Subject: Corpse 9/9
Date: 20 Jul 1995

Corpse 31/?

As always, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the X-Files are property of Chris
Carter and Ten-Thirteen and Fox Broadcasting. I used 'em without
permission, no infringement intended, no money made. The story, Emma, Jer
and the town and everyone else in it are property and creations of
Livengoo. Please ask and wait for my permission if you should ever want
to use them in a story.

Death threat du jour - to sign my name as owner-operator of an abandoned
gas-station in California, thereby sticking me with responsibility for the
nasty, nasty polluted thing! Love it! Great threat. Fair warning to
anyone picking the story up this late in the game. Corpse is often
violent and features profanity. On your own head be it if you read the
thing and get bent out of shape.
Goo

___________________

Scully and I were picking our way through a dinner of cheap Chinese. I
hadn't had the energy to get creative with their credit cards and blow
their per diem on anything better. Jerry was still off in Chicago wining
and dining his poor, neglected lover.

The nightly news was regaling us with pictures of Mulder in running shorts
and an FBI Academy sweatshirt. He might be too thin, but with the ten
pounds a camera put on him and the flush from a morning run he looked like
newscaster heaven. I could just see a new archive section on him - Mulder
formal/news release and Mulder informal/news release. Scully in her
pillow-hair and coat, bathrobe barely showing, definitely didn't have the
same telegenic quality. Both of them delivered "No Comment" with great
style however, and Douglas looked perfectly cast as the thug. It was a
real shame Mulder missed it.

Scully had barely gotten the usual half-pound of medicine he was supposed
to inhale or ingest into him before he'd sort of keeled over and dropped
off of Planet Reality. He'd been breathing in the deep, even rhythm of
sleep before I'd finished phoning in our dinner order, and we hadn't had
the heart to wake him. For that matter, I'm not sure we could have
wakened him by that time. He never twitched when Scully pulled his legs
up onto the couch and took his shoes off. I didn't think you could get
that far under without anesthesia.

So we sat on the floor, Fox poured onto the couch behind us. Chopsticks
and the news, and videos and a peaceful, calm night. I kept looking over
my shoulder, feeling jumpy, waiting for the chainsaw massacre crew or
somebody to break in, but it never happened. The worst thing that
happened was when Waverly was featured, explaining to the jackals outside
my door that the federal agents were, thankfully, on the mend. And that
he was certain Agent Mulder's input would be invaluable when he regained
his health. Scully's chopstick left a disgusting smear of moo goo gai pan
on the screen.

Ten at night, and no screams or bombs, not even on television. Scully had
opted for Bringing up Baby so big cats were the worst we faced. I glanced
over my shoulder at Mulder. He had rolled onto his stomach, face
half-buried in a pillow and hair going every which way. Scully was up,
and unfolding the quilt.

"Should we wake him up, unfold the couch and get him out of his clothes?"
I almost leered, but resisted. Scully ruthlessly squashed a grin, though
the dimples of it got away from her.

"Let him sleep. It won't be the first time, and he's more comfortable
sleeping on a couch anyway."

I killed the set with the remote, but Scully reached over and snared it
from me. Turned the set back on.

"I thought you were ready to go to bed?"

"I am. I just think he'll probably sleep better if we leave it on."

"He must have some amazing electric bills."

"You have no idea."
__________________________

Early to bed. . . and I was up and making coffee at an hour that I usually
regarded as the sole property of critters that liked to eat bugs and
worms. Scully wasn't long after me. I could have guessed she was an
early riser, conspicuously virtuous types usually were.

Fox hadn't been on the couch, and Douglas had been nowhere to be seen when
I got up. Scully and I had an ear cocked to catch the indications that
the press were restless as we pulled together breakfast. She'd been in my
house long enough that she didn't have to look to find things anymore.
The warm smell of toast mingled with coffee, and I wiped down the smooth,
matte counters, looked out the window and was just in time to catch sight
of Mulder coming over the back fence fast enough that I'd bet he had
gotten assistance going over that six feet of wood.

When Douglas heaved himself over the wall there wasn't any doubt. "Hey
Scully, the little lost sheep just got back." She looked out and snorted,
poured two more cups of coffee. The ringing phone kept me from enjoying
their entrance.

"Hello?" On a Sunday morning, my bet was on mom or Jerry.

"Ms. Courtland." No, no. Not mom and definitely not Jerry. "Agent
Mulder's phone is out of service. Agent Scully is not answering hers. If
they're there, would you mind putting them on?" Well, Mulder's phone went
the way of his gun. Scully's? I looked over at Scully, who had the door
open and was giving Douglas the evil eye.

"It's for you." The puzzled look on her face dissolved to instant
attention. I really loved this, I'd never seen anyone with Walter
Skinner's ability to inspire long-range trepidation. Mulder was looking
up from his coffee and had certainly figured out who was calling.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir. . . He did?. . . No sir." She looked very
relieved to hand it to Mulder.

"You work on the weekends?" He winced and pulled the phone away. Put it
carefully back to his ear. "He called that late?. . . No sir. I did not
break Mr. Waverly's nose. . . I did do that. . . He disputes my
evaluation, sir. . . Yes. The one I faxed."

I had plenty of time to get breakfast together and on the table. Skinner
kept him on quite a while. The sun was starting to show clear and hard
through the back windows, lighting the gold and blue tiles when Mulder
finally hung up the phone and rubbed his ear. His coffee was long-since
cold. Scully smiled as he set a fresh cup down, grabbed a pieced of toast
and a grilled tomato.

"So you're supposed to be more pleasant to Waverly, discreet with the
press, and follow doctor's orders?"

"Thank god the hearing's tomorrow. I can do without another lecture from
Skinner."

"And what are you going to do to deserve another lecture from Skinner?"
Mulder just smiled.
___________________________
We found out soon enough. Fox's hair was still wet from his shower when
he phoned the prison.

"I know it's Sunday. You still have full staff, and the hearing is
tomorrow. . . Two?. . . Good. Thank you." The cheerful smile on his face
made me nervous. I put down the sponge I'd been cleaning the table with,
and shot him a quizzical look. The kitchen glowed with reflected light,
and it struck green highlights in his eyes, reddish ones in his hair.

"C'mon, Mulder. Don't give me that innocent look. I know better." The
smile went roguish.

"How do you feel about an afternoon at the county jail?"

"Oh shit, oh shit! You didn't?"

"You don't have to come. . . " as if I could stand to wait in my house
and dream up the hissing whispers that would drop from Kane's lips.

"Didn't you get your questions answered well enough last time?"

"Last time what?" Scully's hair glowed, lit from below. Her eyes were
clear and calm again.

"Last time he talked to Kane. He's got another interview set up."

She might have regained her gloss, but the last two weeks were still with
her. The look she gave her partner was bleak.

"The Truth is out there, Scully." He grinned at her.

"*You* are out there, Mulder."
___________________________

The drive felt different today, long and lonely. My sunglasses felt icy
on my nose, and steamed with my breath until they warmed up. I could hear
paper flipping behind me. I didn't think Mulder really needed to look,
but it gave him something to do. Scully, next to me, tried to read one of
his files, but she must have read the same page a dozen times before she
turned it.

Even the tiny bit of gold and red that had brightened the ground on our
last trip was gone. The fields were a dusty blond, and the trees stood in
smoky contrast under a hard light that hollowed the sky and cut the edges
of everything in sight.

The heat vents blew warm air across our feet, scented with woodsmoke from
fireplaces. Mulder leaned forward on the back of Scully's seat and
reviewed what they knew about Kane. It seemed thin and unsatisfying, a
name, the outline of a family. A day on the Vineyard. As he summarized
the information, folded it into his profile, I could hear the smoky tone
of his voice deepen, hunger-driven. It had seemed like so much
information until he laid it out for her. But would there ever be enough
information to satisfy him? To answer all those questions?

We weren't welcomed so cordially today. All the same precautions,
Scully's gun, anything that might be dangerous, checked at the entrance.
We were led to the same room, and seated in the same places, and we
waited.

Kane smiled when he was wheeled in. I don't know what I had expected. He
had not had time to heal, to change.

"Little Fox. Back so soon? You'll be going back to D.C. soon."

Mulder smiled into his face, settled more comfortably in his chair. "I
thought we should talk again before your hearing."

Kane grunted deep in his chest. "My lawyer told me about your
evaluation." A frown lodged on his forehead. "He's all excited, about to
wet his pants because you said I was crazy and didn't know what I'd done."

A tilt of the head. In the mirrored wall I could see the calm, reassuring
look on Fox's face. "I said you were unable to perceive what you had done
as wrong."

"It wasn't wrong. You done as much yourself, little brother."

"Then you wanted to stand trial?" I'd heard that tone of voice when I was
in the pshrink's office. Mulder had it so smooth and natural seeming. . .

"Didn't say that. I don't figure those sheep have any idea what's in the
middle of their flock. No point talking to people who don't even know
we've got a problem. I got no problem with what you wrote. I figure you
have to write that. They won't believe the truth." His face twisted in
pain, but he lifted himself in his chair and leaned forward, braced on the
table, to stare into Mulder's eyes. I think Scully stopped breathing a
moment. She tensed and I saw her brace her hands on her thighs so she
could move fast.

"You have to give them time, Dennis. You didn't believe when they first
came to you. It took years before you believed." Kane's face went
utterly frozen for an instant, then broke in a slow, wide smile.

"You and Jay got along real well. You were only a year younger than him."

"Too bad there was no one your age there. You must have been bored."

"I was used to daddy talking to people, little brother. It wasn't all
that long. Then he was gonna take us to the beach."

Mulder nodded. "You'd probably get a bad sunburn, it was so bright. . ."

"Nah. We already had a good tan. Summertime up there? We got out a
lot." Kane's smile was creepier than ever, and he was still leaning in, a
dreamy look in his eyes. He licked his lips. "Why don't you just ask
what you want to know, little brother? Your dad and mine talked for about
twenty minutes, not long. They didn't meet often. Your daddy was angry
whenever he had to talk to my old man. We always got paddled afterwards,
cause daddy'd be so angry we'd set him off on any little thing."

"Tough on you, huh Dennis?"

"No tougher than on you, little Fox." Scully was holding her breath. I
looked at my hands and found my sunglasses between my fingers. I'd been
opening and closing the earpieces over and over.

"Ever overhear your dad talking?"

"Very good, Fox. Ask for what you want. I'll tell you. I'll help you."
Kane was smiling again. "I never knew quite what your daddy did. Thought
he bought stuff at first, cause he always talked about merchandise, but he
acted like the spooks who'd show up at the base." Mulder didn't shift,
but he'd let one arm drape behind the chair, and that fist curled up, then
released slowly and deliberately. He brought the arm around to rest his
chin on his hand.

"Did they ever talk about purity control?" His voice was so soft I barely
heard it. Scully stiffened, glanced at the red recording light on the
video camera and back to her partner.

"Course, little Fox. That's when they started to talk to me. But that
was a long time before your daddy, back around Roswell." Scully was on
the front edge of her seat now, balanced forward. The light from the
ceiling was beginning to make my eyes ache.

"Was that what you went to the Vineyard to discuss?" He hadn't moved, not
a twitch. For Mulder, he was almost too still.

And a long, low smile. "You should remember. You're the one broke it
up." Mulder just let his head tip to one side, question implicit in the
motion. "You don't remember? I'm surprised. Jay had a new toy, one of
those frisbee flying saucer things. . ." He smiled into Mulder's eyes.

"He threw it and you missed, and ran for it. Bowled right into the middle
of those two. Daddy really walloped Jay for it. I still remember how you
screamed when your daddy hauled you out of there, little kid like you. .
." Kane shook his head, clucked his tongue, but his eyes never left
Mulder's face. In the mirror, I thought I saw his face go pale, but he
never moved a muscle.

"And your dad took you back to Hanscom." His voice was quiet.

"Oh yeah. I was real mad at you, cause we didn't get to go to the beach.
I was glad your daddy pulled your arm out like that. Dislocated, I bet.
Really hurt." Soft, sympathetic tone. My stomach had pulled into knots,
and I didn't know how Scully could stay still.

Fox leaned back in his chair, let his hands fall into his lap, where Kane
couldn't see. The fists were so tight his knuckles were pale and the
tendons ridged under all the healing scars. "That was the year before you
killed your brother and ran away."

Kane nodded. "Right, little Fox. And three years before I started to
look for my daddy. The year I came back and took care of that fake
bastard was the same year you took care of your Samantha. Remember it?
It was four years after I told you about the grays. Did you ever ask him
about that. . . ?" I couldn't see anything, but Kane must have, a flicker
of the eyes or a change in breathing, something. "Oh, you did. And I bet
you regretted that. . . but it wasn't the first time, was it. And neither
was that shoulder. . ." Kane's hand gestured, crossed some invisible line
in the middle of the table, and Scully half rose, dropped back as the big
man let his hand fall back to the table.

"It's never the first time, is it little Fox?" Mild, blue eyes and a
gentle voice. "And there's never a last, even when they die. Do you
still dream about how it felt, Fox? About the way your daddy'd hit you
and you'd just hold real still and pray for him to stop?"

". . . The grays. When did you really see them, not just hear them?" No
life left in that voice. I could barely hear it.

"Year I killed Jay. The year I was fourteen, and I killed that thing that
looked like Jay, and hid the body. Daddy didn't figure it for me. I hid
the body real good. But you know about doing that, don't you?"

"And your father. . . "

"You'll never find that one, little brother. I burned him, like they told
me. Burned him to dust, out there in the desert."

"They told you to do that?"

"Like I said. And I'd had enough of the needles, and enough of being
hurt. Didn't want to go with daddy's friends no more. Least the grays
only hurt me the once. Didn't hurt when they talked to me. Only hurt
that once, when I was fourteen. Hurt a lot. . . do you remember?"

"No." Mulder's voice snapped a little. Kane smiled at him.

"It's okay, little brother. Just trying to help. You check your x-rays
like I told you?"

"How often did they talk to you after you killed. . . "

"Daddy? They talk to me whenever I get to a new town. I go looking for
them. They know me, like they know you."

"You said your father's friends took you and ran tests. . . "

"Yeah. They did. Your daddy knew about that part." I could see Mulder's
head tilt back, jaw up and tight. "You don't remember that, little Fox?
My daddy told me you were just like me. . . "

Mulder leaned forward again. "Dennis. If your father was really part of
what you say, he'd never have told anyone, not you, not anyone, something
like that."

Kane smiled at him. "Not if he knew, little Fox. You're right. My daddy
liked his scotch, Fox. Liked it a lot. And he was piss-him-self drunk
the night he told me that. I figured it for liquor-stupid talk. But you
know, it made sense. Lots of sense. And when your Samantha vanished. . .
well. You didn't really remember the way your daddy pulled you, not last
time. I can see that. And it took a lot of time before I knew I
remembered everything about the needles, about daddy's friends. About
your daddy. You can pretend as long as you like Fox. Sure as I know my
daddy hit me, I know your daddy hit you. I saw him pull your arm out that
day. Remember. . . ?" The voice brought the dark, no matter how bright
the lights were shining. I wrapped my arms around me and felt my
sunglasses crush in my hand. I couldn't see Scully. My vision was a
tight little tunnel, with only Mulder and Kane.

"But you don't start looking for Samantha again little Fox. . . You took
care of that one, and maybe some others, but if you don't keep looking and
take care of the false ones, and you'll wish your daddy was hitting you
again. They'll hurt you so bad that arm of yours will look like a love
tap.
______________________

Mulder ignored us, long strides eating the ground out to the car. His
hand was clenched around the tape he'd ripped out of the video camera. We
hadn't left until he was certain no other recording device had been
running, and that he had the only tape. The warden was informed in cold,
formal tones, that all communications in that interview had been private
and were not to be discussed with Mr. Waverly or any other party. They
were glad to see the last of us.

He waited until we were in the car, and out the gate. Then the sound of
plastic breaking sent my heart jumping into my throat. In the rear-view
mirror his face was pulled tight across the cheekbones, pale and taut.
And his hands pulled dark tape in great lengths. Pulled and ripped and
tore at it. Scully kept her eyes to the front. She hadn't spoken once.
Just let him shred that tape.
_____________________

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

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 32/? repost 1
Date: 20 Jul 1995 19:02:01 GMT

Corpse 32/?

As usual, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the X-Files are property of Chris
Carter and Ten-Thirteen and Fox Broadcasting. I used 'em without
permission, no infringement intended, no money made. The story, Emma, Jer
and the town and everyone else in it are property and creations of
Livengoo. Please ask and wait for my permission if you should ever want
to use them in a story.

Corpse was and is fairly violent and features profanity. There. You been
warned. Where's my death threats, people? Last threat I had was to tie
me to a radiator, wearing a parka, to enjoy the Boston summer in highly
uncomfortable style! Where are the rest of the maniacs? All on vacation?
Goo

_____________________

Fox Mulder didn't slam the door. He closed it with an exaggerated care
that put a chill up my spine. Then he walked away from the car, Seth's
borrowed coat swinging too large, and heavy from his shoulders. The gray
wool shone in hard, icy winter sun that cut the outlines of everything on
which it shone. The shadow he cast was black and sharp.

The vultures had, of course, perked up and gotten their cameras and mikes
ready the instant we came into sight, but, thank god, Seth was fielding
them for us. I was barely out of my side, wondering if I wanted to get
the shreds of videotape out of my car, when Mulder spun and waited, arms
folded, eyes cold and harder than a glare would have been. Scully locked
her side and closed it. The hard, bright light pushed her eyes into a
squint as she considered her partner, sighed and rounded the car to walk
up with me.

Standing next to him, I could see the tight lines of the muscles in his
face, the white tension along his jaw and cheekbones. Scully's face was
frozen calm, pale and too smooth, but when she pushed past me into the
house her arm felt rigid with what she was holding back. Mulder stepped
in, keeping the same perfect, controlled pacing to the way he moved. The
coat came off, and was hung with a deliberate neatness that he had not
shown in the entire time I had known him. Scully's went on the coat rack
in a quick, harsh motion. The light shining through the front windows lit
the warm, pale wood of my floor and glowed in the colors of my oriental,
but could not break the frost those two left in their wake.

I headed for my standby position in the kitchen, but the flat, hard look
Scully wore blocked that. She tilted her head towards the stairs and I
found myself remembering that I had to clean the upstairs toilet. Or
maybe change my sheets. I kept my steps light on the stair runner, and
went. She followed and glared up to be sure I went to my room. I went.
I closed the door. Then I counted to thirty and opened it up again.
Acoustics are amazing things. It was soft, but at about the right height
(three feet or so off the floor) I could just hear them.

Scully's voice had that reasonable-adult tone I had always hated in school
counselors. "Mulder, do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Dana Scully must have come from a family of saints because she wasn't
waiting to check the stairs again. In my family, snooping was a highly
developed art. In this case it put me at the top of the stairs just in
time to catch his reply.

"'That' was nothing, Scully." Right. And Congress is going to balance
the budget and ride in Hyundais.

"You don't usually shred video tapes over nothing."

The dead silence that greeted that remark said more than enough. I could
just picture her frustrated sigh.

"It's just the two of us down here, Mulder. It's me, Scully. What
happened back there?"

"Nothing you need to be worried about." I could hear the couch creak a
little, hear papers rustling far too loudly, with that kind of snap I'd
used myself to stop conversations dead in their tracks. It didn't faze
Scully.

"Mulder, you need to talk about this. Kane said your father hurt you, and
you had a nightmare the other night. . . It's pretty obvious that it was a
lot more than nothing. And you asked him about Purity Control. . . ?"

"I do not need to talk about anything. And I do not want to talk about
this." Each word was bitten off, crisply defined as though he'd sliced
the sounds. "We need to check local school records. I'm betting the
military records have been erased, and most of the school records too, but
there may be something that was overlooked. Class pictures or vaccination
records. They would have been handwritten then. Or typed."

"Just because you try to ignore something it doesn't go away. It's me,
Scully? Don't you trust me with this?" I could hear their past loaded
onto that statement. Hear trust shared, and other trusts broken. The
cool, white bars of the banister sliced my view down there into ribbons
and the voices echoed softly under the ceiling.

". . . This isn't about trust. This is something I do not want to
discuss." I wouldn't have the guts to push something against that tone of
voice. His statement hung there for a moment. She must have debated what
she was going to say next.

"This is about your father battering you." Her tone was totally neutral,
stating a fact without judgment. "And it's about Kane knowing about it.
You need to. . . "

"I don't *need* to do anything, Scully." I heard the papers slap down,
probably onto the table in front of him. Heard him shift back to his
feet, and heard pacing start. "Don't-ask-again."

"I'm not going to let this drop." Her voice was soft and neutral, not
confronting him, in spite of her words. "You dreamed about this the other
night, Mulder. You were screaming. You said your father dislocated y. .
."

"I. . .Don't. . .Want. . .to. . . talk about this. Not with the Bureau
shrinks. Not with you. Not with anyone. Kane knows. Fine. Drop it,
Scully."

"No, it's not fine. He knows and he used that against you today. I know
you won't let what he told you drop. You're going to look for who his
father was, and you're going to be dealing with him again. You need to
talk about this and I'd rather have you talk to me, now."

"I'd rather not." His tone was low, but the growl in it carried it to me
clearly. "Let this drop."

"No. I'm not the one who hurt you, and I'm not going to hurt you, but
Kane can. Your father did. Let me help. . . "

"You're not helping, Scully. I don't remember most of it and I don't want
to. Leave it alone." I could hear a thick note in his voice, a strain,
almost a desperate note. I felt my eyes prickle for him.

"I can't leave it alone. I can't afford that. You can't either."

"Let me deal with this." He wasn't fighting anymore, just a hollow
request I don't think he expected to work.

"Mulder, I know this hurts. I left things unsettled with my own father,
and it was nothing compared to what you and your father had between you.
Please talk to me."

"No." The word hung in the air for several seconds. Lonely word.

"Mulder, Kane knows about what your father did. He knows how to get to
you. That scares me. It doesn't matter if he goes into a hospital and
they lock him down forever. I'm still scared because what he knows he can
tell someone else. You can't leave him with that over you. I'm scared
for you."

"No one's going to believe him. They don't believe me."

"You know better than that. The people who will believe him are exactly
why I'm so scared. Don't give them this."

"I. . . " I held my breath, sat very still. My lungs ached before I
heard his voice again. "I don't remember it very well, Scully. I
don't." Too soft to catch a tone, I barely caught the words.

"You have to tell someone, Mulder. You can't leave him that big a hold on
you. Particularly not one he knows about."

I could hear the long, hard sigh that greeted that, hear him give up. "We
were playing, Scully. It was like Kane said. And Dad just got angry and.
. . " I heard the shaky breath he took, the choked note in his voice when
he started again. "He just grabbed me by the arm and pulled too hard. My
arm. . . went out of the socket."

"Mulder. He pulled it out of the socket." Her low, careful voice told me
she wasn't surprised. My sight of the bright, sunny wood in my hall, and
the soft colors of the print on the wall was blurry and my eyes hurt.
There was a little pain at the back of my throat when he went on.

"No. . . it wasn't like that. He didn't know how hard he was pulling. He
didn't mean to hurt me." His voice had the ashy, dull sound of someone
who's told himself a lie too many time, and knows it, but won't abandon
what he wants to be true.

Scully was still for a long time. "You were a little kid, seven or
eight. He. . ." Her voice had gotten tight, and she stopped. When she
started again she sounded calm and controlled again. "But you remember
Kane and his brother?" I think he must have nodded. "Kane remembered the
adults talking. Do you?" Her voice was softer at that last.

"Not. . . not really. I didn't want to get too close to them. Dad had. .
. had told me to just sit still. Jay had a frisbee." I heard a laugh
that didn't have any humor in it. "We started just tossing it straight up
and catching it. They weren't that common then. . . "

"And he was angry. . ."

"They were arguing. Dennis had been talking to the two of us and. . .
they'd both yelled at us to sit still. I don't think they liked us
playing together. Neither one of them. Dennis was talking about the
grays. . . "

Even at the top of the stairs, I could hear her pull in a breath. His
hollow, quiet voice kept on, as though he were letting the words shape
themselves rather than shaping them to his memory. "Dad was just pulling
me along, and I asked about what Dennis had said."

"The grays?"

"Yeah. That's when he pulled me around. My arm went funny, and it
hurt." His voice had a thin, young quality, but there was nothing
innocent about it. "Dennis was looking back at us, but Jay was trying to
keep up with his dad. Dennis waved to me. I don't remember screaming.
It was sunny, and the seats in the car burned, but my arm hurt too much to
move out of the sun."

I heard another of those tight, choked breaths. It was quiet for a long
while. His voice was his own again. "I remember wearing that sling for
weeks. It was hot. I missed all the good sports that summer." Kind of a
sniff. I wasn't sure which one of them I was hearing. I pulled my own
legs up and crept back to my room, and wished I could forget what I'd
heard, and forget that such things happened.
___________

The knocking on the front door drew me back out of my room and down the
stairs. Scully beat me to the door, checking out the gauzy curtain and
heaving an exasperated sigh. I wasn't too surprised when she opened the
door for Jerry, who held out a bag of sunflower seeds and a bottle of
wine.

"Good evening. I took the liberty of. . . "

"No interviews, Rigg." She stood back far enough to let him in.

Behind him I could see the glare that cameras used to freeze their victims
on the spot long enough for the reporter to trap them. The vans parked
along the street were earning me hate mail from my neighbors, and from the
number of them today I knew I'd get a bumper crop in the next couple days.

"No interviews." He snapped a salute off to her. "Actually, I figured if
you and Agent Mulder were going to be busy preparing for trial, that Emma
would be bored." Scully's expression said she believed in that and the
Easter Bunny. As it turned out, though, he told the truth.

"C'mon, Emma. Let's go make dinner. You don't need your carry-out bill
plastered in the morning paper." I glared at him, then recalled grabbing
the carbon for Mulder's meds.

"They didn't"

"They did. Under the little headline, "Gourmet Dining at Taxpayer
Expense." I gather the columnist thinks Kane was framed, though I have no
idea why." He flipped on the hall lights as he finished hanging up his
coat. "Do you people like sitting here in the dark? We can just close
the curtains if you're doing this to fool the television drones." God,
what was he wired on?

>From the hall I could see Scully at the end of the couch, hair shining
red-gold under the light on the end table. Mulder was barricaded behind
files and papers at the other end of the couch, looking at a file with
much too much concentration. From what I'd seen he'd seen every file he
had at least three times, and probably had them all memorized. Maybe
studying them now kept him from having to talk to anyone.

I was happy enough to follow Jerry into the kitchen, where he put on the
overhead light, the light over the sink, the light over the stove, and
anything else he could turn on.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning on lights."

"Why? I mean, the stove light?" The white wood under my shoulder still
had a few gray smudges. I rubbed at one and it smeared greasily under my
fingertip and stuck to my skin.

"My dear, it is so bleak in here tonight that I'd put garlic up over the
windows if I thought it would keep these monsters away." He was pulling
Ragu out of the cabinet, and spaghetti. I took them away from him and got
the good stuff, Paul Newman's, out. Just because I was willing to eat the
cheap stuff didn't mean I'd feed it to anyone else.

"Is that why you're practically whistling show tunes?"

"Don't be offensive. I'd only whistle show tunes if I were dressed as
Judy Garland and I look lousy in ruby slippers." I looked at him, leaning
over to fish through my fridge for stuff to toss in the spaghetti.
Six-hundred dollar suit that he bought for fifty somewhere and used when
he didn't want to wrinkle his good stuff. Accessories. Hair. Capped
teeth. Doing a Judy Garland impression? Oh. My. God.

"You don't." He stood up and kicked the fridge shut, juggling an armload
of veggies.

"Only at Hallowe'en. You wouldn't believe what it took to find those
shoes in my size."

I bit down on both sides of my cheeks. "That's too cliche, Jerry. I
don't believe you."

"Would you believe I do a great Diane Sawyer?" Flipped imaginary hair back.

"Maybe. It would work better if I hadn't seen you flirt with everyone of
both genders."

"Protective cover. Good practice."

"Tease. It gets you interviews. You like the attention."

"That too." The polished teeth just shone in all the lights he'd turned
on. He was standing at arm's length, dropping sauce in the pot and
ducking splatters. I started to slice up stuff and dump it in past him.
"So why the ice works out in the living room? Last I saw those two they
were siccing the IRS on jerks, and in a really good mood.

I sighed. "We had another interview with his royal high prosecutor. You
would have been useful, to keep him in line."

"Okay. That explains part of it. I'll buy that Waverly could really
antagonize them. But why are they in there staking territory on the
couch?"

"What do you mean?" He was watching me more closely than I liked.

"I come in. Most of the lights are off. Joe Cool FBI Agent is curled
into a corner of the couch, behind the Wall of Paper. Red is at the
opposite end, just close enough to push personal space, and they can watch
each other without ever meeting eyes." I paid close attention to the
mushrooms I was slicing.

"Emma, this is the type of thing they showed us videotapes of when was I
learning to do interviews. It's a newscaster Kodak-moment. You go push
it and everything goes up in Kodacolor?"

"He did another interview with Kane."

"And you weren't gonna tell me?" He leaned in to look up into my eyes,
almost in the middle of the mushrooms I was slicing. "Emma, that's
cruel!"

"No interviews. . . " I had to stop and glare at him, since I couldn't
slice stuff with him hanging between my face and the knife.

"So am I interviewing you? No recorder, no notes, this is deep
background. What happened?"

"Jerry. . . " He pulled off his jacket and came back to lean on the
counter, arms crossed over suspenders that coordinated with his tie. I
blinked. "You had a breakfast date, didn't you?"

"Don't try to misdirect me. You read about smoke and mirrors. Practicing
it is entirely different. What did Kane talk about?"

"Umm. About being a kid, visiting Roswell. He said the aliens had talked
to him since he was a little kid. And that they told him to kill his
brother. . . "

"Tell me one I don't already know, Emma. So he confirmed what Mulder surmised?"

"Oh yes."

"And. . . ?" I stood there with my mouth open, trying to edit and figure
out what I could say. Footsteps saved me. Scully. She fished the
bag-o-pills off the refrigerator and grabbed a glass of water. She
hesitated with the glass and bag in hand, looked at the two of us. I
found myself carefully slicing veggies again. Green peppers. Scully put
the glass of water back down with a solid click.

"Emma. Look at me." Oh boy. I looked up kind of slowly, to find her
waiting. She just stared at me for several seconds. Behind me I heard
Jerry go stir the sauce on the stove, curse as it splattered him. Scully
finally heaved a sigh.

"And was it comfortable at the top of the stairs?" I winced and she
nodded. Crossed her arms and looked past me.

"And what do you know, Rigg?" I turned, saw Jerry stiffen a little. He
put a lid on the pot and turned down the heat, then walked over to stand
beside me.

"I know a lot of things Emma never told me, Agent Scully. Shall I start
with the worst, so we clear the air? I know your partner was probably a
battered child. Hospital records show a number of visits." Still
protecting his sources, even when he knew he was caught. "I know a fair
amount about what you've been through. I know both of you investigate
conspiracies, anomalous cases that can't be pigeonholed anywhere else. . .
" He went through a catalogue, watching her nod and tally what he knew
and what source that information must have had. Somewhere in the middle
of it, I saw motion in the shadows of the hall. Mulder stepped forward to
stand in the doorway, waiting. Letting Jerry continue to scroll through
what he knew. Jer must have seen him too, but didn't look in any way that
told Scully. He just kept on.

Fox's eyes narrowed as he listened, and I saw his jaw clench as Jerry
continued. I found I'd turned to stare at him as he told Scully about
interviewing guards at an Air Force base, and the confused man they'd
escorted out of the base. Saw Scully go pale as he spoke of some kind of
DNA. He started to stumble over some of it. I was trying to breathe
evenly, feeling my chest go tight and my face flush.

"Jerry?" He ground to a halt. "Jerry, you didn't learn all this after I
called you. You didn't just start this research. . ."

He was looking at his manicure. Shook his head slowly from side to side.
"No. I didn't."

"Do you want to tell us when you did start this research?" Mulder's soft
voice made Scully jump. Jerry looked up.

". . . Do you remember when the first reports came out about government
sanctioned radiation experiments? And about the Tuskegee experiments and
all. . . " Mulder had pulled out a chair and sat in it backwards, arms
braced on the back. Scully pulled herself up to sit on my kitchen
counter, looking calm but very pale. Jerry took a breath. "I ran across
experimentation with a prisoner. . . a John Barnett." Mulder flinched.
Jerry nodded.

"Yeah. I learned about that. And about Reggie Pardue. I'm sorry. From
what I learned, he was a good man." He walked back to fidget with the
sauce pan a moment, then came back. They waited, Scully swinging her
heels just a little. "I started doing routine follow up on the guy who
arrested him, and who he'd hunted. And the more I followed up, Mulder,
the less routine you became. I've spent more than a year and a half
researching you two. And when Emma called me. . . " He looked back and
forth between them. "Coincidence makes life interesting."

"Coincidence?" Mulder stared at him, at me.

"What? What?! Mulder. . . " I stared back at him. "Look, I didn't
know. I mean, Tommy Dalbert. I didn't set that up."

Jerry grinned. "It really was coincidence. Do you two honestly think
Emma could ever strike me as the perfect conspirator?" I wasn't sure I
wanted his help. But Scully looked at him, thought that through. Mulder
started to smile, just a little.

"I suppose there are more discreet people. . . " I wrinkled my nose at
her. Jer pulled up and turned back to the stove.

"We'll have dinner in about half an hour, if Emma finishes cutting those
peppers. Now, are we going to beat around the bush or are you two going
to tell me what I'll eventually get out of Emma anyway." He kept his back
turned to let them decide that one, trusting that I wasn't as good at
reading the signals. "Let me point out that if you tell me, you can do
damage control. If Emma tells me who knows what I'll get." The two of
them stared at him. I'm not sure what they made of it, but that comment
certainly stopped any more silent conversations.
____________________

Dinner was so-so. Just as well, no one was really paying much attention
to it. Two hours of coaxing, careful interrogation had at least part of
what had happened out in the open. It was apparent that whatever Jerry
thought he would do with the information he had on Mulder and Scully, he
had no intention of publishing stories about them at any time in the near
future.

Surprises kept coming out of the woodwork, too. Jerry took in the simple
comment that Mulder's father had spoken with Kane's, and leaned back in
his chair. "I wonder if they were at all involved with retrieval
operations." Mulder was reaching for a slice of bread across the table,
and I swear he didn't hesitate or jump, but it felt like an electric
charge came off him.

"Retrieval operations?"

"Hmm. Yes. Like that craft that went down in Wisconsin. I think you may
have been there?" Jerry looked at him. Mulder looked back quite calmly.

"I'm sure I'd remember." Scully was busy rolling spaghetti on her fork.
Jerry just smiled.

I poured myself more wine and wished I understood all the currents under
this surface.

"I'm sure too." He looked directly at Fox. "Kane knew about the
retrievals, didn't he." Not a question. Not at all.

Scully took a sip of her wine, looked up at him past the edge of her
glass, with the light catching the rim. "And what IS your interest in all
this, Mr. Riggins?"

"You mean besides simple curiosity?" Shiny smile again.

"Yes."

He looked at her, the smile fading off his face, and down to his plate.
His eyes flickered, but not like he was actually seeing anything in the
room. A small frown was between his eyebrows when he looked back up.
"Self-defense." Soft, deliberate tone. Both feds watched him with a flat
expression that told him to go on. He thought a long time, worrying at
his lower lip.

"You know how Reagan squashed information on HIV?" He looked back and
forth. Mulder nodded. Scully sat back with a look that told him AIDS was
NOT a government plot. His easy smile was back, but it didn't reach his
eyes. "The government defunded research, defunds programs that could slow
its spread even now. I don't for a second think humans are clever enough
to have invented the damn thing, but we were clever enough to use it to
kill some of us that others didn't like." His voice was bitter, words
clipped. "Reagan wanted HIV to spread and kill 'the faggots.'" Jerry let
his face twist a moment.

"In your case, the government controls the problem as well as the
information. I just. . . I want someone the government doesn't own, can't
control as easily, destroy as easily, to know about this stuff." He
sucked in his breath, looked at the ceiling, let his eyes drop and
smiled. "Besides, I'm a curious bastard." Wiped his mouth and took a
long, long drink of his wine before he looked back up at them.

"And I think Kane's going to attract attention from some very unusual
people, for the same reasons he's rattling you tonight." That in a
whisper that cut through the warmth and safety of a well-lit kitchen and
the warm smells of spaghetti. The candle in the center of the table
flickered.

"And you think you know who?" Fox put his elbows on the table, folded his
fingers under his chin.

Jerry stared at the light as it flickered again. "You do, too. You
probably even have names for them." He looked up at Fox, glanced to
Scully. "And you know they're killers."

I stared at the candle, flickering and felt the chill creeping up my
spine. Then I felt the chill around my bare feet and I frowned. Looked
up. "Do you feel that?" The three of them stared at me.

My chair scraped loud when I pushed it back and stood for a moment,
finally fell back on an old trick and licked my finger. Scully looked
like I was crazy. Mulder was starting to look alarmed. Jerry just looked
curious. One side of my finger felt cold, the side towards the basement
door. I opened the door, and the light was harsh down there when I
flicked the switch. Mulder was suddenly next to me.

"Hold it. Let me go down there." Jerry was getting up, but Scully was
right behind Mulder. Jerry and I stood up there and waited, holding our
breaths. It wasn't long. Scully came to the foot of the stairs.

"You'll need to replace a window in your basement door."

"Anything else?" Broken window. I felt the tension uncoil, but not out
of Jerry.

"Yes. I think you should get new locks. And an alarm."

I swallowed.
________________________

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

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 33/?
Date: 22 Jul 1995 05:26:13 GMT

Corpse 33/?

Usual disclaimers. Mulder, Scully and the X-Files are property of Chris
Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. The story, Emma, Jer the town
and all the people in it, including Kane, are copyright Livengoo and not
be used without the Goo's express permission.
No infringement, no profit, and I love email.

This is about it, folks. Corpse will end with #35. Heck of a long ride
for what was originally to have been a short story. Let me know what you
think!
Goo

________________________
I watched the streetlights make patterns on my ceiling and waited for
glass, or scuffles, or screams. I figured it was very likely I'd hear one
of them before the night was out. I'd tried to sleep. I really had. But
then a tree would creak, or a car would backfire, or a fool with a camera
would trip and I'd be sitting up listening to the triphammer in my chest
and feeling the sweat down my sides go clammy and cold.

I heard a low moan and a mutter. Not a happy moan, or a sexy one. A
long, dreaming, haunted-house-don't-look-behind-you moan in a female
voice. Tonight, even Scully was having trouble sleeping. I was just
happy to know she was there at all, and that her insomniac partner was
downstairs. They hadn't quite fought again tonight, but it had been
close.

Jerry had left not long after they'd finished duct taping a piece of
cardboard over my window. I had to admit. I was glad to see him go
myself, but apparently I'd been tarred with the same brush. I could
understand that Scully was pretty unhappy about him and his little
revelations. I'd wanted to strangle him, or ask him to reimburse me on an
hourly rate for doing research for him, whichever would wind up hurting
more.

Jer, good old Jer, had kept me in the dark and let me blunder around and
damn near get killed while he sat back and thanked the brazen Saint of
Reporters for dropping his chosen prey right into his hands. While I
would hesitate to state under oath that I would not have done the same
things over again, it just rankled that he had gotten all the goodies and
I had gotten my doors dinged.

Scully, however, regarded me as a co-conspirator. I had no idea what
Mulder thought of everything. When Scully suggested a hotel, he simply
told her he was too tired to want to fuck with all that and that he didn't
plan to go anywhere tonight. A good look at all his files, spread across
the couch, and she abandoned any effort to move. Or maybe she just didn't
want to have to corner him twice in one day. I figured it for the latter,
since she also didn't push him when he refused to take any of the
medications that made him at all sleepy.

God. I had never realized my mattress was so lumpy or the street lights
so bright. A grindy-groaning noise made my stomach go cold, until I
recognized it as the downstairs toilet. I scratched at a spot in the
middle of my back, and a muscle twinged in my shoulder. The other side
and my back ached a little. Three-seventeen. I turned the clock so the
light was against the wall, and not keeping me awake with its bright,
blinking second display. My feet were cold.

When I sat up my back ached from trying to find a comfortable position
that didn't exist. My slippers felt old, all the plush inside matted down
and smooth. My robe was warm, at least. The lights in the living room
were still on, and it was easy to find my way downstairs. Paper wasn't
rustling, but the bed wasn't folded out, either. I ghosted back to the
kitchen and started water boiling. When I reached up on tippy toes to get
down my tea bags, and a hand reached past me and easily pulled them off
the top shelf I almost shrieked.

My throat still had that tight, ill feeling when I turned around to find
Mulder standing there, catnip tea in one hand, lug wrench in the other.

"Jesus, you nearly scared the shit out of me, Mulder." He grinned.

"Then we're even. Why are you sneaking around at three-thirty in the morning?"

"I'm not sneaking, I live here."

"I call tip-toeing sneaking. You should be upstairs with visions of
shopping malls dancing in your head."

"Right," I snorted. "I'm up for the same reason I figure you're up. I
couldn't sleep. Nice accessory by the way, but couldn't you get it color
coordinated?" He hefted the lug wrench.

"I thought if your visitors decided to drop by I'd rather have something
at hand. Scully's got her gun upstairs."

"That's right. . . I forgot about that. How much do those things cost, anyway?"

"Lots. I've got the dead, burned remains so they know I didn't just
misplace it and try to get another."

"Do you do that often?"

"Not really, but it's hard to convince accounting of that. When they let
me have the wreckage back I'll use it for a paperweight."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're pretty morbid?"

"All the time." He watched me pour water over my tea bag, standing there
leaning against the counter, idly swinging his toy. The gray sweats made
him look especially pale in the overhead light. "So. You didn't say why
you couldn't sleep. . . " It sounded friendly enough.

I sighed. "Nerves. I'm nervous about going to that hearing tomorrow.
Today. I mean. . . we've seen Kane twice and it doesn't make sense to be
nervous, but the truth is that hearing decides whether all this is over
and I'm nervous."

"Nervous because it might not be over, or nervous because it might?" I
hadn't really considered that his voice could sound that smooth, that
soft.

"Umm. I. . . I'll have to answer 'yes' to that last question,
counselor." He grinned more widely.

"I understand. This really shook you up, changed things for you. It's
nervewracking both to have it linger on, and to have it over and have to
face the aftermath."

I thought about that. Sipped my tea. Finally nodded. "Yeah. I. . . I'm
selling my house." I wasn't sure why I'd blurted it out. Fox just kept
leaning against the counter, wrench leaning against the cabinets now, and
watched me. "I don't know what I'm going to do, but I can't go back to
work. I went there the other day, and I just can't go back." I looked
down into my cup, feeling my eyes prickle, and my nose ached a little. I
rubbed at it. "Sounds pretty stupid."

"Not really. I think I understand. Something big happens to you,
something that turns your world upside down, and if you go back and
pretend it never happened, that's a lie. You can't return and tell the
truth. So you move ahead and just hope you can figure out where you're
going to need to go." He stopped. Stared into thin air for a moment,
finally shook his head a little and got down a cup for himself.

"Jeez, I'm sorry." I reached for the tea but he smiled and waved me off,
made his own cup.

"I have my own place, and I get by just fine, Emma. Even I can make a cup
of tea." I blushed. He dunked his tea bag, considered the color of it.
"I won't ask what you're going to do after you sell your house. If you
knew, I think you'd tell me."

I thought about that, nodded. "I know I'm going to travel. I was going
to talk to Jerry about all this, but I don't think so now."

Fox looked up at me, startled. "I think you should."

I snorted. "After the way he used me? I mean, I think you'd at least be
pissed about him doing all that, spying like that. . . "

"Why? He didn't do anything I wouldn't have expected from him. I
actually feel better now that he's not pretending he came up with all that
information in two weeks of digging around." He sipped his tea.

I stared. "But he used me. . . and the situation. . . aren't you mad?"

He paused and thought about that. Settled back and really considered it.
Finally looked back at me. "He handed us most of his cards last night,
right out in the open. We probably know more about him than he could
possibly learn about us. And, in his own way, he's doing about the same
thing I'm doing. I don't trust him. . . " Fox smiled. "But I wouldn't
say I'm angry either. At some level, people have to use each other. They
have no choice. He didn't play fair with you, true. But for myself?
I've been much worse used in the past. And I don't strictly disagree with
his reasons."

I was mulling that over when he went on. "You'll have to decide how much
he used you, and how much you used him, Emma. But think carefully before
you decide that *you* absolutely cannot trust him."

I stood and worried my lip, watched him yawn. "Are you going to get any
sleep tonight, Mulder?"

"Why do you want to know, Courtland?"

I grinned. "So I can blab to Scully and get back on her good side?" He
shook his head, put on an expression of exaggerated martyrdom. "Really,
you have to be dead on your feet. And you've got that hearing tomorrow. .
. "

The twitch was just barely perceptible. He tried to cover it by fussing
with his tea in the approved, tea-drinker's manner. "I'll be fine. I'm
used to this kind of thing."

"What? You always do competency hearings for maniacs on zero sleep and
running on fumes?"

"I do meetings with Skinner that way. I don't see that this is all that
much different." I suddenly had a lot of sympathy for his boss.

"Do you ever stop being a smartass, Mulder?"

"Do all lawyers sound alike, Courtland?"

"On a certain level, yes. We're trained to do that." He rolled his
eyes. "You think it was reporters who broke in downstairs?" I wasn't
really sure I wanted him to answer that, and from the look on his face I
think he shared the sentiment.

"It might have been. It's possible."

"But you don't think so." He shook his head. "You think you know who it
was?" He thought about that. Kind of pinched his lower lip with this
nervous little gesture.

"I think I might know who it could have been."

"Oh, can we equivocate any more?"

He smiled at me. "Don't worry. Once we're gone and the hearing's done,
you shouldn't hear from them again. And if it's not them, you don't have
anything to worry about."

"And you don't think you'll be sleeping tonight."

"I don't think you want to ask me any more, Emma. And I know I don't want
to tell you any more. Bedtime stories from me won't make you rest any
easier."

I snickered. "That's what Jerry said about you, too." The blush on his
face sent me to bed feeling wickedly cheerful. I'm not sure whether I was
surprised to find that when my alarm clock did go off it actually woke me
from a sound sleep.
______________________
No one felt like eating breakfast. I wasn't all that surprised. I know
coffee was the limit of what I wanted to deal with, although I did choke
down toast.

Scully sipped her own coffee carefully, to avoid spilling any on her
sharp, autumn-russet suit and cream silk blouse. Mulder looked very good
in a charcoal-gray suit that probably cost more than he should spend.
Unfortunately, he didn't spill any coffee on the M.C. Escher-ish tie that
marred his white linen shirt-front. At least the pattern all blurred
together from a distance.

We were all sitting there, avoiding chit-chat, for a ridiculously long
stretch of time. The court wouldn't convene for at least an hour, and all
the paperwork, affidavits, statements and goodies we needed to submit had
been filed days before. At one time filing all that would have been a
major adventure, but now it barely made a blip on my excitement meter. I
think Mulder and Scully had done theirs in their sleep. Mine had been a
bare-bones recitation of what had happened in the basement. Thankfully,
no one had asked my why we were there to begin with. If Kane didn't go to
trial, it was doubtful anyone ever would. Scully's statement had probably
been even shorter than mine.

Mulder's was something else altogether. I knew he'd worked on it in the
hospital. He must have written in his head, because when he sat down to
enter it in his computer, it spilled out and word-check and grammar check
were the limit of his revisions. Maybe twenty-five pages, one draft,
print and submit. I suspected he'd used it to keep himself busy on a
couple of sleepless nights when the volleyball teams paled, and the horror
movies were all repeats of repeats. Waverly had finally given up on
getting him to modify it much. Nothing Fox had learned in his interviews
with Kane left him at all inclined to change the opinion he'd formed after
the. . . incident in the hospital.

So we sat and waited. No medical appointments until after the hearing.
All arrangements for return to D.C. on hold, pending the determination of
this hearing. Our entire world held its breath to see if Kane's Howard
Jeffries, or the United State's Frederick Waverly was more persuasive.
Each would present all they could before Judge Wilson Millone, and then we
would learn if Peter Kane, born Dennis, family name unknown, was sane in
the eyes of the law.

______________________
I had a seat in a comfortable chair in the unused jury box. A lot of the
courtrooms here had the old seats, like pews, and they made you pray to
have proceedings done just as fervently as real pews had made me pray to
have church done. Fortunately, the informal atmosphere of a competency
hearing allowed some leeway for corporeal matters, and the white courtroom
with pretty gold relief on the plaster, pale blue carpet, and comfortable
chairs was a real luxury, as courtrooms go.

The gray, cloudy day, that left the windows pearl-colored, cast no
shadows. The light from overhead held that soft, cold blue cast I now
associated with morgues and hospitals. No deep shadows, but no glow of a
highlight either. Directly in front of us was the ornamental barrier,
carved and painted, with little touches of gilding. Mulder leaned forward
in his seat, forearms resting on top of the rail and watched the two
lawyers and their second stringers prepare their files and notes. On his
other side, Scully sat back, elbow on chair arm and chin in hand, to watch
him and them equally. Her hair was a soft, even roan against the white
and blue tones of this room.

Jeffries' hair was combed over the top of his head and pasted in place. I
could see the clumping of gel. It took a bit of an effort not to wrinkle
my nose. Waverly's hair rippled like greasy, black lasagna on his head.
Both of them had expensive suits, with dandruff on the shoulders. I
rather wished Jerry was there to comment on them, but he was interviewing
people outside and writing his story so he could file it as soon as he had
the outcome. The loudest sounds were the thump of the door opening and
closing as a few men and one woman, in suits, straggled in to take seats
scattered throughout the room.

A noise at the door to our left drew Mulder's eyes first, in a startled
glance, and Scully and I followed his gaze to see a federal marshal step
in and hold the door open. Peter Kane walked, slowly and painfully, into
the courtroom. His hands were shackled to his waist, but his legs were
free, if stiff with bandages. The marshal followed him, escorting him to
a seat next to Jeffries. The two exchanged a few words, and Kane turned
and smiled directly into Mulder's eyes, nodded briefly to me and Scully,
then took a seat. I was breathing fast, and a vicious twinge of relief
and pleasure shivered up and down my spine at the evident slowness and
pain he showed talking his seat.

Mulder sat back, considering him and the room with a casual scan, but the
muscles flickered along his jaw and the tendons were tight along the back
of his hand. I couldn't see Scully's face since he'd sat back, but her
ankles pulled back from their comfortable stretch, to cross in that
self-conscious way Emily Post thought was lady-like and that I used when I
couldn't figure out what else to do with myself. Sometimes she'd recross
them the other way, scuffing the edge of an expensive pump on the blue
rug. The pen in her hand made idle doodles with chemical names on them
across the top of the pad of paper on her lap.

The hiss of Jeffries advising his client, and the authoritative thump of
Waverly straightening his files sometimes interrupted the buzz of the
lights over head, and the faint pumping sound of the air system. Kane's
suit had an understated pin stripe to it. Jeffries must have gotten the
suit for him to wear. His own clothes would have been destroyed. Or
maybe he already had his clothes stored elsewhere, waiting for him to
finish and move on. The skin on his balding head was smooth, with only a
few pink spots of scar. The wide bulk of his shoulders made the fabric
pull just a little as he leaned forward to knit his fingers together on
the table in front of him, the chains forcing him to keep his elbows bent
close. He glanced at us again, and smiled politely. The marshal stayed
close behind him, at a comfortable rest but with his eyes unfocused in
front of him.

A door behind and to our left creaked as it opened. This bailiff spoke
the ancient formula clearly. . .

"All rise."
________________________
Cont.

Okay, before the story totally ends and while I still have your attention
I want to roll my credits.

Chris Carter et al, of course, for trashing my Friday social calendar in
such an entertaining way.

Louisiana and Oklahoma, the cases Jer refers to as so traumatic from
Mulder's past, are both inventions of Amperage from the excellent story,
The Sacrifice. This is the story that hooked me on a.t.x.c. and you
should all go read it right after you finish Corpse.

Amperage, LindaJ., and Rodent's sister, Mo got me through the psych and
medical details, and deserve a lot of the credit for those aspects of the
story. I could not have written those sections without their help.

Rodent edited and edits this critter, and I'll burn incense to the gods of
editing on her behalf. Thank you for catching my errors and tracking my
details!

Sean Smith gets reader thanks. The really fine threateners among you,
including Greg, Linda, and the Wagners all get thanks and good threats
mentions. Nothing makes my morning coffee as fun as a good death threat!

Thanks to everybody who read, enjoyed and wrote to me about this story.
The final piece will post tomorrow.

Goo

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 34 of 35
Date: 23 Jul 1995 01:58:54 GMT

Corpse 34/35

All right! I finally know how many parts this critter will have. 35. I
knew you'd be excited. Like Amp says, anyone I didn't invent is from Fox,
Chris Carter, and Ten-Thirteen. For newcomers (latecomers) Dana Scully
and Fox Mulder are Carter's. Everyone else who appears in here is mine.
Get my permission before you use my characters, setting or story.
Carter's characters used without permission, no profit, no infringement
intended. Etc. etc. I love email and threats, as all of you should know
by now.

_______________________
"All rise."

A tall, tired-looking man with graying hair walked in, the long, black
robe swinging as his steps carried him up a step and into his seat, above
us and looking down upon us all.

"Judge Millone sitting in court this fourth day of November. . . " I
tuned the rest of it out, sitting after the judge had sat, when the
bailiff instructed us. Even Kane had struggled onto his feet and sat back
down with a calm, reserved expression on his face.

As it happened I spent a lot of the next hour tuned out. It was a lot
more interesting when Barbara Streisand and Richard Dreyfuss were trading
barbs and thumping on glasses. Howard Jeffries made an efficient and
well-organized presentation of the evidence supporting the contention that
Peter Kane, name of birth unknown, was not mentally competent to stand
trial. The psychiatrists and psychologists he called quoted results of
tests and observations that I could not remember within moments of having
heard them. I had a pad of paper and tried to take notes, but kept hazing
out and snapping to only to find a scrawl with a spot where ink had soaked
in from my pen tip. The judge let us know he was familiar with this kind
of hearing, and had made a it point to educate himself on the case at
hand, so very little of the pshrink-speak was summarized for those of us
who had not done our homework.

Waverly's cross-examination did little to liven it. On cross, he'd get up
to question each doctor in turn, inquiring after length of time in
practice, similar cases seen, the applicability of tests. I was beginning
to appreciate all over again why I didn't mind reading leases so much.
The whole, drawn-out, formalistic attack by innuendo and caging a person
into admissions had been a lot of what I'd always hated in trial practice
class. Perry Mason would never have made it here.

Jeffries had left Mulder for last. He questioned him on his opinion, on
the evaluation he filed, just like previous doctors. I could see Waverly
getting his shoulders bunched and scribbling notes back and forth with his
legal assistant. I'd seen enough of Waverly to have a pretty good idea of
what tack he was going to take with Mulder. I figured we were about to be
treated to the prosecution trying to make this particular witness out to
be totally incompetent due to medication and involvement. I just cringed
when Jeffries sat down and turned Mulder over to Waverly.

Waverly ran through Mulder's credentials again, and they did sound
impressive. The bachelor's and doctoral degrees in psychology from Oxford
had a nice ring to them.

"But you never actually practiced, as a licensed psychologist?"

"No." Fox must have had enough court appearances to know that expanding
on an answer would not be permitted.

"Your evaluation states that Mr. Kane is delusional. That not only was he
incapable of perceiving the heinous quality of his acts at the time he
committed them, he is still unable to perceive that, and unable to
comprehend the advice of his attorney and the nature of a trial?"

Mulder glanced at Kane, who was smiling at him. Looked back at Waverly.
"That is correct, Mr. Waverly. In my professional opinion Mr. Kane was
not able to understand that he killed human beings, and is not able to
understand any trial for those acts. I very much doubt that Mr. Kane
regards you as human." Well, Kane wasn't alone there.

"Yet in a previous evaluation you clearly stated that Mr. Kane could and
should stand trial. That although he did not understand the nature of the
acts for which he was being sought by the FBI, he did understand the
nature of actions taken against you and your partner." All right, Waverly
couldn't openly say Kane had tried to kill Mulder. That would have been
struck as not at issue. He was pussy-footing around it.

Mulder hesitated. His answer was very carefully worded. "It is true that
I offered a preliminary evaluation, before interviewing Mr. Kane, that
suggested he could stand trial."

"You changed your evaluation after an interview in the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind, for the record, stating what medications you were taking
at the time of that interview?"

"Objection!" Good for Jeffries! He wanted that question struck as
irrelevant. I wanted to cheer. Waverly was trying to slant things so it
seemed that all Mulder's evaluations had been made in a doped haze. I
felt like growling when the judge let it stand. Fortunately, Mulder could
figure his way around that one.

"During the first of three interviews where I formed my evaluation of Mr.
Kane I was being treated for smoke inhalation damage and burns." He sat
back and listed the meds and their dosages, doubtless reeled out of the
magic memory, but he'd made his point. Two more interviews, not under
those drugs, had supported his opinion.

Waverly's face showed no reaction, but he was straightening his tie a bit
more often than he had before, like it was too tight around his neck.
"Then the evaluation you ostensibly used to locate Mr. Kane is invalid?
Because that evaluation contradicts the one you wrote in the hospital,
after nearly being killed by the defendant."

"Objection. Inflammatory and irrelevant." God. Millone let this one
stand, too. I felt like a fan at a basketball game where the refs let all
the home team fouls go and only nailed our side.

Mulder picked his way through that mine field, trying to reconcile the two
evaluations. "Many, even most, of the observations related to Mr. Kane's
overall behavior patterns were made with considerable study, and I will
stand behind them. My assessment of how he was operating on a broad scale
did help us locate him. However my initial evaluation of his
psychological status was necessarily speculative. Until I spoke with Mr.
Kane in person, I was unable to form anything more than a speculative
evaluation. I conducted three different interviews with the man, and
those interviews support the opinions put forward in the evaluation I
filed with this court. I do not consider Mr. Kane fit to stand trial."

Neatly done, all interknit like that. Waverly would have had a hard time
pulling apart and stopping the things he didn't want to hear. He must
have decided Mulder was not going to be as easy to attack as he'd hoped,
because he let Fox step down after that. Mulder managed to keep that
frozen composure on his face all the way back to his seat. He must have
had a phenomenally high tolerance level for bullshit and abuse if he
managed to get this far without a word. I did see him take Scully's pad
and note a few choice words about Waverly's ancestry and habits that put a
grin back on her face.

Kane had sat back and calmly observed, nodding at some of Mulder's
comments, quiet and nerve-wrackingly well behaved. This wasn't the OJ
trial, not a long, drawn-out media circus, in spite of the local
notoriety. Judge Millone wanted to make a decision, and Jeffries played
his trump card. He called Kane to the stand.

Small steps, restricted by bandages and pain. The judge gave him the
option to remain in his seat but Kane said he'd always wanted to take the
oath, on the stand, and tell the truth for all to hear. Mulder's arm was
brushing mine, and I felt the muscles under the cloth go rigid as Kane
spoke the words of the oath, right hand raised as far as he could manage.
I could hear the fibbie swallow, but I wasn't watching him.

"Mr. Kane, would you give us your full name and age?"

"I was born Dennis Tolleson, but in this place, and for the last year I
have gone by Peter Kane, with a 'K'. I am forty years old. I'll go by
Kane today and here, if you don't mind." He smiled at Fox Mulder.

Jeffries stared at his client. "Mr. Kane, are you aware of the charges
pending against you?"

"Oh yes. I'm quite aware. I'm charged with several murders and. . . " he
gestured towards us, "with trying to murder Dr. Mulder, over there." He'd
chosen to underscore Mulder's credentials. I remembered him talking in
that last interview, telling Mulder he knew why he was trying to have him
found insane. And Kane was calling Mulder "Doctor."

"And what do you understand that to mean?" Waverly looked like he might
ask for a clarification, but Kane beat him to it.

"I understand that to mean I killed people, and that I wanted to kill Dr.
Mulder." I licked my lips. The judge was watching Kane closely. Kane
was watching us.

"Mr. Kane, I want you to look around the courtroom. Do you see people?"

Kane turned slowly to face his lawyer and smiled at him. "Do I see
people? I see. . ." He scanned carefully. "I see him. I see little
Fox. I know he's people." Kane leaned forward and looked into Jeffries'
eyes. "Now, you might be people. You might not. I'd have to find out,
wouldn't I?"

Jeffries took a breath I could see all the way from back where I sat.
"And why do you believe Agent Mulder to be a person?"

"Because I knew his daddy. I know they touched him, and they only take
people. The rest of you, you might be people, you might not. That's our
job to find out."

"You. . . need to find out if all of us are people?" Kane smiled at him.

"No, Mr. Jeffries. I got a very few people I need to learn about. Just
like little brother over there only needs to find out about his sister.
But you got someone out there for you, too. Don't you worry none.
Someone's out there to make sure for you, too." Jeffries stepped back,
away from his client, glanced at the judge who was watching and making
notes. Next to me, Mulder watched him with rapt attention. I don't think
he'd even blinked for quite a long while.

"And how do you find that out?"

"There's things to look for. Things about the teeth, and the skin, and
the organs. You have to. . . experiment. You know, each one is
different. You start with the simple procedures. You drill a man's
teeth. You take a patch of skin and. . . " Jeffries held up his hand,
going a bit pale.

"Please Mr. Kane. I think we are all reasonably acquainted with the methods."

Kane smiled at him. "Then you had best find a way to tell your own
hunter, Mr. Jeffries, or he'll have to help you learn."

Jeffries looked up at the judge, but the man was still making notes. Fox
had his hands on his knees in what would have been a relaxed posture if I
hadn't seen the tendons standing along the backs of his hands. Scully's
pen was not moving on the pad on her lap. Waverly was making fast notes
and watching Kane skeptically.

Jeffries glanced at Waverly, and back to Kane. Seemed to come to a
decision. "Mr. Kane, did you try to kill Agent Mulder?"

Kane didn't need to think about that one. Mulder had sat back in his
chair, as though he was relaxed, but he didn't move at all. None of the
little twitches or rustles a person normally makes. Kane's voice was
clear and definite. "Little brother? I didn't want to kill the little
Fox. They'll hurt us all if one of us doesn't do as he must, doesn't
search and hunt, but I don't want to kill little brother." He sighed,
looked tired.

"I tried to hurt him bad, in the fire. Maybe burn the fear out of him so
he knows, so he'll hunt again. He's lying if he doesn't hunt." Fox sat
perfectly still but that close, I could see the way muscles twitched up
the side of his neck and his jaw. I half expected the air to hum with his
tension.

"You got to stop lying, little brother. Your daddy raised you better than
that. He tried to keep you from the fire, tried to forge you strong so
they wouldn't need to call you back." Kane was braced against the front
rail of his box, now. He didn't seem to feel any pain any more, just
stared past his lawyer's pale face to us. To Mulder. Even Waverly wasn't
fidgeting or writing, was just watching now.

"Your daddy hit you, sure, but he never hurt you as bad as they can. Do
you remember? I do. Remember how your teeth felt in your head as you saw
the smoke and felt the heat in your jaw? The burning light in your eyes,
or the way their hands felt on your skin? How the cold metal hurt when it
cut into you, but it never stopped and you never died even though you
wanted to?" Fox curled his fist and let his chin rest on it. He looked
calm and relaxed, but I could see how dark his eyes were, and hear a faint
sound every so often like he'd let his teeth grind.

I couldn't see Scully, sitting on his other side, but her hand was locked
around her pen and she hadn't written anything for a long time. I could
see how pale her hands were, how the left pressed down on the paper so
hard the fingertips were white under the nails.

"They hide the metal, little Fox. They put it different places to see how
fast we learn, keep us from figuring it out. They don't even need that
for you or me. Our daddies saw to that. It's easier, but they don't need
it. You check those x-rays yet? No reason to make it easy, and you got
to stay free until you hunt again, little brother, or they'll hurt you so
bad you'll beg for the fire." Kane's sad, warning voice rippled past us
all. Even the judge stared from Kane to Mulder and back.

"Shut up." It was a whisper. Fox's lips didn't really move. I think I
felt the words rather than heard them. Kane smiled sad and fond at him.

"You scared to hear this, aren't you, little brother? I would be, too.
But your daddy made a bargain sure as mine did. I still need to find my
daddy. Your daddy's bargain cost you your sister , and you need to find
her. Like I need to find Jay and my old man. There's lots of us been
taken and lots of us who hunt. You stop, little brother, and you bring
them down on all our heads. We can't let you stop hunting, little Fox.
We can't afford that." Kane was on his feet, as though his legs weren't
burned and bound. Mulder drew a deep breath, and maybe he hadn't been
breathing these last few moments, but he was staring at Kane, watching
him. Not hatred or fear, or curiosity either, but something else with a
little of those all mixed in. Something that held need and old, old
pain.

Kane turned his head and looked up at the judge, who pulled back and
stared down into his eyes. The bailiff was moving to get close, as though
Kane could do anything with the chains on his wrists and his legs all
wrecked.

"Your honor. I have work I need to do. I know little brother over there
tells you I am not sane, and my lawyer tells you I can't stand trial, but
I have work that needs to be done. I think you're human." Kane smiled at
him. "I got good instincts for these things. If I need to answer
questions for that one over there," he pointed at Waverly, "I will. I'll
be glad to tell him all about what his hunter'll do to him and he'd better
run now, while he can. If my own little weasel wants to ask any more
questions, he can. But I'm asking you now, to understand and let me go to
trial. If I can get a jury of twelve people I know they'll hear sense.
So long as the Bad Ones don't get in I'll be fine." He might have been
trying to soothe a child from his tone. Mulder hadn't moved next to me.
Waverly was staring in sullen amazement and Jeffries just sat and shook,
not even trying to get control of his client.

The judge looked back at Kane. "That's all very well, Mr. Kane. Now,
this is a court of law, and we are in a hearing." His voice, at least was
mild and calm. "I'll have to ask you to follow the rules while you are
here, and to only answer questions when they are put to you. I understand
that this is all quite new to you. . . " Droning on now, trying to
reestablish some kind of rationality, some normality in his court. I knew
how he felt. Kane watched him and seemed amused. When Judge Millone
turned to Waverly he simply declined, saying he had no questions. I heard
Mulder snort next to me, saw his eyes narrow in sudden anger. Kane looked
back at us.

"Remember what I told you, little brother."

And Judge Millone adjourned for three hours.
________________________

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

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 35/35
Date: 24 Jul 1995 05:16:33 GMT

Corpse 35/35

Okay you long-suffering readers. This is it. The end of Corpse. You're
now free of me and my nasty little story for a bit, unless you're unwise
enough to go looking for Goo-ey stuff. There may or may not be another
Emma/Jerry story depending on how much interest I have or you generate.

Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and the X-Files are all property of Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen and Fox. Used without permission, profit, or intent to
infringe. The story, Emma, Jer and the rest are all inventions of
Livengoo. I'm not adverse to seeing them in other peoples' work, but get
my permission first.

Thank you all for coming along on this ride with me! The whole story can
be found, along with all kinds of other neat stuff, at the X-Files
archives, and thank you Vincent Juodvalkis for looking after that site for
all of us.
Goo

________________________

We had until two, so we didn't torture ourselves with what passed for food
in the courthouse. Jerry fell into step as we walked out the door.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"You know perfectly well we're just adjourned. No decision yet." The
words came out with a harsh note I hadn't quite intended. Jerry glanced
at me. He slowed down a little letting Mulder and Scully walk on ahead.
We watched them for a moment.

I'd expected Fox to be rattled. That tight, calm facade he'd kept,
sitting back in his chair the whole time, had no doubt looked good, but
I'd felt how unnatural it was the few times I'd brushed against his arm.
The muscles under his jacket had been locked, the chin that he'd rested on
his hand had looked clenched the whole time.

I wasn't surprised that Mulder was wrung out. What surprised me was the
pale, nervous look on Scully's face. She'd held herself almost as tense
as he had, and I was baffled as to what she was fighting to control.
Jerry didn't seem to know either, but I figured the feds really needed the
space. We let them get about fifteen feet ahead of us. If he hadn't been
so much taller their heads would have been together, but both looked too
tense to be mistaken for lovers on a walk. As they walked, she gradually
did more and more talking, as though he was dragging the words out of her.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jerry squint in the thin sunlight. His
black hair and olive skin looked washed out and winter pale. He tried to
catch my eyes and I looked away from him, surprised at the anger and
tension that still coiled in my shoulders. He hunched tighter, away from
the wind.

"Emma, I know I haven't said much to you about this. This whole thing has
to have been very, very hard for you. . . "

"You might say that, Jerry. It still is hard." He reached over to put a
hand on my shoulder, but I pulled away. The tentative look on his face
didn't make me contrite today, the way it might have most of the time.

"It will be over soon, Emma. No matter what. . . " I heard the anxious
sound in his voice, and was glad to upset him even while I wasn't feeling
quite right about it.

"Fuck it, Jerry. Just get away from me." I glared at him, ignored the
pale, tight look that was suddenly on his face, ignored Mulder's nagging
voice in the back of my head, telling me that I should think carefully
before I burned this bridge.

"Emma!" Jerry grabbed me suddenly. Grabbed both my arms and held me
still. "Damn it, this is because of what I told you last night, isn't
it?"

"You little fuck! You think you can just tell me you've been using me
since I dropped in your lap like the best thing since a good screw and you
think I'm not gonna be upset? You think I'm just gonna make up and play
nice?!" God, my nose was all snotty and I couldn't breathe, and I could
feel how red and ugly my face was, and feel the tears rolling down my
cheeks and hurting in the cold wind. I think Mulder and Scully were
staring. It looked like he'd put a hand out to hold her back, but they
were blurred in my vision a second later.

Jerry was still holding me, and his hands almost bruised my arms. He
suddenly pulled me in tight, wrapped me and held me, even though I was
trying to shove him off. "Let go of me you bastard."

"Emma." He was holding me almost tight enough to hurt. "Emma. You may
not want to believe it, but I told the truth last night. You'd never be
my first choice for conspirator. You're too damn honest." His voice was
soft in my ear. "Emma, listen to me. Please listen to me." He let me
back a little way, though he was still holding me, hands wrapped around my
upper arms. "I was so scared when I found out you were in the middle of
all this. I'd barely thought of you in months, hardly talked to you, but
you were one of the ones I thought was safe."

I stared at him, sniffling. Glanced sideways to see that Fox and Dana had
found a window to shop at. Looked back at Jerry and ignored all the other
people out here. They didn't count. They were strangers.

"Emma, I've lost a lot of friends. Too many. I don't care if they died
because they had AIDS, or they were driving drunk, or whatever. It
doesn't matter. But I've lost a lot. And I always kind of assumed you
were safe. You'd stay safe." He let go of me, let his hands fall to his
sides. "You were the one I kind of kept in reserve, knowing I'd always
have one friend out there, because good old Emma didn't break any of the
rules, and so she'd always be safe. And I really wanted to keep you that
way. Some of what I know kills people, Emma. What I've been learning. .
. There are people who've died because they knew things, Emma." He
looked over at the feds himself.

"People like Mulder, or like Scully?"

He smiled, but it was a pretty pale smile. "I don't know many people who
you could say are like either of them, but kind of that idea. Yeah. I
know. . . knew a couple people who kind of got mugged to death, or drove
too fast on the wrong roads, or whatever excuse you want to find, because
they knew the kind of stuff Scully or Mulder know. And. . . I really
didn't want you to become one of those people." He looked at me, and his
face had that kind of tight look I felt on my own features. "And you're
bound and determined to stick your neck in this noose, no matter what I
do. Aren't you?"

I bit my lip and thought about it. Thought about it very carefully. And
finally nodded my head. "Yes Jerry. Yes I am." He looked like
somethiing was broken, way deep inside, but he nodded. When we both
turned at started walking again, teh feds did too. This time it was them
giving us the room. I was relieved it was still a couple blocks away.

When they reached the restaurant I had in mind, I caught up to them. Fox
was just shaking his head, telling her no to something, when I tapped
their shoulders and pointed out the little Afghani place I'd decided would
be diverting for lunch. Jerry was picking up the tab today, letting the
taxpayer off the hook, since he'd just conducted what he could excuse as
an interview with me.

Lots of food with paprika and other wonderful things gave us an excuse not
to talk about the hearing for at least an hour. I could see that both
Scully and Mulder really just wanted the whole thing to be over, wanted it
done with. Whatever they'd been talking about, it was clear that Peter
Kane brought up bad memories for both of them.

Jerry showed more tact than I would have expected, and let them off the
hook. Instead, were treated to recycled stories of P.J. O'Rourke managing
foreign cultures by insulting the French and committing other atrocities.
Reporters do have the best gossip. A couple good rumors about the foibles
and peccadillos of Washington insiders had both our guests in a much
better mood, while the food left a warm glow in our bellies.

We sat back finally with coffee and desserts so dense they could earn a
new place on the periodic table of elements, each in his or her own
world. I'd willingly have put hard money that though we were lost in our
separate worlds, the general content was very similar. Scully broke the
silence.

"Mulder says you plan to sell your house, Emma."

I felt Jerry's startled eyes on me as I nodded. "Yeah. I look around and
it just reminds me of how different I am."

"Are you sure you want to do that? It's a big step. . . " There was a
worried frown between her eyes, a hesitant note in her voice. Mulder was
holding the tiny coffee cup used to drink the thick sludge that passed for
coffee here, turning the cup around and around in his hand. I didn't want
to look at Jerry's face.

"Um. It's kind of hard to explain, but I think I'm going to change a lot
of things in my life. I. . . well, I'm going to quit my job, too."

"You're not planning to join the FBI?" The smile was slow, but real, and
the laugh in her voice washed out a lot of the tension.

Mulder grinned at her as if there were a private joke or two behind that
idea. "Don't worry, Scully. I don't think Legal has any openings now.
And I know Securities Fraud doesn't."

"No. You don't need to worry about me dropping by and opening my mouth."
I grinned back. "I think I just want to travel for a while. Try my hand
at writing something that doesn't involve allotted parking spaces and
maintenance contracts." I settled back, and saw Jerry from the corner of
my eye. He was eying me now, but speculatively. Thoughtfully.

"You'll have to let us know when you have your first book tour." Mulder
had gotten the check, but Jerry snagged it out of his hands and tucked his
card in the folder.

"Why? So you two can attend?"

"Either that or go out of the country."
___________________
The walk back was quiet, but hardly peaceful. It was cold enough now that
most people scurried to get indoors, their coats flapping wildly around
their bodies as the wind tried to spin them about. Jerry was hunched
inside his wool coat, but Chicago winters had inured him to a lot of
this. I wasn't so blase about the weather, a sentiment I suspected I
shared with Mulder and Scully.

We had half an hour until the hearing reconvened, and we were in no hurry
to get there. Even in the tame, restrained settings of the courthouse,
Kane corroded the edges of reality. I found myself looking at the men and
women who scurried past me and wondering if any of them were hunters, or
hunted. I tried hard not to look at my companions at all. The wind
chilled my legs as it blew around my ankles and whipped under my coat.

The courthouse felt over-heated and smelled of dust and clashing
aftershaves. Passing women frequently trailed a heavy aura of perfume,
and the clatter of high heels and dress shoes on marble echoed in the
rotunda as we waited for the guards to run our briefcases through the
x-ray machine, and to check Scully's license and ID before they would let
us pass. The elevator to our floor was crowded, and we had to work and
hold the door open for all four of us to get out of the car. Jerry
grinned and waved us in, choosing to stay outside again rather than sit
through the procedures.

Kane was already in his seat, waiting, when we returned to our spots. The
marshall who stood behind his chair looked bored, but efficient. Jeffries
was over leaning against Waverly's table, chatting amiably enough with the
prosecutor. Every so often he would shoot nervous glances back at his
client, who took those in with the same calm, smug smile he'd worn for
most of the hearing. He turned that look on us as we settled into our
seats.

"You sounded real good up there, little Fox. Real convincing."

Mulder didn't even hesitate, just smoothly took his seat and glanced up at
Kane. The Marshall looked uncertain as to whether he should advise his
prisoner to shut up or not. "Thank you Dennis. You sounded quite
convincing as well." The agent's civil reply seemed to reassure the
marshal and he relaxed again, just watching his charge.

"You will remember what I been telling you, won't you little brother?"
Kane tilted his head back, and a look that might have been concern was on
his face.

"I'll remember about the x-rays, Dennis."

"And about the others. You keep trying to hide, you are not going to
leave them much choice."

Mulder watched him consideringly. "I'm sure you'll keep reminding me,
Dennis. Maybe one day we can discuss why there are Bad Ones.'

Kane's face pulled into a slow, wide smile below cold blue eyes. "That's
right, isn't it. You'll come visit me when I'm inside, see if you can
learn to find us before we * find * you." Those last words each accented
with a tap of the finger on the arm of his chair. "Except, we already
found you, little brother. We're already watching you." The marshal's
eyes were worried again, back and forth between Mulder and Kane.

"And I found you, Dennis. You just jumped the gun on me." Now Mulder was
smiling back at him, trading professional courtesies.

"I knew you'd get around to it, little brother. Might as well cut the
wait. And I wanted to see you again."

Whatever Mulder was going to say was lost as the bailiff stepped into the
room, calling us to rise. The formalities were quick and rapidly
dispensed with as Millone took his seat and looked around at us. He
straightened the notes in front of him and looked down at both members of
counsel, assuring himself that they had no further questions. Both stated
they were finished, although Waverly still wore a somewhat sullen
expression. Whatever had transpired at lunch for him had not been as
pleasant as our own lunch had been.

"In cases such as these, it can be difficult to diffentiate between an
individual who believes that the appearance of insanity will insulate him
from the full judgement of the law, and one who is genuinely unable to
avail himself of the protections and rights afforded him under the law.
In such cases I have presumed in favor of an individual's competence,
rather than otherwise." He scanned all of us, and let his stare fall on
Kane last of all.

"There are cases however, rare though they be, where it becomes apparent
that, despite intelligence, wit, and some modicum of understanding, the
person in question has so divergent a view of reality that our legal
system will not be able to adequately seek justice in the matter at
hand." Not difficult as legal-speak went, just wordy. Kane was too
looped to trust his lawyer, therefore could not get adequate
representation of counsel. "In such cases we take the merciful option and
remand that individual to the care of the state, to be held and treated
until such time as the individual may, if ever, avail himself of his legal
right to trial."

Mulder fidgeted and eyed the judge. I could almost hear his voice
speculating that judge-speak was an X-File. In law school I had amused
myself during the long, dark hours of studying corporate structure by
inventing speeches that judges would use in bed with their wives. "A time
inevitably comes when man must submit to the judgement of the senses and
devote his full attention to whether the learned hand must attend to the .
. . ," and her reply. "Shut up and put up." I wondered if they had
support groups for judges' wives.

"In the matter of Peter Kane, a.k.a. Dennis Tolleson, we find the
defendant unable to seek effective assistance of counsel, unable to
adequately comprehend legal proceedings related to him, and therefore we
remand him into the care of Ashcroft State Hospital for thirty days, open
to review, pending procedures for civil commitment." The gavel's loud
crack was a satisfying note to end Millone's discourse. The marshall
helped his charge rise, then stepped back and followed him, directing him
out the door to the right of the witness box.

As Kane's broad back left my sight, I found I was shaking, hands trembling
almost. Scully had stood up and was using the railing to brace her hands
and stretch, letting her head fall back to work out the tension from her
neck, her shoulders. The smile on her face was wide and crinkled her
eyes. When I turned to look at Mulder, however, he was still staring at
the spot where Kane had been sitting, a puzzled frown on his face. His
fingers tapped his knee, once, twice, then froze in mid-air. His eyes
flickered back and forth, as though he were reading something.

"Excuse me." The words were too distracted to sound rude, and he took my
shoulders and moved me out of the way, walking to the exit so briskly that
he almost ran. He was out the door an instant later, leaving me staring
open mouthed. Then Scully pushed past me, concern and surprise on her
face, heading for the same door at a quick trot. I was through the door
after her, before it had swung all the way shut, cursing myself for being
so dumb at the same time as I scanned the hall for where her partner had
to have gone. The elevator was still coming down from the upper floors
but the stairwell door was slowly swinging shut.

We scrambled down the stairs, me following just behind her, and I was
never so grateful for liking low heels before in my life. Below us we
could just hear footfalls, heavy and spaced like he was taking the stairs
two or three at a time, almost jumping down the flights. Four floors
down, racing, and my heart was pounding and I was breathing hard with a
chest that ached deep down and a cough that kept shaking my lungs. We
barrelled out the door that was still swinging shut, to see him racing
across the parking garage, clean, dark gray in a dirty gray world of
strobing, cheap fluorescents and ugly, pale concrete. In the center,
engine running, sat a van with no markings. The back door was open and
Peter Kane smiled out at us, past the man in coveralls who sat next to
him, glaring at us, and a man in a dark jacket on his other side. The man
in coveralls yanked the door shut and I heard the engine rev.

Fox almost threw himself, slamming against the closed door, twisting at
the handle and running to keep pace as the van started away from him.

"Mulder!" Scully's scream echoed off the concrete, sharp and high. I was
pelting along after her, fearing the van would back up over him, but it
swerved, fishtailed just a little. Not much, but enough to throw a
running man off balance.

He tumbled onto the hood of a parked car, dropped to the ground, breathing
in deep, noisy, open-mouthed gasps that sounded like they came from the
bottom of his lungs, and breaking off as coughs rattled through him. He
wasn't paying much attention to them, however. His entire focus was on
the van as it pulled out of sight around the turn, wheels squealing. He
reached for his phone before he realized he no longer had one - it had
gone the way of his gun. Cursed and coughed and let his head drop onto
his knees with frustration.

Scully was next to him now, kneeling, panting. I stopped where I was,
perhaps twenty feet back, braced my hands on my knees and let the coughs
wrack me and shake me until they could calm just a little, until I could
breathe just enough. Fox had his arms around his ribs, and the coughs
still clenched him, but they didn't put the bitter look on his face.

It was long minutes before his coughing slowed a little, and he was pale
as he sat back against the grill of the car behind him. His voice was
hoarse and rough.

"He was too calm." Scully nodded at the words, paying more attention to
pulse and to his tone than to what he said. "He was too calm, Scully."
He put his palms flat and tried to shove himself onto his feet. I put a
hand under his arm, and so did she, but he shook us off. Unfolded himself
up from the floor, but still wrapped just a little over his ribs. He shot
another poisonous glare up the empty ramp that had carried the van.

We flanked him and let him set the pace. He and I both punctuated our
steps with coughs, mine in staccato little bursts and his coming more
often, and deeper. I could hear him trying to stop them, hold them in.
He lead us back through a door other than the one we'd come through.
Walls with no ornament, and the faint smell of sweat and urine. It
reminded me of the barren walls of the secure ward. As it turned out,
there was a reason for that.

We turned a corner to find a barred door, ajar now. The marshall lay
sprawled out on the floor. He was breathing, but unconscious. Mulder
found the broken shaft of a small dart, with a sharp, vicious point and an
empty barrel. He met Scully's eyes.

"He's lucky he's not dead." He handed the thing to his partner, who
looked at it with distaste.

"You're thinking emmeyebee?" He nodded. Coughed again, spat. "But
why?" But she didn't sound like she was really asking a question. More
like it was a formal rite she had to observe.

Mulder looked at the guard. Back to her. And just shook his head.

I pulled out my phone and called 911.
____________________

Two days later they were gone. I dropped them at the airport with their
bags and briefcases, and a new coat to keep Mulder warm instead of the one
he'd borrowed from Seth. It was strange when they got out of the car.

Scully, next to me, turned and and half reached for a hug like I'd have
given to a friend, then stopped and changed the motion to one of those
handshakes you give with both hands. The kind that are almost a hug for a
hand. Her rueful grin made me laugh and I pulled her into the hug
anyway.

"Don't be silly, Scully. I brought you enough coffee and danish to
qualify for the kind of hug you'd give a sorority sister." I could feel
her laugh at that before I let her go. Mulder had already scooted out fo
the backseat, and I popped the trunk and got out to join him.

"I'm not a sorority sister." He grinned down at me.

"No, and you'd look pretty silly in the little skirt and pom poms they
made me wear for hazing." He blushed, but the grin was wider than ever
and his eyes were bright, brown shot with green. He managed the suitcases
without any trouble that I could see, and I was relieved. Scully had
stepped up to the curb and was getting their stuff tagged for luggage
check so they wouldn't have to wait in line.

I looked back up to Fox, and pulled out a bag of seeds. "Here ya go.
Just to annoy Scully on the ride back."

"She's used to them by now. You'll be all right?" The flicker of concern
darkened his smile.

"Yeah. I've already got some interest for the house. I think I'll get a
good price."

"Smoke and mirrors, Emma. Will *you* be all right?"

I smiled, slow and peaceful. "Yes, Mulder. Jerry called, and he's going
to sort of mentor me in all this. I'll be traveling with a modem and a
car phone, so I won't be out of touch. And you gave me your email, too."
He rolled his eyes. "Mulder. . . Last chance, what did really happen to
Kane?"

He just smiled. "Deny everything, Emma. If you ever learn, you tell
me." I snorted. Looked over at Scully, waiting with their boarding
passes.

"You'd better be going. You'll miss your flight." He hesitated a moment,
hand half out like he was thinking of shaking my hand. I wasn't Kane or
Waverly, and I didn't intend to say goodbye like Kane or Waverly. I
caught his hand and pulled him into a hug, like I had with Scully. He
even kind of hugged me back, like a guy who's embarrassed to be caught
hugging his sister in public.

"Take care, Emma. And look out for the things that hide in the light as
well as the dark."

"You too, Mulder. You too."
____________________

FROM: drtlwyr@tiac.com
TO: ghost_wrtr@lepvx5.FBI.gov
SUBJ: Mark of Kane

Hey! You guys said you'd be at my first book signing (or out of the
country!). Well, it's time to ante up. Meet me at Moonstone Books in DC
on the 18th and I'll autograph your copies. It's been ages and I want to
see you!

Jer says 'Hi.' (Actually, he said I should kiss Mulder for him, and say
hi to Scully). You've seen the galleys and you know no one will spot you
from them, so it's safe for you to come out to play. Ain't fiction
great? And I have some stuff I need to show you.

I'm sure you've seen more persuasive material, but I've been collecting
information that might pertain to our mutual friend and his friends, and I
have copies for you. I'd feel much, much more comfortable if I knew this
stuff was in your hands. Just so you'll know, Jerry's been making friends
too. Interesting world out there, beyond the sidewalks. So let's get
together and pretend you need to question me, and we'll run up your credit
card at the Red Sea or the Iron Gate Inn. See you on the 18th.

Emma
End