like college
b-ball." She rattled the section tauntingly. He was saved when the phone
rang. I heard the paper whip out from under my plate as I reached up and
grabbed the receiver. Turned to see him negotiate the trade with his
partner and wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Emma Courtland?"

"Yes." I recognized the formal voice of a brother before the bar. Sat
down expecting a few questions about the work I'd dropped off the day
before. Mulder was happily hunched over the football score box, while
Scully was ensconced behind the funnies, maneuvering one hand up with
coffee and chuckling softly at whatever she found.

"I hope I didn't call too early. I'm Howard Jeffries, Peter Kane's
attorney. I understand Doctor Mulder is staying there. May I speak with
him?"

I felt the blood drain from my lips. I don't know about the rest of my
face, but it definitely drained from my lips. "Doctor. . . " Scully
looked up. "Mulder?" Two pairs of eyes, one gray, one hazel, were
watching now.

"Yes. The FBI agent? The psychologist?" His acid tones shrieked high
hourly billing rates. Probably court-appointed, and not happy about it.

I handed the phone over. "He wants you. It's Kane's lawyer."

Scully caught my eyes, all annoyance over last night forgotten. I'd have
tried to tell her if I'd known anything. As it was, all I could do was
shrug, while both of us listened to Mulder's side of the conversation.
"Yes. . . He does? Did he say why?. . . No, I can imagine. . . No. I
want it videotaped, not monitored. That's right. . . Yes, I'll have
others with me. . . I'll have to ask, but if she agrees. . .All right. . .
No. No. . . I don't care. They'll be there." A rather dry smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Jeffries. I can appreciate that." Mulder hung up and
puffed a breath of air out pursed lips, reaching for his coffee cup.

"Well? What was all that?"

"We'll have to get our medical appointments done on time. Peter Kane
wants to talk with me."

__________________________
Cont.

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 28/?
Date: 12 Jul 1995 06:16:19 GMT

Corpse 28/?
Okay. Mulder, Scully, Mulder's Dad and all that X-Filey stuff copyright
Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission,
no infringement intended blah blah blah. Emma, Jer and Emma's town and
story all copyright Livengoo and are not to be used without my express
permission, blah blah blah. I love death threats and email in general,
and will frequently respond well to them. My current fave is the person
who threatened me with being devoured by ants attracted to the stuff that
falls into one's keyboard.

Fair warning, Corpse is frequently violent, has lots of profanity, and is
not suitable for folks who want to see a major romance between Mulder,
Emma, and/or Scully. Or Jer, for that matter. And no, I have no plans to
kill Jer in the near future, so the person who wanted him defenestrated
(go look it up! First Faulkner in Camping, now vocabulary? You will be
tested after the story) will just have to put up with him a while longer.
Goo
___________________________
It felt good to have most of the bandages off, but the relief was tempered
with nerves about getting done. I'd never thought I'd actually want to
stay in a doctor's office. I got out before Mulder. It took more time to
remove stitches, and he had a lot of them to remove. The scars on his
arms and hands would heal cleanly and be invisible by the end of six
months. He was very, very lucky. The respiratory therapist was also
amazed at his recovery time from what Scully said, but was browbeating him
about too little rest. I could imagine what Scully would say to Waverly
next time she saw him.

Kane had wanted me to be there, so I drove. I wasn't sure why I agreed to
go. No. I was sure. But I wasn't comfortable with my own reasons. It
was a long, quiet drive. Mulder, in the back, sprawled across the seat
and drowsed, rubbing idly at the sore, itchy spots on his hands where the
stitches had come out. Scully tuned in a classical station and hummed
arias, watching the flat, open farmland roll past. The sky was gray and
promised more rain, and possibly sleet, but the roads were clear and fast
and felt good under the wheels. I shifted into fifth and just drove,
trying not to think.

_____________

The walls were new and sharp-edged, and razor wire shone like winter light
tangled in ice. Guard towers of clear, thick stuff overlooked us as we
confirmed our appointment at the gate and drove through, parking in a
small and isolated visitor's lot. Scully and I instinctively flanked
Mulder, pacing steadily across the flat, open lots to the front door and
not looking around. We knew we were watched. We didn't need to look.

Mulder shivered, arms crossed, standing in the vestibule while they
checked us again. His coat had been destroyed in the fire, and he hadn't
replaced it yet. Scully and I pulled our collars up against the bite of
the wind at our backs. When we stepped inside where the heat worked well,
it was welcome and close. Scully turned in her weapon. Mulder's had gone
the way of most of the stuff in Kane's house, a misshapen lump of scorched
plastic and melted steel, to be found when the fire finally died away.
I'd seen him cursing over his expense reports the day before and had
wondered how many guns the man lost.

I'd never been out here at the new jail. It was. . .impressive. Security
was tight and we were checked at every set of doors we encountered. I got
so used to seeing guard uniforms that when a man in a suit stepped up to
us, he looked very strange for a moment.

"Hello. Thank your for coming. Sorry to put you to the trouble." The
handshakes were pressed on us and over in instants, the formalities
uttered with smooth speed. Jeffries brushed his hand over a receding
hairline and across the back where he'd let it grow longer - to
compensate? - then adjusted his bow tie. He gestured Mulder into an
interview room, and left Scully and me to follow on our own initiative.
His glasses reflected the strip lights in the ceiling as he looked up,
trying to meet Mulder's eyes.

"My client will be here shortly. I just wanted to review the conditions. . . "

"I remember the conditions you stated very clearly. We talk until Kane or
I decide to end it. Videotape. No outside monitors. The guard stays at
that window," he pointed, "to be sure we don't encounter difficulties. We
both remain seated, no contact, no passed objects. Dr. Scully and Ms.
Courtland remain seated against that wall." He swept a hand behind him.
"And I am free to enter whatever we discuss into evidence at the
competency hearing. That is specifically at Kane's insistence."

Jeffries wiped sweat off his upper lip. "Yes. Those were my client's
instructions, however. . . "

"However, you are not comfortable with those conditions, because you do
not control the information." Mulder smiled a smile with no softness or
pleasantry, stepped just a little closer so Jeffries was forced to look up
to read his eyes. "You could not arrange this meeting if your client were
not absolutely clear on what he wants, aware and able to make a reasoned
decision. The conditions he set are very straightforward. I don't
believe you were part of the arrangement. Doubtless you'll get a copy.
Direct release to video."

Jeffries mouth tightened, but he pulled himself around and left, lower
back rigid. He was going to have back trouble if he kept clenching his
buttocks like that. Mulder smiled to see him go, and slid into the
plastic chair with easy grace, leaning back and waiting for the door on
the other side of the room to open.

A flashing red light caught the corner of my eye as I sat down in the
injection-molded seat. The video camera was on. Sounds at the door on
the opposite side of the room. Mulder leaned forward, elbows braced on
the plain, metal table, hands steepled, waiting. Scully, next to me, took
an audible breath and worked her shoulders. The door opened inward.

Kane was in a wheelchair, a guard behind him to push it. He wasn't
cuffed. I suppose the infirmary staff felt the burns and bandages were
restrictive enough. I studied his knees, his hands, anything but his
face, until Mulder stood up and drew my eyes. I felt Scully tense, next
to me.

"Kane."

Now I looked. Kane wore a wide, welcoming smile as the guard pushed him
up to the table, opposite Mulder. "Little brother." He looked over at
us, kept the warm smile, below crinkled, laughing eyes. I shuddered.
"Lawyer Emma. Good to see you again. And Dr. Scully." He nodded a
pleasant greeting. Scully swallowed and I saw her eyes narrow before I
looked back to Kane. In the mirrored wall behind him I could see Mulder's
face, calm and neutral.

"You asked to see me."

Kane nodded. "That's right. You and I still have matters to discuss."
Mulder leaned back in his chair. Kane sat very still, giving no sign of
whether his legs pained him.

"And what do you want to discuss, Kane?"

Kane laughed. Put his head back and laughed. I jumped at the sound.
"You're very funny, little Fox. How's your neck feeling? Still got that
cough?"

Mulder didn't shift in his seat. "My cough's fine, thank you. Are they
treating you well here?"

"Oh yes. They send in doctors to change the bandages." He gestured
towards his legs. "And doctors to talk with me, but they don't really
understand."

"Understand. . . about what you have to do?"

Kane's grin grew wider. "You understand more than you want to, don't you
Fox? Go on boy, ask me what you wanted to ask me."

"Roswell. What did you see at Roswell?"

Kane seemed to swell, held the breath and blew it out, long and slow.
"You know what we saw. The lights, flat and glowing. They moved like the
lights lawyer-Emma took you to see, only they were bigger." He gestured
back at me, then held his hands up. Mulder stayed very still, leaning
back, head tilted to watch the man. "And that night, when we stayed at
the campgrounds, they talked to me. They told me what they wanted me to
do, but I was scared. I couldn't move." Kane leaned forward.

"You know how that feels, don't you little Fox?" His eyes were flat.
Mulder held so still, so very still. "And I told my daddy and he whupped
the hell out of me. You know, you learn to hold real still and take it
like a man, or they hit you harder." Kane smiled at Mulder.

"Did he hit Jay, too?"

"My baby brother? Not a lot. Some, enough to keep him in line. But he
said I was the other man in the family and needed to be tough. You know
what that's like, don't you Fox?" I could hear Scully swallow, next to
me.

"Did you hit Jay, Peter?" Mulder's voice was soft and calm. Cognac
again, dark and smooth, and the bite would hit only after you'd taken it
in.

Kane's face pulled into a wide, wide smile. "You bet I hit Jay, little
brother. I kept him in line. But only with my open hand." He held his
palm up, let it drop. "Only that, until the day they told me otherwise."

"When was that?" Mulder shifted now, leaning forward, chin resting on his
thumbs as he linked his fingers. Focused.

"I was fourteen when they started talking to me, fifteen when they took me
away." Kane settled back now. He hadn't bothered to look at me or
Scully, only Mulder. He was beaming at the fed.

"You know, I envy you. Real pretty place where you grew up." In the
mirror I could see Mulder's eyes flicker, narrow for an instant, before
his face went neutral again. "It sure was pretty that summer."

"Your father was military?" Scully shifted next to me. I think she
straightened. I felt the edge of the chair, rough and hard, digging into
my fingers and let go, put my hands in my lap.

"Air force. Career military. Not like your father."

"And they contacted you when you were fifteen?"

Kane snorted. "Little Fox, that's when they took me and put their mark on
me, made me one of theirs. How old were you when they took you?"

Mulder ignored that. "Tell me about when they took you." He was still
sitting, elbows on table, chin on his folded hands, poised.

"You already know what that's like, even if you forgot. You've talked to
enough of the others. They know you, they told you what it was like.
Hell, she ought to know what it's like. . ." A gesture at Scully. Mulder
glanced back past his shoulder, met her eyes an instant. Turned back to
Kane as Scully crossed her ankles with a slow, deliberate movement, and
carefully settled back in her uncomfortable chair.

"That's when they showed me what I'd have to do to find out which ones
were real. Remember what it's like, little brother?"

"And when did they tell you to find out about your father?"

"And Jay? The year after the Vineyard. I found out about Jay that year,
but my daddy. . . " Kane slumped back in the chair, and his face twisted
for the first time. "I knew Jay was gone long since. That wasn't my
little brother. But my daddy. . . I ran away and tried to hide. The army
wasn't taking a kid like me. . . I worked. But they wouldn't let me
hide. They kept talking to me. They could always find me." He looked
up. "When they're ready, they'll find you."

It was so quiet. Then he sighed. "And they told me. And finally I went
on home and knew that wasn't my daddy. Couldn't hide from it any more.
So I did what I had to do. And that's when I started looking for my daddy
and Jay. The real ones, the ones that weren't in my house any more."

Mulder finally shifted again, tried to find a comfortable way to sit in
that chair. My ass was numb, but I didn't want to shift and risk making a
sound.

"So you've been looking ever since?"

"Course. I figure one of the others took my daddy and brother away, so I
have to look for them there. Find the fakes, make sure of them. One day
I'll find the real ones. I know you want to lock me up. You scared of
me, little Fox, but I'll find them one day. And you have to look for your
Samantha again, need to find her."

"Was it the grays that talked to you?"

Kane leaned way, way in, hands spread on the table, leaning towards
Mulder, who didn't move. Scully tensed and leaned forward, feet firmly on
the ground now. I didn't know I'd moved, too, until the edge of the seat
was digging into my thighs from the way I'd braced my weight.

"Talked to you, didn't they little brother? Did you check your x-rays
like I told the lawyer-girl to tell you? Do you understand, now?" And
Mulder smiled.

"I understand, Kane. I understand."

"Good, little brother. Good. You'll figure it out. You just keep
thinking about what I told you." He looked straight into Mulder's eyes.
"And I forgive you for what you're gonna tell that judge. The others may
not, but I do. I'll see you again. See you at the hearing, and I'll see
you again, little Fox." He snapped two polite bows to me and to Scully,
and rolled back from the table. "You keep looking, little brother. Keep
looking, or they'll come back for you." And he was gone.

_______________

Mulder held the video tape and paced steadily, long strides, out of the
jail. The wind caught his suit jacket when we stepped out the door, but
he didn't seem to notice now. His eyes were dull brown, and his forehead
furrowed with whatever had his concentration. I saw Scully watching him,
trying not to get caught at it, as the three of us crossed that flat,
empty yard again.

I unlocked my door, popped the other locks. That was when I heard him
breathe that sigh of relief, and looked back to see him brace himself
against the roof of the car. He leaned against the car, pulled up the
latch but had to brace again to pull it open. He didn't so much sit as
just let his knees fold and drop him into the back seat. I hesitated,
then shut the door for him and met Scully's eyes over the roof of the
car. By the time I had my seatbelt on, Mulder had wedged himself into the
corner of the seat, with his legs sprawled out across it. His hands were
just lying in his lap, palms up, fingers curled as though it would take
too much strength to straighten them. Scully turned to look after him
while I pulled out through the gates and headed for home.

I could make out what she asked him. The doctor litany of how do you
feel, does anything hurt, the motion in the rear view mirror as her hand
went to his forehead. His answers, though, were so soft, almost too faint
to catch. Not whispers. A whisper took control. His voice was just too
faded to hear. Scully did what she could, then turned to stare out her
window, and I let her be until we reached home.

Cars. Seth's car, Jerry's. Two new reporters. I was guessing they'd
heard something. Scully looked out at them and cursed. I wandered over
while she and Seth spoke for a moment. The man and woman, nicely made up
and watching my car like hungry animals, kept trying to see past me, past
Jerry. He'd worked it out right away and was playing guard and blocking
the opposition. I'd have laughed if I wasn't trembling and sick inside.

The two hounds wanted to talk to me, tried to get past me and I dropped
the name "Kane," immediately riveting them. They already knew Scully
would just give them the FBI line.

Finally I glanced back, saw Fox climb out. To my eyes he looked too
stiffly held, tightly braced, but the man next to me commented on how good
he looked, and how quickly he'd gotten back on his feet. I was pretty
sure his camera-man's footage would convey exactly that message. So long
as they didn't actually talk to the man, we could leave them with
absolutely nothing useful.

Bright Emma bullshit smile and tell him all about Agent Mulder cleaning my
fridge out and how much money this saved the taxpayer and a batch of other
stuff far too boring to be of any use but just personal enough to
tantalize. And the minute the three of them were in the house, Jer and I
broke off and went for cover.

"Oh god, Emma. You should really go into politics. You have the gift!"

"I don't know, Rigg. Your timing was great."

"That wasn't timing. Seth and I have been waiting. Someone told my
esteemed colleagues you three had headed out to the prison, and they sent
a few to sit in ambush. We just figured this was more fun than local
elections."

"You are so charming, Jerry."

"Thank you. Did I just earn my ticket to dinner?"

"Of course. And to whatever crumbs the feds decide to toss your way."

"I love to cheat."
_______________

"Mulder, either tell me what you're thinking, or go get some sleep."

"Hmh?" He looked up at Scully, eyes dark in a wan face. He'd been
writing dates, names, events on a page in front of him. There was a
fading, red mark on his temple where the heel of his hand had been all
that held his head up. She sighed and briefly worked her lower lip.

"You're about ready to keel over, Mulder. Either tell me what you're
trying to figure out, or go lie down."

"I'm fine, I'm just. . . " He looked back down at what he'd written.

"'Fine' doesn't pass out in the back of the car. Of course, 'fine'
usually doesn't try to play head games with maniacs, either. What were
you playing at?"

"His dad. . . if he was fifteen, his dad took them to the Vineyard in 1967
or 1968. . . "

"Simple math, Mulder. Even a psychologist can work that one out. That's
if his dad really took him to the Vineyard and he wasn't just yanking your
chain."

"Mulder shook his head, sharp, angry movement. I checked the pasta on the
stove, standing to the side so I could still watch them. "You don't get
it, Scully. I think I remember him. I think I remember a man and. . . "
He was staring into space, blank eyes looking into the past. "Dad met a
man at the ferry. There was a teenager, and a younger boy. Just a little
older than I was. . . and they held so still when their father yelled at
them." He swallowed nervously. "My shoulder hurt, and I didn't get near
them after that. . . I wasn't supposed to play with them or talk with
them. Dad was so angry. . ." He shook himself loose of whatever memory
made his hands clench in the tablecloth, let go very deliberately and
spread his hands out on the cloth in front of him. I checked the pasta
before he could look up and catch my eyes.

Scully let go of her elbows, uncrossed her arms and carefully reached over
to pull the page in front of her. "So the dates, and names. . . "

"Yeah. Trying to match names of visitors with things like papers, or
television, that made me remember the date." I heard his head drop back
against the wall behind him, a faint thump. His breaths were slow and
irregular, like he was too tired to draw in air until he had to. I
drained the pasta, and the billow of steam fogged the reflection in the
window over the sink.

"But we don't have a name on him. . . the fingerprint check came up with
nothing but the aliases at the previous murders. Different each place."
Her voice was soft, and I think she was telling him something other than
the words.

"I know. The only name we can be pretty sure of is Jay. But if I could
remember. . . "

"Mulder, you won't lose any of it if you wait until tomorrow."

The goat cheese and herbs was smooth in the pasta, and the tomatoes and
cucumbers were bright. Normal, healthy smells without the tang of metal.
I kept turning the pasta salad long past when it needed more mixing. I
finally heard his chair scrape back and the creak of the table's legs as
weight braced on it. A faint, quick sound of cloth from past the doorway
on the left wall of the kitchen, where I could see the warm light from the
living room shining faintly through the dining room, into the hall.

Another chair moved back. Scully stepped next to me, and filled a water
glass. When I looked up again a tall silhouette, with one hand on the
wall had turned the corner into the light. Next to me, Scully got pills
out of their bubble packs, tearing them open with her nails instead of
trying to push the pills through the foil. Her hair hid her face, and her
hands jerked and tore at the packaging.

"I guess it's dinner in front of the TV again, huh?"

"Yeah." She flipped her hair back from her pale face, and scooped up the
pills and the glass. "Maybe we'll even watch a lousy horror film, huh
Emma?" She met my eyes. "Horror films seem about right, tonight."

___________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 29/? Repost 2
Date: 20 Jul 1995 18:57:48 GMT

Corpse 29/?

All the normal disclaimer business. Mulder, Scully and the X-Files are
all property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and Fox Broadcasting. Let's
all thank them for making sure we don't go out and spend money at bars and
movies on Friday nights. I used these characters without permission, but
I don't profit and don't intend to infringe.

Emma, Jerry, the story, the town and all that are property Livengoo and
not to be used unless you get my permission first. I like email, and am
even reasonably polite a lot of the time. My favorite form of
correspondence is the creative death threat so remember me when you want
to threaten someone.

This story features violence and profanity. You've been warned. As to
the synopses folks have been clamoring for? Um. Mulder and Scully hunt
for a serial killer, and the perfect meal, and they run up the bill on
their FBI charge cards with the help of an obnoxious dirt lawyer. For the
most part not a lot happens, but it does lots of nothing with as much
style as my meager skills can manage. As we begin everyone's watching TV.
Goo
___________

". . . despite what is clearly close cooperation between federal
authorities and local private citizens, no comment has been forthcoming. .
. " The smarmy tones of an ambitious local anchor washed through the
room.

"Yeah, and he's been wondering how close the connections with the private
citizens are." Jerry's snicker was a singularly unappetizing sound at
that moment. Mulder and Scully pointedly ignored him.

"Don't those idiots have better things to do than to ask me questions they
know I won't answer, or can't answer?" Mulder's head was tipped back on
the couch, and his eyes were a gleam under his lashes as he watched the
news.

"Nope. They ask and then it looks like a cover-up when you can't
answer." Scully grinned to hear him admit it. Fox looked too close to
sleep to bother. Jerry decided to coach him. "All right, Mulder. Next
time that one asks you anything you ask how many virgin births his
girlfriends have had."

"What do you mean?" I think Scully was doing the talking for both of
them. At least Fox opened his eyes and picked at a couple more bites of
dinner.

"Virgin births, Agent Scully. Impossible pregnancies."

"Jerry says he has fake vasectomy scars." I didn't feel like watching Jer
trying to spar with them tonight. Mulder stopped, looked up at me.
Scully's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

I explained. The two feds looked at each other, then Mulder grinned.
"Give me your phone, Scully." She did, clearly puzzled. There was a
short and very nondescript conversation, and Mulder repeated the newsman's
name twice, then spelled it. Disconnected and handed the phone back,
meeting her quizzical stare. "Remember Rick Wetzelman?"

"Rick. . . wasn't he involved in that case where dead bodies were getting
refunds from the. . .Oh Mulder! You didn't. . . " But her face lit up,
meeting his smile.

"I did." Jerry's face screwed up as he held onto his laughter, and I
leaned in next to him.

"Jer? You know what that's about?" He nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. Your feds just called the IRS. Laughing boy's going to
have a little visit. . ."

I sat back and entertained a brief, warm glow. "Good work, Mulder. The
ungodly have been smitten!"
___________________

Scully sat at the table, staring at Mulder's notes again. Her partner was
out like he'd been anesthetized, not even snoring he was so far under. I
had to look twice to be sure he was even breathing, then I piled another
blanket on top of him.

"Thanks, Emma." She must have seen me go by with the blanket.

"Yeah, well. . . it gets chilly at night." Jerry was long gone, and we
were little louder than whispers. "Scully." I waited until she looked
up.

"I was really scared today. I knew he couldn't get us, and I was scared
anyway." I couldn't read her eyes. "How do you sleep after that?"

"Sometimes you don't." She nibbled at her lip, turned the sheet of paper
one way and another. "Sometimes you just accept that you can't change it
and you move on."

"Will he have nightmares tonight?"

"Maybe. He's tired and he's got a lot of junk in his system. You afraid
he'll wake you up?"

"Not really. I wanted to know. . . " She was a lot harder to ask these
things than he was. With him I felt like I had a right to know. With her
I felt like I was intruding. "Never mind."

Curiosity flickering just behind the still look on her face. "What did
you want to know, Emma?"

I pulled a deep breath. "Did you move after you started doing this
work?" Why did I ask that? I flushed.

"Move? No. . . I almost moved once. Something had happened. . ." She
shivered. "But I refused to let that. . . undo what I'd made."

"How did you wind up doing this?"

"Curious tonight." She folded the page. "You thinking of applying to the
Bureau after all? Most of it's not like what we do." She grinned.

"If it was, no one would ever work for them." Sip of tea and I looked
around my tidy, ordinary kitchen. "I just. . . I didn't want to clean off
the fingerprints and. . . and all. The house feels more like me now with
those things on it. Without them, nothing in my life has followed me to
where I am now." My face pulled in. I felt it, knew I hadn't said what I
wanted but I didn't know how to say it either. Scully looked down at her
hands.

"You said something like that, when you were ill." She looked up. "Emma,
you reach a point where. . . where you have to decide if you need to stay
with the safe and the known, or you need to know the truth. Then all you
can do is use everything you've been to look."

"I don't belong here, anymore." I heard the small thread of my own voice.

"I. . . I hit a point where I felt. . . adrift. At first it felt like I
was less than I'd been, like all I'd learned to do wasn't enough and
wasn't valid, and I was angry and frightened about it." She looked at
me. "It felt like I couldn't trust what I'd learned to be. I finally
understood that I wasn't less than I'd been, I was a lot more because I
could ask and learn and grow. It's just I'd never seen before how far I
could grow. The perspective was scary." She shrugged. "It still is.
It's not comfortable. It's not easy. But it's honest. Pulling back
would be a lie now."

I stared at her and nodded.
_________________________________

I didn't know where I was at first and my pulse was loud in my ears.
Before I opened my eyes I thought it might be the hospital. I wasn't sure
the scream hadn't been my own either, but another scream, sharp and loud
and not my own snapped me into focus.

The feet that raced past my door were no surprise now, and I grabbed my
robe and followed Scully down the stairs, thankful for the runner that
kept our feet from slipping. The living room was dark, no flicker of
television light or glow of lamp to show us what we needed to see, and
dawn was a long way away. No light, just quick, panicky breathing that we
could hear but not track.

I felt Scully ahead of me, a shadow in darkness. Reached around her to
flip on the lights, flood the room with the ivory of lamplight and felt my
pupils close with painful speed. Another shriek shivered through the
room. We didn't see him at first, just heard him.

Scully stepped into the room, scanning, and found her partner huddled in
the corner, behind the largest of my chairs, behind the potted palm. I
followed her, but she put a hand out to stop me, keep me back, when his
eyes focused somewhere between him and us and his face twisted.

"I won't do it again. . . I didn't know. . ." Low and thin and young and
scared.

"Mulder. . . " Scully was crouched down now, about eight feet from him.
She scooted forward and he scrabbled back into a corner that had no room
left, trying to pull in smaller than he possibly could.

"I won't talk to them again. . .I didn't mean to. . . " His voice was
louder now, spiraling in panic. Scully stayed where she was.

"It's okay, it's me. . . "

"Sam. . . please dad, I didn't know. I didn't know. . . " He had his
hands crossed in front of his chest, fists balled, like the kids you see
in the family court who are so scared. The kids with the black eyes, and
broken bones.

"Mulder, it's Scully. It's Scully. No one's going to hurt you. You're
safe. You're safe. . . " Crooned, over and over, trying to cut through
the panic. He was quieting quickly now that the lights were on, but his
eyes were still tracking things that weren't in the room.

"The grays. . . they came back, dad. I tried to tell you. . .but I
couldn't remember. I didn't know. . ."

"I know. I know. You're safe. . . " I caught my breath and twisted away
from them, hearing it still back there, him trying to convince a man she'd
said was dead. After what he'd said earlier, I didn't need to guess at
who he had spoken with. I didn't want to guess at what his father had
done.

I went through my medicine cabinets until I found the standby, Dramamine.
Unless sedatives were part of Scully's luggage she'd need something to
make him sleepy. Felt my mouth purse on a bitter taste that it should be
so useful. Then to the kitchen and his meds, looking for the ones they'd
said would make him sleepy. I'd let her decide which she'd rather use.

I really didn't want to walk back into my living room. I could still hear
them, and I knew he was still seeing things no one should have to see, but
I might be able to help.

"Scully. . . " She glanced back at my soft voice. "Can you use the
Atarax, or Dramamine or anything. . . ?"

"Not yet, but have them ready." She didn't need to say thanks. I could
see it. Mulder had relaxed enough to drop from the crouch and pull his
knees up, rocking softly back and forth. He still pulled back when she
tried to move towards him. All we could do was wait. . . and listen.

"I tried to stop them. . . I couldn't move, dad. . . couldn't move. Don't
hit me. . . I couldn't. . . " He pulled in and the sob shook him, caught
in his throat again as he stopped. "Please. . . I won't talk to Jay
again. . . I didn't mean to. . . but he saw them too. Saw them a long
time ago." Fox buried his head against his knees, pulling into a tight
ball of misery. Scully finally moved forward, still on her knees, glanced
back and mouthed "pills" silently.

When I came back I had a selection and a glass of water. I was careful to
kneel down next to her in case he looked up. I didn't. . . I didn't think
an adult should be standing over him if he looked up. Scully took what
she wanted and turned back to him.

"Mulder, I have pills. I want you to take these. . . they'll help." He
pulled in tighter, and shook his head just a little.

"No, I have to go look. I can't sleep. . . "

"These will help. . . "

"I don't want them. Please, I don't want them. Sam. . . I don't want
them." I could see her swallow, see how pale she was. But his voice
sounded a little clearer, more tired than frantic now.

"Mulder, it's Scully. These won't hurt you. . . "

"Scully. . . not Sam. . . " He was slowly uncurling. Wiped his face with
a hand that shook and trembled. "Scully. . . I didn't mean to talk with
Jay. . . I didn't know I wasn't supposed to talk with Jay. . . And I had
to go to the doctor's and wear the sling. . . " He kept fading out, but
even I could hear him coming back to himself. The past was falling into
place again, and he knew who she was.

She touched him very carefully, pulled one hand loose. He let her, but
didn't take the pills she put in his palm. "Please, Mulder. . ."

"Scully. . . " His face twisted into a sad, lost smile that was one step
short of tears. "I kept seeing my dad, but he had Kane's face." He
sniffed, rubbed a sleeve over his face. He wasn't really seeing me. His
eyes never traveled beyond her. "I had to wear the sling for weeks, and
my shoulder hurt so much. And Jay died the year after that. . . " He let
his head fall back, heavy against the wall, fist closed tight around the
pills she wanted him to take. "His brother killed him the year after
that. His brother told me about the grays, said they talked to him. I
didn't know what he meant, and I asked my dad. . . I didn't know until
Sam. . . " He bit down on his lip until I was sure it would bleed, may
have choked down another sob.

His eyes were black in the white of his face when he looked at her again.
"Dennis. His brother, Dennis, said he'd talked to the grays. I didn't
know what he meant until they came to take Sam." He tried to drop the
pills, but her hand was around his and she made him keep hold of them.

"You need to rest. . . they won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you. . . "

He really focused on her now, finally. "Don't drug me, please don't drug
me. . . It was so hard to think through the fog. Don't you do that to me,
too. . . "

"Mulder. . . "

"Please Scully." He smiled at her, fragile and thin. She shut her eyes,
held her breath, then nodded.

"All right. All right, but if you wake up again. . . " She helped him up
to his feet then settled down in the chair he'd hidden behind, snuggled
into the softness of it, watching him. He hesitated, then curled up in
the sofa bed, with blankets all wrapped and tangled around him. Reached
for the remote and turned on the TV with the sound off. I didn't know if
I'd sleep again, but I left them. I glanced at him on my way out. His
eyes looked shut, but I think I saw a gleam through the lashes. I flipped
off the lights and went to bed.

______________________

There was a pounding at the front door, repeated and loud. I dragged
myself out of bed, groaning. Dawn was gray outside. When I stepped out
of my room, belting my robe, Scully's door had opened and she was peering
out, puzzled. She followed me down the stairs.

I peeked through the curtains on the door and saw Douglas knocking on my
door but looking back over his shoulder. Still graveyard shift, but there
was some kind of fuss down the street. Behind me I heard an explosive
curse, Scully swearing, and I suddenly knew why we had a fuss down the
street. The chain rattled as I released that lock, then the deadbolt and
the latch and pulled in that door. . .

"Douglas! What's going on down. . . " not that I really needed to ask at all.

"Keep the door open. I'll be right back." And he was off and barreling
down the street. Bright lights flared down there, mounted above cameras.
Scully was next to me, pulling her coat on over her robe and slipping
shoes onto her feet.

"Is he always like this?"

"Unfortunately." She sounded utterly resigned. I could see Fox with a
hand shielding his eyes, just before Douglas started pulling the vultures
away from him. Gently but firmly, as they say. Scully was loping down
the sidewalk, and I could hear the protests from where I stood, as
reporters shrieked about the public's right to know anything and
everything they could get Mulder to tell them. Karen, next door, stepped
onto her porch, and faces were peeking out doors all up and down the
street. I sighed, and went to get tea ready. It was too early in the day
to watch the carnage that Scully would probably leave.

I had water boiling and cups set out by the time I heard voices, and the
door shutting and being bolted again.

"What the hell did you think you were doing? If you wanted to go running
I could have taken you to a track. . . " Douglas's voice, deep and
annoyed.

"You must really love hospital food. Haven't you figured out about
relapses yet?" Scully. Their voices tangled and ran together as they
developed their themes. I saw their reflections in the window as I looked
up from the cups. They showed clearly against the shadows before dawn
that shrouded my little back yard and privacy fence. I frowned,
remembering chains on the front door, seeing a six foot fence in my back
yard.

Fox was pointedly ignoring them as he pulled out a chair and dropped
himself into it. He didn't look up when I put his cup in front of him but
I could see his jaw working. Douglas took his cup and a handful of the
cookies I'd pulled out.

"Thanks. I'm gonna go run off our friends." I smiled and locked the door
after him. I was glad he had been there, but he didn't have Seth's
brains. I wondered if Seth would have been expecting Mulder to go over
the back fence, as Douglas clearly had not. Scully was still fuming over
his even going running at all. She hadn't moved on to how he'd gotten out
yet.

"What did you think you were doing? I finally go to bed and you pull
this! You're barely out of the hospital. The press completely aside,
it's cold and you're straining your respiratory system exactly when you
should be resting. You are going to. . . "

"Scully." Quiet. Just enough to make her pause. "I can't just sit still."

She took a deep breath. I recognized the look on her face and wondered if
she was counting to ten, or needed to go higher to cope with Mulder. She
finally puffed the breath out.

"All right. Tell me about it."

He looked up at her. "About what? I like to run. I've been going up the
wall, so I went running. I dropped back to a walk as soon as I got
tired."

The frustrated look on her face declared that, first, she didn't believe
that he'd taken it easy one bit and, two, that he knew that wasn't what
she'd asked. "Dennis. Tell me about talking to Jay and Dennis."

And he froze. Stared into his cup. Slowly, carefully let his eyes shut
and I could see him run his tongue over his teeth beneath his lips. He
brought the cup up to his lips, shivering slightly, and took a sip.

"Well? Dennis. That's Kane's first name, right? What did you talk
about?" The soft tone tried to take the edge off the words, but he
slammed the cup down, and tea slopped onto the table.

"Yes. Kane's name is Dennis. I don't remember what we talked about and
I'm going to take a shower." The glare he gave her absolutely dared her
to say anything. "And no. I do not want to talk about it. There is
nothing to talk about."

She watched him stalk out, listened to him thrash through his luggage,
listened until the water started to run. "Bullshit, Mulder. Bullshit."
Her long, slow sigh should have released something, some stress, but her
eyes were still worried. I turned back and felt her step up, put the cup
on the counter, glance out the window and stop. I'd wondered how long it
would take her.

"God. Damn. It. Damn him." Soft, breathed curses. Out of the corner of
my eye, I saw her fists ball up. I could feel the frustration in her.

"So what, Scully? You already know he takes risks." She shouldn't have
been surprised. Maybe she wasn't. "What do you think you can do about
it? Hobble him?" I looked back at her, expecting to see her face flushed
and ready to flay me alive. And stared into a face somewhere between
totally lost and wanting to laugh.

Her eyes tracked past me, acknowledged what I'd already seen. "He went
over the fence."

"I don't see how else he could have slipped out."

"And he was too tired to come back in over the fence."

"So he let Douglas take the heat." I nodded. Watched her rub her eyes,
shake her head. "How did he live this long, Scully? With habits like
this he should be dead."

She shuddered, then gave a small, thin laugh. "He nearly has been, Emma.
This is nothing. And I don't know if I can chew him out for the fence,
too. After everything else the fence is just too. . . too. . . " Her
face was just stunned, flabbergasted. I finally had to grin back at her.

"He probably wouldn't have pushed it too hard, Scully. Attitude like his,
if he's going to get killed he'll do it in a much showier fashion than
that." The snort didn't escalate to giggles, but her shoulders weren't so
dreadfully tense when she walked out, either.

__________________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 30/? Repost 2
Date: 20 Jul 1995 18:59:29 GMT

Corpse 30/?

Like always, Mulder, Scully and Skinner are property of Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen and Fox Broadcasting. Emma, Jer, Seth and even that toad
Waverly are all creations and property of Livengoo. Story property of
Livengoo and I'll thank you to seek my permission if you want to use any
of my creations. I did indeed use the X-Files characters without
permission, no infringement intended, I get no profit etc. etc. I really
like email and love the death threats.

Corpse contains violence and profanity and lots of Mulderangst. Don't
read it if this bothers you. Fair warning. The person who threatend me
with Trench (Texas French) and Czech Country music and line dancing is
current death threat of the day winner.
Goo
__________________

Mulder was on my computer. I hadn't checked my email in days, and he
hadn't either.

"Do your friends always hack into other peoples' email accounts?"
Messages for him were scattered all through my mail.

"Not always, just if they think there's a conspiracy."

"Or anything racy." Scully was scanning over his shoulder, shaking her
head at the messages from the Lone Gunmen. I'd gotten a crash course in
conspiracy theory listening to Mulder read his mail out loud. They'd been
busy speculating as to why they hadn't heard from him, and when he'd
logged on from the machine he was sharing with Scully he found that there
was a lot of mail sitting in my account. My current favorite was the
speculation that he and Scully had been sold into white slavery and were
working for an information haven with outlaw attitudes.

Once he'd cleaned his stuff out of my account he went looking for real
information, information on Peter Kane, nee Dennis somebody-or-other,
brother to Jay. He was searching for records of military personnel,
single men with two sons.

"You're looking at Air Force? Why not Army or Navy too?" I hung over his
shoulder. "Or maybe even Marines."

"Nah, Marines only fight aliens in the movies. He said his dad was Air
Force, and they're the most likely for the involvement I expect to find.
I'll go to the others if it doesn't pan out."

"What do you expect to find?" I got a patented blank look for that, that
told me there were still limits to what information I could expect to get
on this case. "Well, last night you remembered that this guy's name was
Dennis. . . are you sure you don't remember his dad?" Mulder leaned back
in the chair and blew a tired breath that fluffed his bangs. Scully had
looked up from where she was sitting on the couch writing, watching us
carefully. He looked away from both of us, distracted, reached up to work
his right shoulder absentmindedly and shook his head.

"No. No, I don't recall. . . "

That eidetic memory had to be good for something other than copying my
real estate lists. "What about the date, or any details? Did the kids
have souvenir shirts? Did they have a car on the ferry? Maybe you'd
recall the license plates?"

He looked up at me, a slow, deliberate glare. "I don't remember. Stop
asking." I opened my mouth, almost asked about what he DID remember, but
Scully saved me from myself.

"What about local newspapers, or the records from ferry ticket sales?
Would there by a way to get any of that? With the weather and days in
service, we probably could narrow things down a lot." When I looked at
her over my shoulder, she was eyeing me, letting him haze out staring at
the screen. If I interpreted the silent communication correctly, she was
telling me to back off and shut up. It was the first time I'd had to do
that eyeball conversation stuff with her, but I felt pretty secure in my
interpretation.

He was drumming at the edge of the keyboard, working the idea over. "That
would help. Yes, I can see that. Okay, so let me get on the line to the
libraries up in Massachusetts. . . "

"No need for that!" I grinned, and made a peace offering. Leaned over
his shoulder to get access to the catalogue of the local library.

"God, look at this." Scully came over to see, while he cleaned his
glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"What on earth. . . ? What's all this stuff on Kennedy and Cape Cod and
Massachusetts doing in a Mid-Western library?"

"That's Mad Maude's Kennedy Collection." I grinned. "Maude developed a
crush on JFK in 1957. She was sure he was THE man for her and just didn't
know it. She subscribed to every magazine, newspaper, newsletter, novel
or whatever that might mention him and cross-referenced it all. When he
was assassinated, she kept collecting as a shrine to him."

"So she's got, what? All the local papers from the Cape and the Vineyard,
from 1957 through. . . ?"

"Through her death in 1986. She was loyal to his family and figured they
needed her protection and support."

"Sounds like she'd have fit right in with the Gunmen." Scully grinned at
Mulder. "She and Frohike would have made music together." He shuddered
at the thought.

"So she bequeathed it all. . . ?" He looked at me, still fidgeting with
his glasses.

"To her second love, the public library; the whole collection, and it's
huge. Catalogued and ready for the public to share Maude's passion."
Mulder grinned.

"God, I love obsessions."

Scully smiled. "News to me."
____________________

They were surprised I didn't go with them. After all, I'd tagged along
for doctor visits, police station procedures, daytrips to killers and all
kinds of other fun activities. I begged off on the grounds that I
remembered the library much better than I wanted, and was rewarded with a
look of trepidation on Mulder's face. Perhaps he had just realized that
he was letting himself in for a marathon session on the microfilm readers.

I wanted to avoid those satanic machines, it was true. But I had other
things to accomplish. I ran up to my office, almost abandoned on a
Saturday midday, and ran through my benefits information. Kind of a
skimpy package, they wanted you to stay for a long time, but I made sure I
knew what I could get. Then I went to Tammy and Claude.

"You want us to assess your house? But why? It's only likely to raise
your taxes, sweetcheeks. . ." I braced for the fireworks.

"Well, I was sort of thinking of selling it. . . "

The looks were puzzled, but hopeful. "You thinking of trading up. . . ?"
Confused by the lack of gossip on my love life - maybe the only area of my
life that lacked gossip right then.

"Noooo. . . " How to explain? I really had no clear idea myself of what
I planned for my future, but I did know it didn't include a fixed
address. It wasn't something I thought Claude or Tammy could understand,
and I didn't want to expose my raw fears for my future in this office of
stolid, Ethan Allan American furniture, wall-to-wall carpet and
overly-clean brass lamps. Tammy took a cookie from the omnipresent plate,
and nibbled it in nervous little bites.

"Well, you have such a nice house dear. . . and you don't have a family or
anything. Do you?" Shake of the head. Hell, over the last couple weeks
I couldn't recall having had time for a quickie. I had to grin. If I'd
tried to get Mulder in bed, I'd have bet on Scully tying knots in my
ovaries, just before she demolished him. And Jerry was *not* an option.
No, I wasn't expecting any little guests.

"It's just. . . I always wanted to travel. I. . . " The look they gave
me clearly announced that home equity loans, not sale, were how one dealt
with wanderlust. And if they could have understood it would have been
wrong to rip away the solid veneer and leave them where I had been left,
looking at a corpse and wondering what relation it had to the life I
thought I'd led.

In the end they agreed to assess the property and to handle the sale if I
decided to go ahead. They were sure I was crazy by the time I finished,
but the I left the rest of their world still safe and sane. It was the
right thing to do.

_________________

Seth Robertson was tucked in his car, cold and bored, when I got home. I
invited him in and told him about our adventure that morning.

"Yeah, Douggie said Spooky had managed to bitch it up in classic style. I
figure we'll see Scully in her bathrobe on the weekend news." He raised
his cup in a salute.

"Nah, she had her coat on over it. That would be boring. They'll go for
him ducking comments and then scream about the crypto-fascists keeping him
from making a statement about that poor innocent, Peter Kane." He snorted
tea and had to wipe his face, waggled a finger at me.

"Reading alt.conspiracy is bad for you, Emma. It'll rot that keen legal
mind."

"It's Lone Gunmen email and my keen legal mind was long since dulled by
dirt." We were sitting in the seat of the bay window, where we could keep
an eye out for Mulder and Scully. It was a pleasant way to spend a couple
hours, listening to Seth. He told some marvelous stories, including a few
in strictest confidence about the fibbies' boss, Skinner. He'd been in
Vietnam with Skinner, and remembered Stoneface Skinner as the guy who had
gotten shitfaced on homemade hooch brewed from raisins, then had somehow
managed to take the body off their C.O.'s jeep and reversed it so it
looked like the car was driving backwards. He could barely finish the
story for the memory of the officer's face. The notion of the guy who
could strike terror into Mulder and Scully pulling practical jokes, well.
. .

The baying of the newshounds broke up our coffee-klatch and sent Seth
barreling out the front door to escort two tired Special Agents into the
house. Mulder immediately sagged onto the couch where he let his head
fall back and ran a hand over his vaguely green face.

"God, I'm almost ready to take that dramamine." He finally opened his
eyes and looked at Scully, who was trying to work the knots out of her
shoulders and neck by contorting. I closed the curtains when I noticed a
flash of light from the cameras outside.

"Scully, can you handle calling Hanscom? I don't think I can stand up."

"If you hadn't tried to push it and go running this morning, you wouldn't
feel nearly so bad. I bet the microfilm wouldn't even have bothered
you." She had that note of perfect virtue that makes the rest of us want
to go forth and sin. Dana Scully, Our Lady of Medical Rectitude. The
look on Mulder's face said he shared my opinion but felt too tired to
bother verablizing it. He slowly, painfully, started to lever himself off
the couch, taking advantage of every opportunity to look utterly pitiful
about it. She frowned at him and relented.

"All right. All right, I'll call. There's probably no one available but
let's see." Out came the cell phone. She did get someone, to the
surprise of both of them, identified herself and rattled off a badge
number with as many digits as the national debt. Mulder had folded
himself into a corner of the couch and was flipping through a bundle of
copies. I felt sympathetic distress at the idea of how many microfilm
rolls he would have to have read to get those.

I untucked myself from my spot in the window seat and headed to the
kitchen to start water boiling. Dump out some cookies and dried fruit and
I could pretend to be a decent hostess! Microwave some apple cider, toss
in cinnamon sticks and be back in the living room in time to listen to
Scully as she asked after single, divorced or separated men with two sons,
Dennis and Jay. She repeated something about Monday, probably when she
could first reasonably expect anyone to look for the information, thanked
the person and hung up.

Mulder had pushed his glasses up on his forehead so he could pinch the
bridge of his nose. His face was still pale, and he kept curling to one
side in a motion I remembered well from my time in front of the infernal
device. Scully had gone on to call someone else, and was requesting some
kind of research. She looked happy to see the plate of snacks and
goodies. He just shut his eyes and ignored them. She reached for an oreo
and glanced up at me, to track past me and frown. I turned and saw lights
flashing and flaring against the curtains.

I opened the door, to stare at a the noisy, bright-flashing huddle of all
those reporters gathered down on my sidewalk. Seth was bouncing on his
toes, standing on the porch and staring.

"What's going on?"

"You've got a caller."

And the rich-coated mob, ringed by their scuzzy, equipment-distorted sound
and cameramen, suddenly broke back and framed a tall man, hair combed
neatly and pasted in place with gel. Waverly. The federal prosecutor,
holding forth. I didn't hear the man, but I knew an official-style and
self-aggrandizing sound-bite when I saw one. He fixed on me, and waded to
my door, with the lights and attention and shouted questions following,
sharp in the cold, fall afternoon.

Scully, who had come up behind me, hissed and reached for the door.
She wasn't fast enough. By the time I'd stepped out of the way Waverly
was up and had a hand out holding the door open.

"Agent Scully, this is related to the case. And I fully anticipate that
this visit will be more pleasant for all concerned." All delivered under
cover of an oily, politically polished smile. Scully's mouth was a
narrow, white line, but she backed off. Out of the corner of my eye, I
saw Mulder crane his head back, and shut his eyes in pained recognition.

Fox was just pulling himself upright when Waverly draped his jacket over
the back of the morris chair across from him and settled down in it.
Mulder was still a little lower, sunk in the deep couch, chin on hand and
head tilted back to look down his long nose just slightly. Seth had
stepped in to the hall behind us to keep a discreet eye on things.

"You're looking better, Agent Mulder." Waverly held out his hand in the
obligatory handshake. Mulder eyed it, and I could imagine him rerunning
some of the hands he'd shaken to his regret.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Waverly?" It sounded far too formal to be
friendly, and Mulder kept his chin propped on the hand he would have used
to shake with the prosecutor and opened his eyes wide.

"Agent Mulder, I hear you had a visit with the defendant." He was showing
capped teeth in an even row, leaning forward with an earnest interest on
his face. "I'm glad you took the opportunity to reevaluate your opinion.
Maybe we can get somewhere on this case, now that you've had a chance to
talk with the man under calmer circumstances. I know you're still on the
mend, but when could I look to pick up the revised profile?"

Fox stared at him a moment, then heaved a sigh and leaned back a little.
"I'm standing by my previous evaluation."

Waverly frowned. "I'm afraid we may not be seeing eye to eye here, Agent
Mulder. Other experts have seen this man and their evaluations report a
lucid, clear-thinking person who was quite aware of his actions. He knew
he was killing these people. It's not like he thought they weren't living
individuals or whatever most serial killers seem to say, not like they
were objects."

"Nooo, he does know they were individuals. He recognizes they were
alive. But he does not recognize them as humans. Peter Kane will tell
you that he killed artificial creatures created by aliens to infiltrate
us. He is unable to perceive that his actions are wrong. Within his
frame of reference he is behaving in a sensible and positive fashion. My
interview with him adds nothing new to the psychological profile I had
filed with you."

The prosecutor licked his lips and nursed a strained smile. His face was
gradually starting to darken, but his voice still sounded calm. "Agent
Mulder, that is the most ridiculous story I've ever heard. While I will
believe that Kane has no sense of good fiction, I do not buy your
contention that he does not know right from wrong. My experts. . . "

"Your experts have not been tracking this man, did not have to play
hide-and-seek hunting him and never got close to catching him." Fox's
eyes were no longer anywhere near sleepy, although he looked paler than
ever and he hadn't changed position once. Scully had drifted up behind
Waverly and was watching her partner. Mulder went on in a voice that was
far too level and neutral. "You can hire any experts you like, play
my-expert-witness-can-beat-up-yours, and it will not change the fact that
Kane is not capable of understanding why what he did is wrong. He
believes he will suffer punishment if he does not do this, and he believes
his victims are not human."

"I was hoping you would have reconsidered that opinion." Waverly pulled
his briefcase onto his lap, popped the catches and pulled out a sheaf of
papers. Mulder reached out rather reluctantly to take them, glanced
through them. "I would really like to be able to add your opinion to my
brief, Agent Mulder. Your evaluations were instrumental to catching this
man." Mulder snorted.

I was tempted to point out that evalutions hadn't pulled a file out of a
pile and said "this one did it," and that it hadn't been any of Waverly's
other experts who had known that the cops arrested the wrong man, and who
had gone to the house of the right man. I bit my tongue and watched
Mulder look up from the reports and toss them back, tacitly dismissing
them.

"Very nice assessments of clarity and test results. And Kane will agree
with you that it's wrong to kill people. I'm quite sure of that. That's
not the problem. He doesn't believe that the people that he killed ARE
people. None of your experts asked him who he'd killed, but you had
better believe his lawyer will ask him that. The guy's obnoxious but I
don't think he's incompetent."

"Agent Mulder, I came here anticipating. . . " Waverly stood up, not
really hovering, but standing close enough to force Mulder to look up at
him. "I was hoping you were merely confused by your medication when I saw
you before. After all, that trip to the ICU must have been quite
traumatic. You did radically change your opinion." Mulder visibly gritted
his teeth, narrowed his eyes.

"I changed my opinion because I gained more data, and theories and
diagnoses are fact-dependent, not the other way around."

"Are you so sure, Agent Mulder?" A rather pitying, unpleasant tone now.
"Are you sure you're not fudging the facts so they fit a hypothesis that
has nothing to do with Peter Kane, or this case, or these murders?"
Scully's breath hissed, and even I knew what Waverly was implying. Mulder
rolled onto his feet, glaring down at the oily creature.

"Pretending this man is sane so you can look like you're tough on crime is
not going to make him sane, and I will not be a hostile witness for the
defense if you pursue this. You can lay your political foundations on
some other case." His voice wasn't neutral any longer, and the rasp in it
was abrasive.

Standing, Waverly had to look up to meet his eyes, although not so far as
Kane's lawyer, whats-his-face, had needed to do. It was a neat trick to
stop bullies, and I really envied Mulder that height. Unfortunately, it
didn't look like it worked on Waverly.

"I had hoped that I could reason with you, Mulder. I anticipated. . . "

"I don't really care what you anticipated, Mr. Waverly. I have
interviewed this man and I stand by my evaluation." He turned to walk
away and Waverly grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back. Normally it
would probably have just brought Mulder back around, but now it dropped
him back into the couch without warning. Seth was past me and around the
coffee table, his hand on Waverly's arm before Mulder had pulled himself
back up to glare down at the man.

"Get whatever hack you want to hire to play dueling shrinks, Waverly. My
evaluation stands as it is. Kane is not sane and even if you win it'll go
down on appeal." His voice was rough and angry, and his eyes burned in a
pale face. Scully had stepped up to block any possible contact between
them, obviously remembering the outcome of their last discussion.

"Don't worry, Dr. Scully. Obviously Agent Mulder's been taking too many
drugs to be rational and his evaluation is useless to us." He was trying
to shake Seth off his arm, sneering at Mulder over Scully's head.

"You idiot." Mulder's voice was low and grating. He leaned forward, one
hand on the arm of the couch to brace himself. "Just because you want a
case to make you look good for the cameras when you try to run for office,
that doesn't make Peter Kane sane. . . "

Waverly spun back to him. "Oh, and your head games and obsession with
little girls doesn't have anything to do with it?" Mulder's eyes
narrowed, but he either had too much self-control or too little energy to
take that one up.

"You're betting by the time it goes up on appeal you'll have your votes,
or that it won't get the same attention. Old news and the voters don't
care. Variation on a theme, huh Waverly? Tough on crime?"

"Tougher than you, shrink. Go home to DC and run tests on yourself.
Everyone knows the screwed up ones become shrinks so they won't have to
split the fees. . . " Ugly, arrogant sneer.

"Stop right there." Scully's voice was tight and hard. "Back off or
you're out of here. Sir." She beckoned Seth to back her up. Mulder
snorted and let his mouth twist into a sour grin.

"Watch it, Waverly. She'll shoot you if you don't pay attention."

Waverly's face was livid. He sneered at Seth. "Oh yeah, have your FBI
thug toss me out in front of the cameras. Assault and on record. And all
because your profiler is too busy dancing with a psycho to do his job and
put a killer away. They call it law enforcement, Agent Mulder, not
psychology enforcement."

"And the law says if the defendant is unable to differentiate right from
wrong or take assistance or counsel, we cannot try him." Mulder's hands
were tight fists, the tendons ridging the insides of his wrists. Scully
glanced back at him, and stayed where she was between them.

"Ever hear of the spirit of the law, Agent Mulder? I don't think you care
about any of it. You're having too much fun playing. I heard how you and
Kane compared childhood notes. What happened? Was he one of your
childhood playmates? Playing doctor with you and your little sister?" I
figured Waverly for the type to pick at scabs until they bled. He was way
past drawing blood tonight.

Mulder half stepped towards him, but Scully blocked him."I'll try to say
this slowly, and in simple words Mr. Waverly. Peter Kane is not sane. He
is going to tell the judge that he killed those people because the aliens
told him it was the right thing to do. And he believes that. And the
judge is going to have him committed. Nothing you say, no amount of
insulting me, or wanting to look good for the cameras, is going to make
that man sane. Whether I want to study his case is not relevant, but
whether you want to give me a hard time may well be relevant to what I say
to anyone, including Mr. Riggins, about the way this case has been
handled."

"Sure. Spooky Mulder goes to the press. Again. You can't threaten me
with the press. You'll be out of the FBI so damned fast you won't know
which way to spin. And threatening me with the faggot. . . " All right!
Enough.

"Mr. Waverly, that's enough. You have insulted my guests and my friends.
I'd like you to leave." Scully might have a duty to help this idiot,
Mulder might, but I didn't. Not so long as I had done my duty when
called. What he'd just said, in front of witnesses, was an unambiguous
insult that was unacceptable in current politics in a way that none of the
other garbage he'd spewed could be. I squeezed in front of him, and
wrinkled my nose at bad breath and Certs breathed in my face.

"And I'm sure your gay and lesbian potential constituencies would very
much appreciate knowing how you speak of them." Ewww, spit on my face
when he spluttered at that. Mulder was glaring at me, too. I was sure
he'd rather fight his own fights but this was ridiculous, letting this
foul man browbeat him because he was supposed to work with the
authorities. I could foresee another punch getting thrown if it kept up
too long, and Waverly would be looking for it this time.

"I have friends in the Capital, Agent Mulder. You're career's in the can.
. . " Mulder actually laughed, behind me. I was holding my breath to
avoid breathing Waverly-fumes and Seth was shoving Waverly's coat into his
hands, one paw firmly planted to guide the man to the door. He was
politely and firmly escorted out, placed on my porch in view of the
gossip-mongers and the door shut behind him.

I felt Mulder drop into the couch when the floor jarred for a second.
Headed to the bathroom and scrubbed my face, soaking my hair, and just as
glad there was no mirror so I couldn't see the look on my face. By the
time I felt clean and walked back in, Scully was pacing, trying to stay
calm. It looked like Seth had stayed on the porch to keep an eye on
things. Mulder was just draped in a corner of the couch, and his adam's
apple stood out in his throat, he'd let his head fall so far back.

"God, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to hit him or toss on him."

"You should have thrown up. It would have been the perfect accessory for
him." It would probably take Scully a while to burn off that level of
temper.

"Mulder, from the bottom of my heart and on behalf of my oriental rug,
thank you for not tossing on Waverly. And I hope you don't mind, but I
think dinner will be catch as catch can."
___________________
Cont.