DISCLAIMER: All of the characters excepting Dr. Elizabeth
Sykes and Detective Lauren Alvarez belong first and foremost 
to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the beloved 
Fox Network. Concepts centering around the mytharc, including 
Purity Control and the search for Samantha belong to the 
aforementioned, and I adamantly do not take credit for them. 
TITLE: An Eye For An Eye 
AUTHOR: Flyerfly 
RATING: R for suggestive and X-rated dialogue. 
CATEGORY: MSR/UST
SPOILERS: CLOSURE SUMMARY: When a woman from Mulder's past 
asks for help on a case in Philadelphia, Mulder and Scully 
are thrown head-first into the investigation of a strange 
set of ritualistic murders. But they get more than they 
bargain for when a few twists and turns force them to look 
carefully at how their actions affected their past cases 
and what the consequences of those choices mean for the future. 
NOTE: This fic is meant to come before "all things" which I, 
incidentally, do not believe to be the sight of M&S's first 
sexual encounter. Therefore, I intend not only to portray 
this encounter, which I believe has not been depicted in 
any episode, but will also pave the way for the convoluted 
"Super Soldier" mythology that springs up in S8-S9. That 
being said… 

Quantico Medical Facility 
March 25, 2000 
11:28 A.M. 

The sunlight streamed lazily through the window pane, filtered 
slightly by the pristine Venetian blinds, and coming to rest 
upon a lengthy table situated in the middle of the room. 
Glancing up through her medical goggles, Dana Scully turned her 
attention from the specimen lying on the table to the eight 
students busily taking notes at arm's length in front of her. 
The light danced playfully about her face, illuminating her fiery, 
red hair and the dissecting tools she bore in her hands. 

"The deceased is a Caucasian male," she began, "twenty-five 
years of age and in perfect physical condition...," she 
paused as her green, surgical gloves clasped a small blanket 
covering the man's torso, "...that is, except for one minor 
detail." Scully pulled the blanket from the corpse, revealing 
a rather erect penis, still frozen in position from the 
setting in of rigor mortis. A miniscule smile formed at the 
corners of her mouth as the eyes of her students dilated in awe. 

"He was found dead at his apartment on Saturday, having taken 
an overdose of medicine to treat his erectile dysfunction. 
Further investigation revealed that he died of a brain 
hemorrhage, specifically regulated to the hypothalamus...," 
she smirked at her students, 

"...the pleasure center of the brain." 

"O.D.'d on Viagra," laughed one of her students, "what a way to 
go!" As the rest of the students chuckled, her response was 
curtailed by a knocking on the door leading to the hall of the 
facility. Scully smiled as her eyes took in the shape of her 
partner, Fox Mulder, waving excitedly to her through the glass. 
He smiled back, his deep, mysterious eyes twinkling at the sight 
of her. His visit was unexpected, but a happy one. She needed a 
break from the monotony; the mundane nature of the hospital was 
a far cry from the excitement of field work. She was beginning 
to regret having accepted Agent Lowell's request to have her 
administer to his classes while he was away visiting his family 
for the duration of his month-long Easter vacation. 

Placing the instruments back upon a tray beside the slab, Scully 
murmured an "Excuse me" to her students as she grabbed for the 
doorknob. 

"And I thought I had trouble getting up in the morning," Mulder 
smirked as he motioned with his thumb towards the deceased. 
A sigh escaped Scully's lips as she shook her head disapprovingly.  

"Mulder, what are you doing here?" she asked him, silently hoping 
that he had come to drag her away for some quest for the paranormal. 
She drew her goggles atop the base of her head. 

"I don't know," he said, lifting a finger to his cheek, "what am 
I doing here?" He mumbled something unintelligible to himself as 
Scully grew increasingly impatient. 

"Mulder, my students are waiting..." He cut her complaint short, 
and put his hands up in a gesture of defeat in order to hasten 
the conversation. 

"Okay, okay. You don't have to twist my...," looking through 
the window and smiling to himself, "...arm. I just received 
a phone call from an old friend of mine, Lauren Alvarez. 
She's a detective at the Philadelphia Police Department. She's 
working on a case right now that I think should be of some 
interest. If you can tear yourself away from Prince 
Charming over there then meet me at the airport at 5:30 tonight." 

"But, Mulder," she whined as he turned his back to her, "my 
students?" He waved her off with a flip of his hand and called 
back without turning around, "5:30." 

Philadelphia Police Department 
2:48 P.M. 

Lauren Alvarez, an exotic looking woman with flowing, black hair 
sat at her desk, pen in hand, writing a memo to herself. For 
months now this case had been eating away at her, resonating 
somewhere deep inside. She hated this guy with every core of her 
being, this sick murderer who seemed to enjoy dispensing pain, 
inflicting the worst imaginable horrors on his victims. She 
couldn't wait for him to kill again. She had to find him, to take 
him out before he hurt another. 

"Lauren?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone 
calling her name. She looked up from her work. There he was, 
slightly older, somewhat changed, but still very much the 
dashing man she had known. 

"Fox," she greeted him warmly, "how are you? It's been so long." 
Scully's eyes searched Mulder's at the sound of his first name. 
"An old friend, huh?" she muttered under her breath, "she looks 
pretty spry to me." Mulder shrugged his shoulders as Detective 
Alvarez approached. 

"Hello, Lauren," he said as he placed his hands around her 
extended palm, caressing it as though it was a familiar position, 
"You look well." Scully feigned a cough as she struggled to divert 
attention to her presence. Mulder released Alvarez and motioned to 
Scully, "Lauren, this is my partner, Scully." 

"Special Agent Scully," she clarified, and extended her own hand, 
shaking that of Alvarez. 

"Well," Alvarez said, using a tone quite obviously less amiable 
than with the one she greeted Mulder, "I'm glad you're both here. 
I have something very interesting that I would like to show you." 

"I'll bet," Scully scowled as Alvarez led the two to an inner 
office. 

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked the partners, 
raising a coffee pot as an offering. 

"No thank you," Scully answered a little too politely, "Perhaps 
you could just show us what is so pressing, the reason why we 
flew out from D.C. on a moment's notice?" 

Alvarez lowered the coffee pot and turned off the lights, 
reaching for a projector button. 

"These are the bodies of three women, all in their mid-twenties, 
all quite beautiful, taken over the course of four months." 
She flipped slowly from one crime scene to the next. "In each 
case, the victim was beaten and stabbed forty times. A single 
eye and tooth was removed from each of the victims. The weapon 
has not been found at any of the crime scenes."

"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, "Religious radical?" 

"That was my initial inclination," admitted Alvarez, "but 
listen to this. The medical examiner stated that the cause of 
death was diminished oxygen to the brain through asphyxiation 
but there are no signs of strangulation on the bodies. I 
honestly don't know what to think. I really want to nail this 
guy but I feel as though I've exhausted every possible lead. 
That's why I called you in on this, Fox." 

Scully shuffled uncomfortably at the sound of his name. She 
felt as though she were intruding upon some secret meeting 
to which she was not privy. Mulder turned his glance from 
the longing gaze of Alvarez to the frustrated gaze of Scully. 

"I guess you should get going to the morgue," he said to her 
as he walked toward the door, "I need a full report on all 
of the victims." 

"And where are you going?" she asked him. 

"To get something to eat," he answered shortly, "All this talk 
of cutting into things has made me hungry." 

Philadelphia City Morgue 
9:12 P.M. 

The footsteps of Fox Mulder echoed sadly throughout the poorly-lit 
hallway, his lengthy, tan coat trailing flawlessly behind. In one 
hand, he carried a brown paper bag. The other was tucked neatly 
away in his pocket. He pushed wide the double doors at the end of 
the hall, revealing Scully bent over one of the victims. She 
looked up, weariness blanketing her eyes. He smiled in spite of 
himself. He loved seeing her like this, so together, so methodical, 
so in-control. He raised the bag and waved it slightly from 
side-to-side, "I brought Chinese." 

"Thank goodness," she answered, removing the latex gloves from her 
hands and throwing them in the waste container, "I'm starving." It 
never ceased to amaze him. She could stand there, hour after hour, 
cutting away at the remnants of a human being, and still retain her 
appetite. "What'd you find out?" he asked, placing the bag on the 
countertop, "Anything interesting?" 

The incandescent lights flickered on and off, humming with the dull 
sound of dying bulbs. Scully approached a lab stool and sat, the 
corners of her white lab coat conforming to her body beneath her 
weight. She placed her hands at the sides of her hips, arched her 
back, and rubbed gently. She had been on her feet for nearly five 
hours. "Well," she began, eyes closed, "there was only one recent 
victim, killed three days ago. The others have already been buried." 
Mulder moved in silently behind her and placed his hands on 
her shoulders. 

"Let me," he said. Normally she wouldn't allow it, but his strong 
hands felt so good to the touch that she simply couldn't help 
herself. She continued, "I examined every inch of her and 
everything seems much in line with what Detective Alvarez has 
already told us. The clean incisions suggest a very sharp knife, 
perhaps used for skinning animals or ceremonial purposes." She 
felt her eyes roll back into her head as his hands traveled to 
the small of her back. The warmth enveloped her. "I did, 
however, notice a few strange details." 

Her brief stint of pleasure was abruptly halted as Mulder 
removed his hands from her body. 

"What did you find?" he asked. 

Scully opened her eyes. His face was a mixture of curiosity and 
determination. She sighed inwardly. "The tox screen showed that the 
victim contained high amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. In 
addition, there is a fracture present in both the left and right 
radius of the victim, as though she was attempting to fight off her 
attacker while being bound. However, there is no sign of 
any binding material on either of her wrists or forearms. Or 
her entire body, for that matter. No rope burns, no wire cuts...
not even a trace of tape." 

Mulder shifted his weight from one foot to the other, 
"Anything else?" Scully opened the bag and removed a fork, 
twisting it playfully about her fingers. 

"Yes," she replied, "one more thing. The epiglottis was swollen 
significantly, about two times the normal size for a woman her age." 

"What are your thoughts?" he asked her as she opened her sweet and 
sour chicken. 

"It's quite probable that the swollen epiglottis caused the 
asphyxiation," she stuck one on her fork, dipped it in the sauce, 
and popped it in her mouth, "As to how the epiglottis came to be 
swollen...I simply don't have enough information to go on at 
this point. More extensive tests will have to be run." She 
pulled the fork slowly from her mouth, her tongue caressing 
the sweet, sweet sauce. 

He watched her as she ate, smiling with longing in his heart. 
He spoke softly, "Don't forget to save room for dessert." 

She threw him a questioning look, her eyes alight with the 
possibilities hidden in that one, simple phrase. He flashed 
her a smile and pulled something from his left pocket that had 
previously been obscured from view. "Fortune cookie," he said 
playfully, beaming ear-to-ear, "Don't you want to know what the 
future holds?" He tossed her the single-serving dessert, 
hermetically sealed in a plastic package. She caught it in her 
palms and opened the wrapper with her thumb and pointer finger. 
She cracked the cookie, pulling the thin, white paper from one 
of the halves. She lifted it to her eyes and read aloud, 
smiling at the irony, "You will find great pleasure..." 

"...in bed," Mulder finished. 

"What?" she questioned. "It doesn't say that Mulder." She turned 
the paper around for his viewing benefit, as if she needed proof 
to fully convince him, "See?" 

"I know, Scully," he answered, "Didn't you ever play that game with 
your friends?" He looked at her inquisitively, "Whenever you get 
Chinese, you're supposed to read your fortune and then add 'in bed' 
to the end of the fortune. You know, for fun? You do know what 
fun is, don't you, Scully?" She scowled at his sarcasm as she 
asked, "And what does your fortune say, Agent Mulder, or are 
you too afraid to fight the future?" 

He grinned. Maybe he was rubbing off on her after all. He pulled a 
second cookie from his right pocket and held it up for her see, 
"Let's find out." He opened the cookie, read it, and let out a 
mock gasp of fear. "What does it say, Mulder?" Scully asked. 

"Nothing important really," he answered, "Confucius says that you 
are the sexiest Special Agent ever assigned to the X-Files." He 
crumpled up the fortune and threw it discontentedly in a 
wastebasket. 

"Call me as soon as you're finished," he yelled to her, making an 
exceptionally hasty departure. As soon as his back was out of view, 
she picked the fortune from the wastebasket. Straightening it, she 
read aloud, "The answers to the questions that you seek are written 
in the stars." 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder angrily pushed aside the door leading out into the 
parking lot. The force of his blow knocked the frame against the 
wall, sending a loud "thud" cascading throughout the starlit sky. 
He paced forward and back, eyes to the pavement, with one hand at 
his hip and the other at his forehead. "Get ahold of yourself, 
Fox," he thought aloud, "It's only a stupid cookie, a simple, 
generic saying that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever. Hell, 
I could have just as easily gotten one that said 'Blue is your 
favorite color' or 'Cleanliness is next to godliness'." He glanced 
up. An elderly couple was watching him intently. The old woman 
whispered something in her husband's ear. "What are you looking at, 
Grandma?" he yelled to her, nodding his head for emphasis, "You've 
never seen a guy talking to himself?" Placing her hand on her chest, 
she permitted a barely audible, "Well, I never" to pass her lips as 
she and her husband hurriedly advanced into the darkness. The street 
lamps twinkled in the night, surpassed only by the amazing light 
of the distant stars. He looked up. "The answers to the questions 
that you seek are written in the stars." A sigh escaped his lips. 
He remembered the freedom that he had felt after he had found the 
truth, the sheer relief at finally putting closure to the greatest 
search of all - the search for his sister. "Samantha," he called to 
her, "I know you're up there, watching me." He felt that if he 
looked hard enough, he could even see her beautiful eyes, two 
beacons of crystalline light staring down to Earth, watching him, 
guarding him. "I'm so sorry Samantha," he cried suddenly and without 
reserve, "I'm so sorry for losing you! If only I could have found 
you sooner, if only I could have stopped them from performing those 
horrible tests! Then you'd be here with me, right now, instead of 
up there!" He pointed accusingly at the night sky. He felt the 
absence - Deep Throat was gone, so was his father, his mother...
Samantha. And what of Scully's sacrifices? She had given up a sister, 
her eggs, a chance for a normal life. And all for what? How many 
more had to die? How many more would have to suffer so that he 
could find the truth? This last thought was unbearable. He suddenly 
felt as if all the sadness of the world rested on his shoulders, as 
if the very night was swallowing him whole. He fell to his knees and 
wept like a child, his tears falling damp against the cold, 
dark ground. 

Liberty Bell Inn 
March 26, 2000 
6:17 A.M. 

Fox Mulder awoke from an uncontrollably restless sleep to the sound 
of pounding on the door. Mulder stirred groggily as his partner's 
voice came from behind the thick, wooden frame, "Mulder? Are you 
in there? It's me." 

"Uhhh," his head circled from side to side as he squirmed in the 
uncomfortable blue chair that had served as his bed for the night. 
Maybe he was still dreaming. 

"Mulder, it's me. Open the door." 

Maybe not. Mulder was still attempting to make sense of his 
surroundings as he heard the door behind him open and close. 
"Mulder, it's me." The pounding moved from the door to his head. 
It was as if he were drowning and her words were muted by the water. 
He tried to open his eyes but the intense light emanating through 
the window pane shone with a painful ferocity. He quickly shaded 
them with his hands. 

"Scully, what time is it?" he asked her. 

"Nearly 6:20, Mulder," she answered, "I was worried about you. 
I tried to call you last night after I finished the autopsy but 
your phone was off the..." Her words were cut short as she glanced 
at the fuzzy, blackened television screen, "Mulder, what were you 
watching last night?" He hurriedly grabbed for the remote control 
that lay underneath a half-empty bag of David's Sunflower Seeds 
on the table next to his makeshift bed. 

"Sorry," he answered, hastily turning off the set, "I was following 
up on some leads." 

Scully glanced at him hard, her gaze shooting straight through 
him. He looked like shit. The dark bags hung deep underneath his 
reddened eyes and his scruffy hair was completely unkempt. He was 
dressed in his suit from the previous day, sans jacket, tie, and 
shoes. The collar and cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned and 
hung limp. 

"Mulder," she asked, "are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, Scully," he blandly responded. He walked over to 
the dresser where a third of a bottle of Whiskey sat opened. He 
reached for some ice that he had gathered in a bucket the previous 
night, but all that remained was water. Instead, he obtained a 
clean glass and poured the Whiskey straight from the bottle. He 
turned around and looked at her, "Thirsty?" She folded her arms 
and shook her head "no." He raised his glass, "Here's to you, 
Scully." He smiled and threw back his glass, taking a long 
draught of the liquor. "You know that's not going to help," she 
told him, point-blank. 

"Yeah," he answered, "but it sure beats the hell out of talking." 

"Listen, Mulder," she started, "why don't you put the drink down. 
I have some information regarding the case." 

"So do I," he answered, gesturing to the numerous files strewn 
about the bed and floor. "I brought them from Washington," he 
explained, "When Lauren first told me the facts regarding the case, 
I was reminded of some similar unexplained murders that were 
brought to my attention earlier this year." 

"What did you find out, Mulder?" she inquired, her head 
cocked to one side and her lips drawn into a slight, tight frown. 

"You first," he countered. His smile was an obvious façade, but 
Scully was not willing to test his stubborn nature. 

"Well," she began, slipping easily into the role of orator of 
scientific knowledge, "it appears that the asphyxiation was, in 
fact, due to the intense swelling of the epiglottis. The swelling 
initiated a cascade of biological events in which contact between 
the brain and the lungs was severed. Oxygen was unable to bypass 
the esophagus. The brain was deprived of oxygen for an extensive 
length of time, literally destroying the brain cells one by one." 

Mulder's sweet smile had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a 
stoic look of intellectual interest. "So what you're telling me," 
he said to her, "is that what killed this girl was a giant case 
of choking." 

"In layman's terms, yes," she answered. She glanced once more at his 
ruffled appearance. Her view traveled slowly from his soiled socks, 
up his wrinkled pants and shirt, coming to rest on his face. Her 
gaze met his. Even after a steady night of drowning his sorrows, his 
face was still beautiful, filled with the handsome rigor of a 
passionate man leading a passionate quest. Feeling the uncomfortable 
tension in her veins, Scully turned her attention to the notes 
folded neatly in her hands. "It is analogous to the sensation 
you get when food 'goes down the wrong pipe,' only on an extreme 
level. By all accounts, the victims died within ten seconds of 
the initial swelling." 

"And what of the alcohol found in the victim's bloodstream?" he 
questioned, "Should we be staking out the bars for all the men 
out there who make an attempt to pick up a pretty woman?" 

"No," Scully answered, "the alcohol is not composed of ethyl 
groups, compounds that form the molecular basis for the products 
of fermentation, which comprise drinking alcohol. The alcohol 
appears to be the product of some sort of chemical reaction, 
perhaps caused as a side-product of whatever it was that 
caused the epiglottal swelling. I don't think I need to tell 
you, Mulder, that this is indicative of premeditated murder." 

"It's more than that, Scully," he said suddenly, dusting the 
sunflower seeds from the chair and onto the floor, "It's 
much more than that." 

She squinched her face in disgust of the sty-like conditions 
and looked at Mulder inquisitively, "Then what is it? What 
have you found?" 

Mulder picked up a stack of files from the floor and sat back 
down on the chair. He threw a couple in Scully's general 
direction. "Do you see anything that these girls have in 
common?" he questioned, raising the glass to his lips. 
Scully quickly leafed through the three files in her hands. 

"Other than the obvious – that we have three very beautiful, 
very dead women – no." She closed the files and threw them 
haphazardly on the floor. She felt that he was leading her 
to the threshold, but that he, himself, had already 
journeyed inside. It seemed he always knew the answers but 
contented himself by playing these games. She peered into 
his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

"The names, Scully," he said bluntly, "look at the names." 
Mulder pointed to the three files she had thrown on the 
floor, "Those were the most recent victims, Christina 
Andrews, Rene Bartholomew, and Erica James." 

"What do you mean, the most recent?" she asked, "Were 
there others?" He handed her the other stack of files on 
his lap, "Six others, to beprecise." Scully flipped through 
the stack, reading the last names of the victims aloud, 
"Judas, Johnson, Matthews, Phillips, Jameson, and Simone." 
She glanced up at him quickly. He could see that she 
understood and he nodded his head accordingly. 

"The Apostles," he stated matter-of-factly, "or derivations 
of their names. And look at the dates they were killed. The 
women are killed in threes, three deaths occurring over the 
span of four months, each dying of asphyxiation under 
similar circumstances." 

"And how many months have passed since the first murder?" 
she inquired. 

"Eight," he answered. 

Scully appeared despondent, "So that means that we have 
precisely four months to find a religious radical who 
intends to kill three women with the last names of Judas, 
Peter, and Thomas, or some derivation thereof?" 

"That's right," he answered, "shouldn't be too hard should 
it? Just your everyday Apocalypse." He smirked at her and 
chuckled allowed. 

"What is it?" she asked brusquely, half fearing the answer. 

"I was just thinking that we finally stumbled on a case that 
you are more prepared for than I. Faith, God, religion...I 
was just wondering what it's like to play the skeptic." 

Philadelphia Police Department 
7:46 A.M. 

Lauren Alvarez was seated at her desk. One hand lightly 
pressed against her cheek, supporting the weight of her 
elegant face. The other hand, fingers intertwined with a 
half-chewed pencil, nervously drummed against the well-
polished wood. Her long, coal-colored hair fell in 
graceful tendrils below her shoulders. She uneasily stared 
out the window of her fourth-story office. The city looked 
so beautiful from this height, so peaceful. From up here 
she was oblivious, immune to the danger and destruction 
that daily traversed the streets below. The sunlight shone 
with an overwhelming warmth. She longed for the days of her 
youth, for the little bit of land from whence all of her 
memories sprang forth. There were no street lights there, 
no roads, no buildings - only green pastures that went on 
forever and lakes as blue as the summer sky.

Her pleasant stream-of-consciousness was dolefully interrupted 
by the sound of three short knocks upon her door. "Come in," 
she called, still rhythmically strumming her fingers upon 
the surface of the desk. The door opened, exposing the frame 
of Fox Mulder. She greeted him with a smile. 

"How are you, Fox?" she asked him. She crossed one of her long, 
slender legs over the other, drawing attention to the slim-
fitting, blue skirt that graced her hips and accentuated her 
eyes. She thought she noticed his gaze depart from hers, if 
only for a brief second. She enjoyed this thought immensely. 
Her smile broadened as she recalled another distant memory: 
the excitement of the city, the smell of the rain as it soaked 
her clothes, his gentle, but firm touch... 

"Please sit down." She gestured to a comfortable-looking 
leather chair that graced the opposite side of her desk. 
Mulder gratefully returned her smile and advanced towards 
the chair, fully revealing for the first time his fiery, 
red-headed partner. Alvarez's smile began to fade as she 
glimpsed the immaculate Dana Scully enter. Stony and tight-
lipped, she seated herself in the seat next to Mulder's. It 
appeared that this visit would not be for pleasure. Alvarez 
decided to get right down to business. 

"So, what have you found, Fox?" She listened to his harangue 
with little interruption from his partner. Lauren stared at her, 
hard, concentrating. What was the link between this skeptical, 
rational scientist and Mulder, the epitome of all unconventional 
thought? She squinted her eyes. Maybe there was something 
there more than partnership, more than friendship, perhaps? 
Scully certainly loved Fox. She could tell that right off the 
bat. Evaluating the lies of untold numbers of criminals had 
given her the ability to read the body language of the agent. 
The longing looks were certainly infrequent, but the eyes, the 
piercing, crystal, blue eyes completely gave it away. But what 
of him? Her attention focused on Fox as he continued his tale. 
His mouth was moving but she couldn't hear the words that were 
escaping his lips. Did he feel the same way about her? Even 
knowing him as well as she did, it was still difficult to be 
certain. He had become well adept at hiding his emotions. She 
shook the thoughts from her head and focused on what Fox was 
saying - something about the Apostles and a serial killer? 
She wasn't sure if she had heard correctly. "What was that, 
again?" she asked, interrupting his informational lecture. 
"Scully believes that the killer has been administering some 
sort of unknown toxin to these women. Nine have been found so 
far that have been killed in the same sort of conditions, all 
with last names that are derivatives of Apostalic names. We 
believe that in the next four months he will attempt to kill 
three more women." 

"And after that?" she interrupted again. She was not comfortable 
unless she was conducting the interrogation. She noticed that 
Agent Scully sent Fox a strange look, maybe one of precaution? 
She wasn't sure. 

"We don't know," he answered quietly, "maybe he'll rise again." 
His voice trailed away as the drumming of her fingers on the 
desk cascaded across the room. 

8:17 A.M. 

"Scully," Fox Mulder called to his partner who was now, by this 
time, a good ten feet in front of him, "Scully, hold up, where's 
the fire?" Following the meeting with Lauren, Scully had dashed 
from the elevator, chin up, eyes forward, and arms waving back 
and forth at her sides, synchronized with the motion of her gait. 
He thought she looked as though she was commissioned for some 
secret mission and carried the importance well on her dainty, 
but strong, shoulders. She continued on. Mulder had to jog in 
order to catch up with her. He grabbed her right arm and spun 
her around, forcing her to face him. 

"Scully, what's going on? Is something wrong?" 

Scully looked up at him. He took in the sight of her, chin 
quivering, eyes dilated. His eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"Mulder," she said abruptly, "who is that woman?" 

Mulder was taken aback. "You know who she is, Scully," he 
answered, "Detective Lauren Alvarez of the Philadelphia Police 
Department." Scully scoffed in reply, turned, and began her 
steamy descent down the marble stairwell outside of the 
department building. 

"Scully," Mulder called to her again, "Scully!" He didn't 
have to catch up with her this time. She suddenly turned on her 
heels and faced him. Venom stained her lips as she released, in 
one instant, all of the pent-up emotions that she had held at 
bay since their departure from Washington. 

"Mulder," she repeated, "who is that woman?" 

"She's just a friend, Scully, a friend from my past. A woman 
who I trust with my life." 

"I don't trust her," she told him blandly, "I don't trust 
her at all. Were you or were you not present at that farce 
of a meeting? She doesn't give a damn about this case Mulder, 
or who will get hurt if she continues to neglect her office." 

The furrows of concern deepened into furrows of anger. The 
rage built up inside of him so rapidly that even he was caught 
off guard. "How can you say that, Scully? You don't know her 
at all. Do you know how much she wants to find this murderer? 
Probably more than you and I combined. For you and me this is 
a simple side job, but for her this is life. At the end of the 
day you can go home to your religion and I can go home to the 
X-Files, but she has nothing else."

"Maybe that's the problem, Mulder," she countered, "Did you ever 
stop to think that maybe she wants something else in her life?" 
She looked at him accusingly. 

"Like what, Scully?" 

She paused, calming herself. Was he really that unaware of 
feminine affection? She sighed deeply and replied softly with 
force, "Like you, Mulder." 

He contemplated this possibility. It was certainly feasible. 
He remembered that night after the rain. Her tight, white shirt 
was soaked, her long, black hair curled slightly from the presence 
of the moisture. He remembered leaning in, feeling her tongue on 
his lips, she tasted so good. He remembered that she invited him in. 
He had held her between his arms. She felt as good as she looked. 

"Mulder?" Scully's voice pervaded his thoughts, "Mulder, why are 
you smiling?" He quickly gathered his composure, "Scully, whatever 
our past may have included, I am positive that it will not get in 
the way of this case." He forcefully grabbed her arms at the elbows, 
rubbing her soft skin between his fingers. His demeanor visibly 
changed. He was sorry, indeed, for the unfortunate outburst. 
"Scully," he seemingly cooed now, "you know where my heart lies," 
she searched his eyes for an answer, "with the X-Files. I will never 
let anything come between that." 

Scully appeared crestfallen for a split second, but recovered 
quickly. She smiled at him, "That's all the assurance I need, 
Mulder." 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Four stories above, an unseen figure viewed the proceedings, 
watching the two partners engage in some form of disagreement. 
The curtains closed as the figure departed from the window, 
leaving the office in complete darkness. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He watched as the tall man and his red-headed companion departed 
from the Philadelphia Police Department. He could tell that she 
was very upset about something. Their disagreement appeared as 
though it could be heard overtop of the already deafening din 
of the city street. What a strange contrast she put forth - 
such an angry look for an angelic face. But he could tell that 
she was just deceiving the public. The cross about her neck was 
no match for the sinful passion in her heart, as reminiscent of 
Lucifer as her fiery hair. He was a sinner, too. He reveled 
in sins of the flesh, coveting one woman after the next, but 
her especially. He could see that. The agent had no moral 
compass. He repeatedly put her life on the line, even though 
his feelings of desire for her were great. Yes, they would 
be forgotten on the Day of Judgment, sinners trampled beneath 
the hooves of the Four Horsemen. They would be made to suffer 
for their sins, he was sure of that. They would be the chosen 
ones that would bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. 
They would be made to suffer. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder watched as Scully departed. Her arms were still at her sides 
and her navy-colored suit accentuated the curves in her lovely 
hourglass-shaped figure. She looked good from behind, Mulder 
decided, damn good. He loved the way she looked, the way she 
walked. He especially loved the way she challenged him, contested 
him, forced him to look at his theories from another point of 
view, even if her science could not account for everything that 
they had both seen. He had thought of her, daydreamed about her. 
She pervaded his thoughts in the morning and his dreams at night. 
He wanted so desperately to act impulsively, to transgress the 
barriers that they both had set between their achingly platonic 
relationship. But he was waiting for something. He didn't know 
what it was but he needed to wait, of that he was certain. But 
if he were to express his feelings, would she reciprocate? He 
thought that she felt the same way he did. They had had warm 
moments – the infrequent touches, the long kiss at New Year's – 
all moments that had made him temporarily forget the horrors 
that they had been through. But even through those horrors, 
she was there. He had cried on her shoulder, and she on his. 
He had saved her life, and she, his. They had shared the loss 
of family and the loss of her ability to bear children. Now he 
wanted to celebrate a new loss, a loss of his propensity to be 
alone. He couldn't bear going home to that apartment by himself, 
waking up in the morning and not having her beside him. He had 
to do something, just what he was uncertain. 

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the ringing of his cell 
phone. He followed her figure until she disappeared into the 
distance, reached into his chest pocket, and produced his cell 
phone. He flipped it open, "Mulder." 

A familiar voice spoke softly from the other end of line. 

"Sure," he responded, "I'll meet you there." He closed the phone and 
replaced it in his pocket. He gazed one final time into the distance 
where Scully had withdrawn and then walked towards the garage w
here he had left his rental car. 

Liberty Bell Inn
10:22 A.M. 

"Please connect me to Assistant Director Skinner." Scully glanced 
around the room that had served as her home for the evening as she 
waited for the secretary to patch her call through. It reminded her 
vaguely of somewhere she had been before, but she couldn't quite 
put her finger on it. The off-white blanket that covered the double 
bed, the comely lamp that illuminated the small television set – 
it all looked so familiar. 

"Skinner," Scully heard the A.D.'s voice state brusquely. 

"Hello, sir," Sully responded. It was good to hear his voice. It was 
so odd, their relationship. When she was first assigned to the 
X-Files, she would never have imagined that Skinner would have 
become what she considered to be a friend. He had assisted her 
and Mulder countless times, at personal risk to his own position. 
She felt a kindred devotion to him. He was like a father to her, 
and their relationship followed suit, sometimes adversarial, 
but more often caring. 

"It's Scully. I wanted to bring you up to speed on the case. Mulder 
and I have connected the three murders in Philadelphia to six other 
murders. In each case, the women died of asphyxiation under similar 
circumstances. All of the women had last names that are derivatives 
of Apostalic names." 

"Do you have any theories on this point?" he interrupted. 

"Yes," Scully continued. She was well used to his interjections. 
"Agent Mulder believes that a religious radical is attempting to 
murder twelve women with Apostalic names, recreating martyrdom, 
perhaps in an attempt to become closer to Christianity." 

"Yes," he said, "but what do you believe?" 

"Honestly sir," she answered, "I'm not sure that I know. I believe 
that Agent Mulder's hypothesis is certainly plausible. On a more 
personal note, I have difficulty reconciling anyone who believes 
he is justified in connecting murder with a Christian 
rationalization." 

There was a significant pause at the other end of the line. "Agent 
Scully," Skinner said, "I need to ask you a question." He sounded 
tense. Scully was worried. 

"Go right ahead, sir," she responded. 

"What are you two doing there?" he asked, "I know that Mulder is an 
adept profiler but I really don't see any connection here to the 
X-Files." Scully bit her lower-lip. What are we doing here? She had 
asked herself the same question ever since their arrival in 
Philadelphia. She remembered their meeting with Detective Alvarez. 
She had flagrantly attempted to draw attention to herself the entire 
time. Scully knew the meeting wasn't about the case, but was about 
Mulder. She had seen the disappointment in Alvarez's eyes when she 
noticed that Scully would be present during the discussion. 

"Agent Scully?" Skinner invaded her thoughts. 

"Yes, sir," she answered, "Could you repeat the question?"

Il Ristorante Cantriosilla 
11:59 A.M. 

Fox Mulder sat at a table for two situated at the back of the
restaurant.  Next to the table, a large bay window overlooked a
beautiful park with plentiful oaks and weeping willows.  In the center
was a large, marble fountain.  Goldfish happily swam about, living out
their lives in peaceful oblivion beneath the crystal-blue waters.

Mulder adjusted his tie and checked his watch.  Twelve o'clock.  From
the corner of his eye he saw two legs in a short, blue skirt approach
his table and halt in front of him.  He looked up and saw Lauren's
supermodel features beaming back at him.

"Long time, no see, stranger," she said, taking her seat opposite him.
 He smiled inwardly.  Punctual as always, he thought to himself.

"Nice to see you, too, Lauren," he replied as a waiter approached with
a bottle of Red Merlow and angel-hair pasta, "I took the privilege of
ordering for you."  She smiled.  She loved that about him, the way he
just took charge of a situation.  He liked to be in control.

"Thank you, Fox," she said, "It looks delicious."  She placed the
pressed napkin atop her lap and crossed her legs.

"It certainly does," he mumbled to himself, but inadvertent blushing
revealed that she had overheard.  She picked up her fork, spiraling
the spaghetti about with her spoon.

"It's been awhile since we've had a pleasant lunch, hasn't it Fox?"
she said to him, sucking the pasta between her ruby-red lips and
exposing her tongue.

"It certainly has," he answered, pouring the Merlow into two wine
glasses, "What has it been, seven, eight years?"

"Nine, I think," she answered.  She took a sip of the wine.  "It's
been a long time, Fox. Look at you, brilliant, although underestimated
agent of the most prestigious agency in the United States."

"You're not doing too bad yourself, Lauren," he responded, taking a
bite of his lunch, "carrying out the work that you've longed for, a
respected detective. What more could you possibly want for yourself?" 
She began to blush again.

"Well, Fox," she said, "that is precisely the reason that I asked you
here today."

Mulder placed the fork on his plate and folded his hands.  "What are
you talking about, Lauren?" he asked her, "I thought you invited me to
discuss the case?"  She chuckled aloud, "Oh, Fox, did you really
believe that I asked you to join me at a romantic, Italian restaurant
just to talk business?"  Mulder noticed for the first time the two
candles that were perched in the middle of the table of the dimly-lit
room.  He thought about the discussion that he and Scully had had
earlier in the day.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe this was a bad idea.

Mulder started to respond, but Lauren held up her hands in an effort
to silence him, "No, Fox, don't say anything.  Just let me say what I
need to say."

Lauren took a deep breath as she replayed the dialogue that she had
practiced in her mind on so many previous occasions.  "Fox, there is
something missing from my life.  I've known it ever since I left you. 
I may have my work and my health, but I need someone to share my life
with.  I need you, Fox."

He sighed, a long sigh of consternation and exhaustion.  "Lauren," he
said gently, "I don't think you know what you're saying.  You left me,
remember?  You couldn't deal with, what was it that you said, 'my
obsession with my sister,' remember?"

"Oh, Fox," she interjected, "that was so long ago.  I was only a girl
then.  I'm a woman now, a woman with needs and desires."  She took his
hand in hers.  "I need you, Fox," she said, "I love you."  Mulder
shook his head and put his other hand over hers, "You don't love me,
Lauren..."

His words were cut short as she placed her forefinger over his lips,
"Shhh," she cooed, "you don't need to say anything."  She wrapped her
hand around the back of his head, running her fingers through his
hair.  "Don't say anything."  She pulled his face towards hers, and
threw her lips over his, soft at first, but harder, and harder still. 
He responded at first, and for a split second it was like being with
her all over again, like they were never separated.  For a split
second, he wanted her and kissed her back.  In his mind's eye,
however, he saw Scully arguing with him outside of the department.  He
saw her angry with him, fighting with him, fighting for him, and all
of a sudden he drew back.

"Lauren," he said, "I can't, we can't.  This is wrong.  I'm sorry, but
I just don't feel the same way about you."  He searched her face.  She
seemed upset, hurt.

"Oh," she mumbled, "I'm so sorry, Fox."  She got up awkwardly and
stumbled from the table.

"Lauren," he called to her, "Lauren, wait. We need to talk."  He
hurriedly got up from the table and ran after her.  He opened the
front door to the restaurant and looked both ways down the street, but
she was nowhere in sight.  Mulder put his hand on his hip and shook
his head in disgust.  "Way to go, Fox," he said to himself and
retraced his steps into the restaurant to pay the bill.

Liberty Bell Inn 
4:13 P.M.

Scully was startled from a restless sleep by the sound of three knocks
upon the door.

"Scully, it's me, open up." 

She lay on her side, still wearing the skirt and jacket of her black
suit.  She had fallen asleep so suddenly that she hadn't even had time
to put on a change of clothes.  The exhaustion caused by the late
night at the morgue had finally settled in.  Three more knocks,
"Scully, are you there? Open the door."

"Coming," she called, throwing her legs over the side of the bed.  She
stood up, smoothed out her suit, and checked herself in the small
mirror beside the bed before advancing towards the door.

"Jesus, Scully," Mulder scolded her, "what took you so long? I was out
here knocking for five minutes.  If I was Skinner, my head would have
frost bite by now."

"Mulder," she scoffed, curling the corners of her lips in response to
the joke, "I could ask you the same thing.  Where have you been?" 
Mulder's eyes averted her gaze.  It seemed as though he was attempting
to make up his mind about something.  "Mulder?" Scully questioned
again, "Where were you?"
Mulder shook his head and decided to tell her the truth, "I went out
to lunch with Lauren."  Scully's demeanor instantly changed at the
sound of Alvarez's name.  Her eyebrow arched as she responded with a
simple, "Oh?"

"Yes, Scully," he answered jerkily.  He felt for some strange reason
that he owed her something resembling an explanation.  His words began
to get jumbled as he quickly endeavored to explain himself.  "Right
after you left, Lauren called, Scully.  She asked me to meet her for
lunch to discuss the case, but when I got there, well...she didn't
really want to talk about the case.  I think you were right, Scully, I
think she..."

Scully held up her hands in disgust.  "Stop, Mulder," she told him, "I
don't need to know about this.  This isn't my business."

"But, Scully," he started, "I want you to know..." 

"No," she interjected again, "I don't want to know."  Scully shrugged
her shoulders, "Besides, I need to talk to you about the case." 
Mulder seated himself on the edge of her bed.  He looked tired.  He
stared at her through sad, weary eyes, "What do you want to tell me?"

"I contacted Skinner today," she began, "I informed him of the
progress we've made in regards to the connection between the murderer
and religion.  He wanted to know how much longer we planned on staying
here."

"And what did you tell him?" Mulder asked. 

"I told him that I wasn't sure," Scully responded, "but then I
received a phone call from Agent Sykes in the microbiology unit.  I
sent the blood work of the victim to her after the autopsy and asked
that she conduct the tests first thing.  She told me that there is
something very strange in her blood, something that she didn't feel
comfortable telling me over the phone.  Mulder, I need to return to
Washington right away."

Mulder slowly nodded his head.  "I'll go with you, Scully," he told
her, "There's nothing else to be done here for the moment."  He yawned
and lay back on the bed, arms folded behind his head.  "I'm so tired,
Scully," he confided.

Scully sat next to him on the bed, "I know, Mulder, it's been a long
day."  He sat up and looked at her.  Her face was inches from his.

"Scully," he tried again, "I want to tell you what happened at lunch
today."

"Mulder," she said, "you don't owe me anything...," but he stopped her
in mid-sentence.

"No," he told her authoritatively, "I'm going to tell you something,
something I've been trying to tell you for years."

Scully braced herself.  Her fingers clutched the edge of the bed
tensely.  She could feel her heart run a marathon in chest and her
face began to feel flush.  For years they had danced around the
subject.  There had been plenty of gentle flirtation on both sides,
but neither had the inclination to make the first move, to test their
relationship beyond the safe confines of friendship.  Was this what he
wanted?  Was he going to make the leap of faith for which she wasn't
prepared?

"What is it, Mulder?" she asked anxiously.  He fiddled nervously with
his tie and took a deep breath.

"Come on, Fox," he said to himself, "you can do this."  He stared at
her, long and hard, gaining strength from her beauty and
determination.  He prepared to initiate the most difficult discussion
of his nearly seven-year relationship with his enchanting partner.

"Working on this case with Lauren has brought back a lot of memories,"
he told her, "memories of happy times, memories of sad times, many,
many memories."  He smirked as scenes of her flashed through his mind.
 "She and I were, as you may have guessed, romantically involved seven
years ago.  I was just a young, naïve agent, having come across the
X-Files.  After the dissolution of my relationship with Diana, I was
heartbroken, wearing my heart on my sleeve.  I stumbled into one
relationship – well, I suppose you couldn't really call them
relationships – after another.  One night while browsing through the
National Archives, I met Lauren.  She was an intern at the F.B.I.,
doing profiling research for a serial killer that was terrorizing New
York City.  She was as young and passionate as I was, and we instantly
clicked.  In comparison to my relationship with Diana, my tryst with
Lauren was much shorter, but just as exciting."

He paused to take a breath.  Scully opened her mouth to ask exactly
what Lauren and his relationship had to do with her, but thought
better of it.  She inhaled and allowed him to continue.

"Today Lauren asked me to lunch to discuss our past, and our
collective future.  She told me she loved me, that she wanted us to be
together, that she needed me.  She even tried to kiss me, and for a
minute, I wanted to, too.  But then I thought of you, Scully.  I
thought of how you warned me of her feelings.  I thought of how you
protected me against my own madness.  I thought of your endless
devotion to my cause, of all that you've given up to help me on my
quest.  I thought of how your brilliance saved my life after I was
exposed to the alien virus.  But most of all, I thought of how you are
always there for me.  I thought about how when you were abducted, and
when you were injected with the virus from that bee sting, of how I
could never imagine living without you."

Scully swallowed hard.  "Mulder," she said quietly, "I don't quite
know what to say.  I mean, you are so important to me.  I couldn't
imagine not having you in my life either.  That's why I fought so hard
when you almost died, I couldn't bear losing you."

He smiled at her and looked about the room.  "You know, Scully," he
said, "it seems like every turning point in our relationship comes
when we're sitting in one of these rink-a-dink motel rooms."  A spark
flew across Scully's brain.  No wonder the room looked so familiar. 
It had the same set-up as the room in which she stayed while
investigating her first X-File.  A scene from her past flashed through
her mind – it was the first time she met Mulder and they were
investigating the strange deaths of teenagers in Bellefleur, Oregon. 
Mulder's talk of puncture wounds on the backs of abductees had
frightened her into believing that she was abducted when she had
experienced what he called "lost time."  She had run into his room
wearing only a bathrobe and had shown him three puncture wounds on her
back.  She recalled her relief when he explained that they were merely
mosquito bites.

She smiled fondly at him, "I remember," she said, "You had me
convinced that I was going to turn out like Billy Miles."

He chuckled, "It didn't take long before you were undressing yourself
for me, did it Scully?"

"Oh, Mulder," she cried, striking him lightly on his firm forearm.  He
grabbed for her hand as she struck the blow.  He held it tightly, but
sincerely.  He gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

"That night," he reminded her, "I bore my soul to you, a complete
stranger.  I explained to you about the fate of my sister and my quest
to find out what had happened to her.  Scully, I knew instantly that I
could trust you.  Even if you didn't believe in extraterrestrial life,
you believed in me, and I believe in you."

He shifted uncomfortably.  He couldn't stop now.  "Scully, Lauren's
talk of love today forced me to recognize my own feelings, feelings
that I've had for a long time but have never been able to express
before.  I don't love her, Scully, and she doesn't love me.  I don't
believe she knows what true love is, and I used to think that I never
would experience it either.  But now I know what love is, Scully,
because you've helped me find it.  All this searching for the truth,
and I've been denying it for seven years now, burying it like the
Syndicate buried the truth."

Scully arched her eyebrow and shot him a quizzical look.  "Mulder,
what is it that you're trying to say?" she asked.

Mulder breathed deeply and grabbed her other hand.  He held them both
up, supported by his.  They looked as though they were standing at the
base of an alter, professing their love for each other through vows of
eternal devotion.  "What I'm trying to say, Scully," he told her, "is
that I love you."
Scully looked aghast, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide with fear and
uncertainty.  She was silent for what, to Mulder, seemed like an
eternity.  She lifted her palm and placed it against his forehead, as
if checking for a temperature.  "Mulder, are you feeling okay?" she
asked him.

"Well," he mumbled to himself, "that went well," and then to her, "I
think I've alienated myself enough for one night."  He stood up, "If
you need me, I'll be next door...hanging myself."  He gestured to the
door and began to walk towards it.

"Mulder, wait," she called to him, "Don't go. Please come sit down." 
He turned back to face her.  He looked good, his long tie
complementing his eyes.  She patted the empty space next to her on the
bed.  "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say.  You kind of caught me
off guard."

He plopped down on the bed next to her.  "No," he told her, "I'm
sorry.  That was something heavy to have just dropped in your lap like
that."  He started to stammer as his emotions began to get the better
of him.  "It's just that I'm sick of carrying out this charade day in
and day out.  I know how I feel, Scully, and I think that you feel the
same way, too, but I need you to say it, to tell me how you feel about
me."

She sighed, a long sigh of distress and confusion.  "Mulder," she said
slowly, "this isn't anything new.  Believe me, I've thought about the
possibility of a relationship between us for quite some time.  To be
honest, I'm very much attracted to you, not just physically, but on an
emotional level, as well."  For once, her clinical detachment sounded
so sweet to his ears.  She continued, "You're intelligent, humorous,
caring, passionate..."

His smile began to deteriorate into a frown.  "...but," he continued
on her behalf.

She took up the rest of the sentence, "...but I'm not sure if we
should take our relationship to the next plateau."

"Scully," he questioned, slight irritation arising unconsciously in
his voice, "What exactly is it that you're afraid of?"  He looked
deeply into her eyes, hoping to find in them the truth to the deepest
recesses of her soul.  Scully nervously twitted her thumbs as she
carefully prepared her every word.

"I'm afraid of you, Mulder," she finally told him, "I'm afraid of what
will happen when I become attached and you decide to leave.  What
would it be like if we could not remain friends?  I just don't think
that I could handle something like that."

He took her hand in his.  She had never before seen him so serious. 
Not even a smile penetrated his dower demeanor.

"I would never let that happen, Scully," he said defiantly, "I would
never risk losing the greatest partner or friend that I have ever
known.  But you cannot let your fear of the future stop you from
fighting for something good, something so easily obtainable."

She looked fondly at him, the man for whom she had given so much and
gotten so much greater in return.  His deep, hazel eyes penetrated
every core of her being, and she finally knew in heart what was true.

"Mulder, I do share your feelings.  My feelings for you are so great
that they are almost tangible, but I am still afraid..."  He didn't
let her finish the sentence.

"Don't be," he told her, leaning in closer to her body.  His lips
inched along her face until they reached her ear.  "There's nothing to
be afraid of," he whispered to her, playfully twirling her soft,
sweet-smelling hair between his fingers.  He pulled back and once more
peered into her eyes.  She reached up, placing her palm aside his
cheek as he coupled the nape of her tiny neck with his strong hand.

"I'm not," she told him, for the first time fully assured, "not
anymore."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
He saw the red-headed woman respond uneasily to whatever it was that
her partner had confided in her.  She had felt his head, causing him
to rise and walk toward the door.  He ducked behind a bush, hoping
that his dark robes would render him impenetrable to the gaze of the
lanky agent.  He hid for several minutes until he was sure that it was
safe.  He summoned his courage and approached the window that peered
into the tiny room.  They were both sitting on the bed, now.  He could
feel their intentions, their longing – it was hot and sinful, like a
burning iron branding an animal.  She placed her hand on his face, and
he, his on her neck.  He watched as they drew closer, about to
consummate their proud and dangerous transgression.  He turned his
head as the screech of tires forewarned an approaching observer.  The
headlights shone fiercely about him, like the column of fire that
separated the Deliverer from impending doom at the hands of Pharaoh. 
He ducked from view of the window and advanced into the darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Scully leaned in, yearning to quench the fire in her lips.  He pulled
her closer with the hand placed so subtly behind her neck.  "Mulder,"
she breathed.

"Scully," he softly replied.  Her eyes widened as she caught the
glimpse of a shadow at the window, illuminated by the headlights of an
advancing vehicle.

"Mulder," she cried louder, pointing to the figure, "someone's out
there."
Mulder turned his head violently, grabbing for the gun at his hip.  He
stood up and ran to the door.  "I'll kill you," he mumbled, angered
more by the interruption than the threat of danger, "I don't care if
it's J. Edgar, himself."  He opened the door and surveyed the
surroundings, looking left and right.  He turned around and closed the
door behind him.

"Nobody's there, Scully," he told her, repositioning himself at her
side, "Now where were we?"

"Mulder," she cried, pushing his chest away with both hands, "I know
what I saw.  There was someone there."

"Well," he said, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, "maybe
we ought to give him a good show, what do you say?"  It was no use. 
The interruption had effectively destroyed the mood and any chance he
had for getting closer to her.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully told him apprehensively, "but I'm tired. 
I think I'd like to go to bed.  We have to fly back to Washington
early tomorrow."  She threw him a ticket for the 7:30 A.M. flight back
to D.C. that she had bought earlier in the day.  "See you bright and
early," she told him, advancing towards the door to walk him out. 
Mulder got up from the bed and took one final look at Scully as he
walked dejectedly to his room to spend another night alone.

J. Edgar Hoover Building 
March 26, 2000
9:00 A.M. 

The plane ride back had been hell.  She couldn't recall why she had
decided to place their two seats next to each other.  Then she
remembered.  She had purchased them before Mulder so genuinely smeared
his feelings like a doormat for her to step on.  She recalled that his
sarcasm when she had asked for the window seat was more abrasive than
usual: "Why bother, Scully?  It's not as though you'll see anything of
interest that cannot be explained away by scientific means.  It's a
warm, sunny day, I'm sure there's plenty of weather balloons floating
around just waiting to be mistaken for U.F.O.'s."

She was used to the droll humor, that was normal.  It was the silence
that she had trouble reconciling.  For as long as she had known him,
Mulder was hardly recognized as someone who could remain silent for
more than two minutes at a time.  But he had remained silent the
entire hour that it took to land at Dulles, excluding of course some
rather suggestive comments to the flight attendant after having
one-too-many shots of Absolut.

She couldn't stand him being angry with her, but she could hardly
blame him either.  What was barring her from acknowledging her
feelings?  Sure, she had told him that those feelings existed, but she
was hardly entirely truthful.  If she could have acted impulsively,
even for one moment, she would have torn off that tie and thrown him
down onto the bed...but she just couldn't do that.  No, she had to
think of all the reasons why a relationship between them wouldn't work
out.  Mulder was right, she needed to stop thinking, to stop ending
the relationship before it was even initiated.  If she were to not
allow anything to happen between them, it would be like failing before
any difficulties were even broached.

"Agent Scully?"  

Her decision about Mulder would have to wait for another day.  Agent
Sykes was addressing her.  Scully was standing in the microbiology
unit of the F.B.I., patiently lingering about to view what it was that
was so important that it could not be spoken of over the telephone.

"Yes," Scully answered, "It's nice to see you, Agent Sykes.  It's good
of you to have run the tests so quickly."

"You're very welcome," Sykes replied, "but I should be thanking you. 
I feel very privileged to have been brought in on this case."  Sykes
ushered her into a secluded room at the back-right corner of the
office.  Scully noticed that Sykes had locked the door behind her and
closed the blinds of the large, front windows.  She cradled a manila
folder in her arms, like the mother of a newborn child.  Scully shot
her a questioning look.

"What is it, exactly that you found?" she asked. 

"I think you had better sit down," Sykes responded, tossing the folder
lightly on top of her desk as she took her seat. Scully's eyes widened
as a familiar name leapt from the pages.

"Purity Control," she read aloud. 

Mouth slightly agape, Scully's gaze turned quickly from the papers on
the desk to Agent Sykes, herself. "How do you know about Purity
Control?" Scully asked her, and then scolded herself for questioning
to rashly.

"Please sit down, Agent Scully," Sykes beseeched her, "and I will tell
you the whole story of my involvement."

Scully obliged, taking the seat opposite Sykes and folded her hands
carefully on the desk.  She looked up through wary eyes and urged the
agent forward, "Please continue."

"Do you recall the name Dr. Anne Carpenter, Agent Scully?" Sykes
asked.

"Of course," Scully responded without a moment's hesitation, "Dr.
Carpenter was head of the Georgetown University Microbiology
Department.  She aided me in an investigation regarding...regarding
the homicide of a scientist working in developing gene therapy." 
Sykes arched her left eyebrow as Scully shuffled uncomfortably in her
chair.  She felt like the victim of some voyeuristic joker, like
cameras were set up at each angle of the room in order to record her
every word.  Her gaze diverted this way and that, plagued by the
thought of unseen eyes watching her movement.

"What you meant to say," Sykes corrected her, "is that Dr. Carpenter
aided in an investigation regarding Purity Control, that she assisted
you in analyzing the sample and in doing so discovered an extra base
pair that she defined as extraterrestrial in origin.  This base pair
contributed to the formation of a fifth and sixth nucleotide in the
sample's genome, and for some unknown reason, several gaps existed in
the sequence itself."  Scully took in a deep breath, wondering exactly
how much she should trust this woman who seemed to know as much, if
not more than she.  Scully braced herself for the windfall.

"If I may be so bold, Agent Sykes, how is it that you came by this
knowledge?" she inquired.

"Hours before she was in the accident, Dr. Carpenter called me.  She
informed me of what she had found, that she believed that by acquiring
such knowledge she had endangered the life of herself and her family. 
She was under the impression that she was being followed.  She saw
shadows wherever she went.  I, of course, thought that she was
suffering from deep paranoia, but the deaths of her and her
family...Well, I suppose it turns out that her paranoia was well
founded."  Sykes shrugged her shoulders, "Anyway, Dr. Carpenter told
me that if she were to die that I should be alert to any specimen that
would turn up in the future.  She told me to follow your work closely,
Agent Scully.  I suppose you assisted me in that respect by contacting
me.  At any rate, I have a vested interest in seeing this through. 
You see, Agent Scully, Dr. Carpenter was my sister and I am convinced
that her accident was no accident, that she was, in fact, murdered for
her discovery of the base pair in Purity Control."
Scully digested what Sykes had told her.  "I understand what you have
confided in me, Agent Sykes," she began, "but what does Purity Control
have to do with the blood samples that I sent to you?"

"That's just it, Agent Scully," she answered, "the genome isolated in
the blood samples is identical to that of Purity Control, with one
minor exception."

"And what would that exception be, Agent Sykes?" Scully asked, still
unsure if she was being fed lies.

"Like I said," Sykes told her, "the genome that comprised Purity
Control contained gaps, missing base pairs in the sequence, something
completely unheard of in any organic organism found here on Earth. 
Annie was attempting to divine the reason for this before her untimely
death.  She had little success, but she was able to hide a sample away
so that I might carry on her work.  For the past six years I have
tested and analyzed every pair in the genome and have come to the
following conclusion: the chemical composition, that is, the elements
that comprise the base pairs found in Purity Control, are unknown in
origin and are highly electronegative.  In fact, they are twice as
electronegative as the strongest electronegative Earth element,
fluorine.  You are aware of what causes electronegativity, are you
not, Dr. Scully?"

"Yes," Scully answered, feeling as though she was back in the
classroom, waiting anxiously for permission to begin her chemistry
exam, "electronegativity is essentially a pull of electrons from a
chemical bond.  It is a property of an element whereby an atom
attempts to become more stable by obtaining the fullest amount of
electrons possible in one orbital, eight to be precise."

"That is correct, Agent Scully.  I can see that all of those years of
acquiring medical knowledge were not lost on you."  Sykes smiled
warmly at her as she continued the briefing, "It seems that the
elements present in the nucleotides of Purity Control are so
electronegative that the electrons of one nucleotide effectively repel
the electrons of the neighboring nucleotide.  Compounded with the
already highly negative phosphate and deoxyribose backbone, this
leaves no possibility for stabilization within that region in nature,
generating the gap in the genome.  In other words, the gap between
nucleotides is twice that of the organic Earth gap.  Only after this
interval are the electrons far enough apart that the charge becomes
dissipated enough to have another base pair."
Scully sighed, unsure of what to believe.  She had been misled so many
times in the past, she just hoped that this time an investigation
would bear fruit.  She said to Sykes, "That is all extremely
interesting, but you still have yet to tell me what is the difference
between Purity Control and the blood samples."
"Agent Scully," she answered, "the blood samples that you sent to me
contain the extra base pair, the fifth and sixth nucleotide, but there
is no gap between them."

Scully countered, "But I thought you said that there is no conceivable
stabilization if two nucleotides were adjacent to each other."

"I said in nature, Agent Scully."  Sykes looked at her hard, waiting
for her to grasp the serious nature of what she was saying.

Scully's eyes widened as she realized what the doctor was intimating,
"But that would mean..."

Agent Sykes nodded her head in profound silence.  "Yes, Agent Scully,"
she completed the thought for her, "That would mean that someone has
figured out how to control the sequence, that someone has genetically
engineered Purity Control to alleviate the gaps, and that your murder
victim is the product of this genetic engineering."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
"Mulder," the voice greeted her gruffly from the other end. She had
let the phone ring seven times and was about to hang up when he
finally answered.

"Mulder, it's me," she answered, relieved at finally hearing his voice
after accepting his harsh sentence of silence, "where are you?"

Mulder watched himself in the mirror behind the counter.  He watched
as the reflection raised its cell with one hand and a glass in the
other.  His hair was disheveled and all that remained of his mandatory
suit ensemble was a wrinkled, uncuffed, Oxford shirt and a pair of
gray pleated pants.  "I'm washing my hair, Scully," he told her, a
mixture of relief and anger at hearing her voice so soon after their
little heart-to-heart, "where are you?"

"I'm at the Bureau's Microbiology Department," she answered, "and
there is something that I need to discuss with you in person."

"Working on your chemistry, Scully?" he asked her, draining the glass
until all that remained were the "rocks" to his scotch.

She couldn't help but scoff.  'I suppose I deserve that,' she thought.
"You're partially right, Mulder," she answered coolly, dismissing the
usual obligatory reprimand for fear of angering him further.

"Well, spill it, Scully.  What is it that's so important?" 
"I can't tell you over the phone," she replied, "Meet me at my place
in an hour."  Normally the offer to come to her place would have
inspired some suggestive commentary but now...he wasn't sure.  Mulder
stumbled clumsily to his feet and dug in his pocket for some rumpled
bills.  Upon throwing them on the counter, he departed into the night.

Dana Scully Residence
10:00 A.M. 

"Once more, Scully, this time in English."  Fox Mulder was seated on
Scully's comfortable, cream couch in her cozy apartment.  His long
legs rose nearly to his chin and his elbows rested lightly on his
kneecaps.  His head felt like a lead ball and the only thing capable
of providing a modicum of support were the palms of his strong hands.

Scully entered the living room carrying a mug filled with black coffee
between both hands.  "You know, Mulder," she berated him, "this would
all be a lot easier to understand if you weren't suffering from a
severe hangover."

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes dancing with boyish mischief
despite his tired condition.  "Thank you Dr. Scully," he replied, "but
somehow I don't believe that."

Scully feigned shock and dismay, "What are you saying, Mulder?  That
you don't believe that science will provide easy answers?"

Mulder chuckled in spite of himself, smiling like the master who
foresees checkmate in the movement of his apprentice, "I want to
believe."

Scully's smile betrayed her affection. "At least he's talking to me
again," she thought, "at least that's something."  She placed the mug
on the coffee table in front him and watched as he took a couple of
swigs.

"Feeling better?" she asked. 

"Couldn't feel better if it rained hearts and honeybuns," he responded
dryly.  He took another gulp of coffee.  "Why don't you just tell me
what you found again," he asked her, "but this time slooowwwlllyyy..."

Scully picked up the manila envelope that lay beside the mug on the
coffee table.  She had confiscated it from Dr. Sykes, warning her that
if she kept it, they might dispose of her and the evidence as they did
her sister.  Sykes initially protested, but finally relented,
realizing that the only way to bring her sister's killer to justice
was to live and to work with the two agents.  Scully opened the folder
and explained the contents -slowly- to Mulder.  After a solid half
hour, she was sure that he had fully grasped the meanings of
extraterrestrial elements, nucleotides, and electronegativity.  Sure,
it took a little longer than usual, but she had to admit, he was the
sharpest damn drunk that she had ever met.

After the crash course in biochemistry, Scully closed the file
excitedly.  "Do you know what this means, Mulder?" she asked him,
"This means that we finally have hard evidence, conclusive scientific
facts that prove what is going on here."

"And what is going on here, Scully?" he asked, anticipating her
answer.

She didn't know how to respond.  The evidence was there, like she
said, but was she to believe it?  "I don't know exactly, Mulder.  But
what I do know is that genetic engineering has brought about the
fusion of the Purity Control and human genomes, and that fusion
product was found to comprise the genetic makeup of the victim."

"And I'm willing to bet the farm that it's found in the other victims,
as well," he told her.

"Mulder," she asked, "do you really believe that?" 

His eyes, more lucent now than the previous half hour, shone with the
intense excitement that appeared whenever he began to connect two and
two together.  "Guess what time it is, Scully?" he asked her.

She looked at the beautiful gold-encrusted watch on her left hand.  It
had been
a Christmas present from her mother that came with the cute little
note "Don't forget to take some time for yourself, Dana."

"It's nearly 10:30, Mulder," she answered. 

"Wrong, Scully," he told her, "It's just about that time where you and
I roll up our sleeves and get digging."

"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she asked, worried that he still
wasn't over the effects of his early morning binge.

"It's exhumation time, Scully," he answered, "You bring the coffee,
I'll bring the shovels."  He stood up from the couch, grinning through
the pain in his head, "And you say I never take you anywhere."

St. Anne's Cemetery 
5:52 P.M. 

Mulder stood by an open grave, patiently waiting for the enormous,
yellow crane to finish pulling the casket from the ground.  The gentle
crescent moon shone brightly on the proceedings, a misplaced light in
the midst of the dark of dusk.  He looked much better now, even
somewhat well-rested.  The wrinkled shirt and pants were replaced with
his usual working outfit: well-pressed shirt, gray pants, gray jacket,
monochrome tie.  Over his suit was a long, jet-black duster that
flowed past his long legs to his knees.  His hair was neatly combed
back and the only sign of his drinking exploits were the remnants of
barely noticeable thin, red lines in his eyes.  He reached into his
pocket and produced a handful of sunflower seeds as Scully approached
from the darkness.
The headlights from the crane illuminated the highlights in her
beautiful hair.  She looked professional as always -elegantly bearing
a dark, form-fitting pants-suit- but damn good, he decided.  He popped
a couple seeds in his mouth as she halted in front of him.

"What'd she say?" he asked her. 

"Alvarez said that she would work on getting permission for the
exhumation of the other two women that were killed in her
jurisdiction," she answered, grazing quickly over the name of the
esteemed detective, "The other five victims lie buried in various
locations throughout the east coast ranging from Maine to Maryland.  I
have contacted Bureau agencies in each of those states and have
arranged for the exhumations.  They will notify me as soon as they
have collected the samples."

She sighed a deep sigh of weariness.  She was worn out after having
spent the day being bounced around from one government lackey to
another.  But her day wasn't over yet.  She knew what would come next.
 She would spend hours working on the body and after that, there would
be the blood work of not just one dead girl, but nine all together. 
He had been busy, too, of course.  He spent the entire afternoon
attempting to get permission for the exhumation of the only victim
buried in D.C..  Still, she noticed with some degree of bitterness
that he had managed time to shower, shave, and dress.  She looked down
at herself, still wearing the same clothes from her meeting with Dr.
Sykes. "I need a long, hot bath," she thought to herself.

"Good," he replied simply, and "Ah...here we go, now the fun begins"
as the casket was lifted from the earth and placed on a waiting
gurney.  Four medics placed the casket into the back of an ambulance,
secured it, and closed the doors behind it.  "Let's go, Scully,"
Mulder commanded as he jumped into his government-issue automobile. 
Scully complied and soon the two were following the ambulance at close
range, driving in deafening silence towards Quantico.

Quantico Medical Facility 
6:13 P.M. 

Scully pulled at the microphone that hung from the ceiling of the
frigid examining room, drawing it closer to her mouth.  The room was
immaculate.  The white-washed walls had recently been scrubbed and the
powerful stench of chlorine indicated the complete absence of
contamination.  She had become so used to that smell through the years
of her intense training.  It had become second nature, a hollowed
ground that made her feel secure in her medical abilities.  It was
medicine that made her feel in control whenever Mulder's paranoia
seemed to suggest that others within the government contained complete
power over her and all of the rest of the civilians on Earth.

"Victim is a twenty-seven year old Caucasian female," she began,
initiating the examination, "Extent of decomposition suggests that she
has been dead for well over two weeks.  No signs of sexual assault are
implicit on the exterior of the body, no bruising or other abuse.  The
removal of the right eye and a single incisor is consistent with the
supposed ritualistic murders of the three victims in Philadelphia. 
Forty puncture wounds on the body lend credence to this theory."  She
reached for the charts containing the victim's information produced
from the initial autopsy after her death.  They had been faxed over
from the D.C. morgue earlier that day and now lay on the linoleum
counter at her side.  "Coroner's report states that victim died of
asphyxiation due to unknown circumstances.  Toxicology shows an
abnormal presence of alcohol in her system days after she was found
dead."  Scully picked up the tools that lay on a cart beside the
examination table and prepared to make the first incision.  "I will
now reopen the stitches," she said into the microphone, and then under
her breath, "Okay, let's see what you're hiding."  She leaned in to
make the cut when a voice from behind startled her into cognizance.

"Agent Scully?" 

Tools in hand, Scully turned around and faced the young, light-haired
agent.

"Agent Scully," he repeated from behind his almost
too-neat-for-protocol suit, "there's a call for you on line one."

"Thank you," Scully called, "I'll be right there."  She placed the
tools back on the cart and flipped the switch on the microphone to the
"Off" position as the agent departed into the hallway.  She placed her
surgical gloves in the nearest trashcan and went across the hall to
pick up the line.

"Scully," she said, twirling the cord listlessly between her fingers. 
No one responded. "Scully," she said again, this time with more force.
 Once again, there was no answer.  "Is anyone there?" she asked and
after gaining no response for a third time, she slammed the phone back
on the hook.  She was shaking her head as she re-entered the examining
room.  Her anger quickly turned to shock as her brain began to process
exactly what she was viewing: nothing.  The body was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
"And then I came back and she was gone."  Scully had just finished
telling Mulder of the strange phone call and the body-napping as tens
of agents scampered crazily throughout the hall.  "Mulder," she asked
him, "How does a body simply disappear?  I was gone for less than a
minute.  I don't know how someone could manage sneaking a body out of
here in that short amount of time, nor do I know why anyone would have
the inclination."

"They're hiding something, Scully," he told her, "They're hiding
something and
I think you know why." 

"Purity Control," she answered. 

He nodded his head, "That's right, Purity Control.  They're afraid of
exposing the truth, Scully."

"The truth about what, Mulder?  We hardly know anything.  All we know
is that a woman was murdered in Philadelphia with the genetic makeup
of Purity Control and that she may be connected to the murder of this
woman in Washington.  But how do we know that for sure?  We have no
proof now to make that connection.  I was barely able to start the
autopsy.  I didn't even get the opportunity to take a blood sample. 
How are we going to perform a genetic comparison?"

Mulder brushed past her and crouched onto the floor near the head of
the examination table.  "They didn't get everything, Scully," he told
her, picking up a piece of black hair between his thumb and
forefinger.  He stood up as Scully appeared at his feat.  "Looks like
you're going to get that scientific proof after all," he told her,
"now the question is are you ready to face the truth?"

6:32 P.M. 

Scully pushed the "Fast Forward" button on the VCR as Mulder rejoined
her in the surveillance room.  "How's it going, Scully?" he asked her.

"I've almost found it, Mulder.  I'm up to 5:40 now," she told him, and
then asked, "Did you get a trace on the phone number of my mystery
caller?"

"I couldn't, Scully," he replied, "your mystery caller doesn't exist."
She shot him a quizzical look.  "What are you talking about?" she
asked him.
He pulled up a vinyl chair and sat down at her side.  "The phone
records show no evidence of an incoming call," he said, "Whoever made
that call placed it internally, from somewhere in the same hall that
contains the examination rooms."

She gazed at him as he stared intently at the television screen. 
"Push 'Play'," he commanded her, "we're up to 6:12.  He should be
making an appearance right about...now."  Mulder pointed at the male
figure with light hair as the camera caught him walking through the
door behind a crouched Scully.  "Does anyone recognize this man?" he
asked the various agents and surveillance men that had congregated in
a semicircle behind the pair.  Mulder turned around in time to see
every man shake his head "no."  He turned back and faced Scully.  "Can
you get me a printout of this guy," he asked her.
"Sure," she answered, "I'll take care of it, Mulder, but what good
will it do?  He never once looks up at the camera.  All we have to go
on is a Caucasian male of average height that has light, sandy hair. 
That description could fit any number of men in the D.C. area, let
alone the eastern shore."

"Yeah, Scully," he countered, "but how many of those men are walking
around with a woman who has been dead for eight months?"

Scully's ears perked at this last remark.  "Eight months," she asked,
not sure if she had heard him correctly, "Mulder, did you say that she
had been dead for eight months?"

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly, "eight months. The girl you were
performing the autopsy on was named Katrina Judas. She was the very
first victim, killed in D.C. eight months ago next week."  He stared
at her with a look of mock dejectedness, "You can check her file if
you don't believe me."

"Mulder, there was no more than two weeks worth of decomposition
present on that girl," she said, her eyes widening with dismay and a
twinge of fear, "how is that possible?"

"I'm guessing good genes," he answered.

J. Edgar Hoover Building 
March 27, 2000
12:20 A.M. 

Scully contemplated the discussion she had had earlier that day with
Mulder in the surveillance room.  What were the ramifications of these
tests, the fusion of unknown and human genomes?  She thought about all
she had faced because of Purity Control, because of the X-Files. 
There was the death of Deep Throat.  Although she hadn't known him as
well as Mulder, his death still affected her deeply.  He had died in
her arms, warning her with his last dying breath to "Trust no one." 
Then there was the terrible kidnapping by Duane Barry.  She still
couldn't remember exactly what happened during her mental absence.  It
was locked away somewhere deep in her memory.  Maybe they ordained it
that way, or maybe she simply didn't want to remember.  She was so
relieved to have been brought back from an early death, brought back
by the love of her mother, Melissa...and Mulder...only to have
discovered that damn chip in the back of her neck.  Then the terror
started.  She faced death a second time upon the removal of the chip
as she developed the cancer.  Then she found out that her eggs had
been removed, leaving her barren.  Compared to everything else, this
was by far the worst blow.  She had always held a special place in her
heart for children.  She desired a baby more than anything else,
watching her god-child and her nephew grow up with the slightest bit
of envy.  But eventually she was forced to face the realization that
her fondest dreams could never be achieved.  And then Emily appeared. 
Her precious child, born from the experiments that had taken away her
hopes of carrying a little baby of her own.  But those barbaric tests
destroyed her in the end, too, just like they destroyed everything
else in her life.  Except Mulder.  The Smoking Man had tried to
destroy him on several occasions, both physically and emotionally, but
he had never succeeded.  Scully knew that Mulder blamed himself for
everything that happened in her life since she was assigned to the
X-Files, and sometimes she couldn't help but wonder what would have
happened if she had never walked into that dingy basement.

But then she would have never met Mulder, and that was something most
unacceptable.  He was at once the craziness and stability she needed
in her life.  He was her constant, her touchstone when the world
seemed too difficult.  And now he had told her that he loved her.  "I
will talk to him," she decided, "after all of this is over, I will
tell him the truth, tell him how I really feel.  I will tell him that
I cannot imagine my life without him in it, that as difficult as it
was going to be, not just for me, but for the both of us, that all I
really want is for him to take me in his strong arms and make me feel
safe."

"Agent Scully," the voice of Dr. Sykes startled her from her reverie,
"the tests are in.  Would you mind following me into my office?" 
Scully complied and advanced once more into the doctor's familiar
surroundings.

"What did the gel show?" Scully asked.  Dr. Sykes simply handed her
the thin piece of paper that contained numerous numbers and black bars
representing the genetic code found in the hair sample.  Scully
compared it to the second sheet that Sykes handed her.

"They're the same," she said simply, "genetic matches," but the look
on her face betrayed the terror that she felt, not just because of the
genetic experimentation that was being conducted, but as a religious
woman whose faith in the certainty of the soul was being tested the
more she continued the investigation.

"Almost identical," Dr. Sykes said, "but mutations...err...rather
alterations have been made in the chromosomes that are responsible for
physical features, hair, eye color, et cetera."

"So," Scully said, processing what this information all meant, "the
two women are genetically the same person, clones, except for the way
they look."  Dr. Sykes nodded her head.

"And that means," Scully finished the thought without realizing how
Mulder-like she was beginning to sound, "that someone wants them to
look differently, but why?"

9:48 A.M. 

Scully took the keys from her purse and prepared to unlock the door
leading to her office, but it was already open.  She deftly replaced
them in her already much-too-overcrowded handbag and turned the knob
to the basement room.  She was quickly greeted by Mulder who looked as
if he had spent the entire night in that very room.  She remembered
how after she had finally left the Microbiology Department, she had
settled into her bed, muscles aching from weariness.  But there was
too much on her mind and getting to sleep proved more difficult than
anticipated.  She tossed and turned for what seemed an eternity until
sweet sleep finally overcame her.

She threw her belongings in a pile on his small desk. "What are you
doing here already, Mulder?" she asked, although she was pretty sure
that she knew what the answer would be.

"I've been going through all of the files of the victims, tracking the
movement of the killer through the eastern coastal states.  How did
the tests go last night?"

She handed him the gel results.  He placed one overtop of the other. 
"They're the same," he said, and then asked, "What does that mean?"

"That means, Mulder, that the latest victim in Philadelphia and the
first victim in D.C. contain the exact same DNA, that they're genetic
clones of one another.  No two humans have the same DNA in nature,
Mulder, excepting identical twins.  Normally I would say that these
two women must be twins of one another but there was a discovery made
by Dr. Sykes that leads me to believe otherwise."

"And what is that, Scully?" he questioned. 

"Dr. Sykes was able to analyze every section of the genetic code of
Purity Control over the past six years, Mulder, and with the
advancement of the Human Genome Project, she was able to determine the
sites of DNA that contain the chromosomes responsible for physical
features – eye color, hair color, et cetera.  The DNA analyzed in both
of the victims shows, like I said, the exact same genetic code except
for the base pairs that code for physical features."

"So what are you telling me, Scully?" he asked her, "That whoever
–what was it you said– fused Purity Control with humans has been able
to manipulate the genetic code to change physical features?"

Scully hesitated.  "I don't know, Mulder," she finally said, "that
kind of technology is supposed to be at least a couple of decades down
the road, but I guess we'll know more once we get the results of the
tests from the other victims."

Mulder shook his head angrily, like one who was not about to be
defeated.  "Not gonna happen, Scully," he said, doing his best Dana
Carvey impression of President George Bush.  He changed his voice back
to his normal intonation in order to address the severity of his next
comment, "They bodies are missing, Scully, every single one.  They
were all stolen last night."

Scully pulled out her chair from its normal position in front of his
desk and
sat down. "Stolen," she repeated, her words a mixture of disbelief and
awe.  Her eyes widened, amplifying the azure-ocean quality of their
hue.  "Mulder, how do nine bodies just disappear?" she asked him,
"It's simply not possible."
He opened his mouth and prepared to answer the question but Scully
held up her hands in a seeming gesture of defeat, preempting any
far-fetched theory that he might feel obliged to develop. "Even if
'someone' wanted to disappear nine bodies," she said, "how could they
possibly discover our intentions to exhume the bodies, and
furthermore, how could they pull off such a massive grave-robbery in
so many different states in one night?  Without anyone seeing a thing?
 It's simply not possible."

"Scully," he softly chided, a thin smile appearing vaguely on his
lips, "I thought that by now you'd be a little more open to extreme
possibilities."
She curled her mouth in a tight circle of disapproval as he continued.
 "At any rate, I finished reviewing the tapes from all of the
surveillance cameras in Quantico.  After you left the room to answer
the phone, the Yellow-Headed Man made another appearance.  He was
dressed in medical garb so it was relatively easy to bypass any
guardsmen.  Apparently he fit in so well that nobody saw him come in
or go out, besides you and the cameras, of course.  He covered the
body with a sheet and rolled it onto a gurney into an elevator."

Mulder stood up from his chair and pushed "Play" on the television
that sat conveniently ready for viewing in the corner of the room. 
Scully viewed the Yellow-Haired Man on the elevator camera, and then
in some sort of garage as the image changed over.  "The elevator led
to the basement floor, the parking lot, where an ambulance was waiting
to carry the body."  He pointed to the time recorded by the camera in
the left corner of the screen.  "6:14 P.M.," he said matter-of-factly,
"Just like you said, Scully, the body-napping was executed in less
than a minute."

A troubled look crossed her face.  "There's something that bothers me
about this, Mulder," she told him.

"You mean other than the fact that there are nine missing dead clones
with the genetic makeup of extraterrestrial elements?"

"Yes," she replied with a sneer.  Almost instantly her expression
became serious again, "The Yellow-Haired Man never once looks up at
the camera.  It's almost like he knows that he's being watched."

"I thought of that," Mulder replied, "Coupled to the fact that he was
able to gain access to both Quantico and an ambulance, I'd say that
chances are pretty good that he's a worker there."

"But Mulder," she reminded him, "you just said that no one in that
facility remembers ever seeing him."

He had to smile.  She never ceased to disappoint him.  He began to
wonder if there would ever come a time when she would just accept what
he told her on blind faith alone.  He chuckled to himself, knowing
full well that today would not be that day.

"Maybe it wasn't him that they were seeing," he said nonchalantly. 
"Then who?" she asked, honestly confused. 

"Maybe he changed his appearance, Scully." 

"Changed his appearance," she said, "What do you mean, like put on a
wig."

"Not exactly, more like put on the semblance of a whole new person." 

She arched her eyebrows with a genuine look of fanciful incredulity,
"and then I suppose he reversed time with one look from his 'magic
eyes of rotation,' making the other eight bodies vanish without a
trace before they were even buried."

He beamed, "Extreme possibilities, Scully, I'm not discounting
anything."

"Now that we're on the subject, Mulder, what did happen to the bodies
of the other victims?"

"They didn't even make it to the examination table," he informed her, 

"The bodies were taken before permission for exhumation was even
granted."

"By who, Mulder?" she asked. 

"I think, Scully," he answered, "the appropriate question would be 'by
what?'."

"What do you mean, 'by what,' Mulder?" 

"Scully, how do you explain what is going on?  Purity Control, clones,
body-snatchers, I mean, you can't possibly think that it's all some
big coincidence."

"Mulder," she scowled, "I'm still not entirely convinced that they are
clones, at least not until further evidence can be provided in regards
to the other seven women.  As for the missing bodies, it's possible
that the murderer knows of something on the victims that could
potentially implicate him.  I'm sure he's just covering his tracks."

He scoffed.  She was grasping at straws, now, "By sneaking into a
high-security medical complex?  Even if that were true, how could he
steal nine different bodies in seven different states in one night?"

"Maybe he has accomplices."  The faint impression of a frown could be
detected on her pretty face as her cheeks began to redden.  Even she
didn't believe that explanation.

"Extremely doubtful, Scully.  He's a serial murderer.  They aren't
generally known to play well with others."

She could feel the discomfort like the gaze of a thousand eyes.  The
discomfort turned to rising irritation.  "Well, what are you
suggesting then? That not only can our Yellow-Haired friend morph but
he can be in seven different places at once, too?"

"Of course not, Scully, that's a little far-fetched, don't you think?"
 He smiled at her.  He savored the feeling of challenging her beliefs
as she did his.  "No, that's not what I'm suggesting at all.  I think
the reasonable conclusion is that the nine victims are the product of
some scientific experiment headed by someone in the government capable
of controlling the technology to fuse alien DNA with human DNA,
someone who is able to pull off nine murders when the subjects are no
longer needed and then can carry away nine bodies without anyone
batting an eyelash."

"You're right, Mulder," she said, putting a hand against her cheek and
granting him a gaze of false reverence, "why didn't I see that
before?"

He ignored the look that he had fully expected to see, "There's
something else, Scully."

"What's that?" she stated curtly. 

"I was able to extract the license plate from the parking lot
surveillance tape.  I put out an A.P.B. on the ambulance but it, like
the victims, has disappeared.  I have a witness from Baxter's Brewery
across the street who reports seeing a forty year old with long, dark
hair and a scar over his right eyebrow driving away in an ambulance at
6:14 P.M..  His description, and that of the Yellow-Haired Man, is
currently being sent to every agency on the east coast."

He stepped away from the television and grabbed the coat from his
desk.  Putting it on, he turned to her, saying, "Why don't you go over
the tapes again and see if there's anything I missed."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"I'm going to go see if I can't track me down some dead bodies." 

Washington, D.C. 
Undisclosed Location 
10:35 A.M. 

Mulder rapped loudly on the heavy, steel door in front of his face. 
He lowered his hand and stepped back into full view of the omnipresent
surveillance camera, waiting for approval and admittance into the
room.

"Who is it?" he heard a semi-deep male voice crackle through the
intercom.

"Avon calling," he responded blandly, "I'm here to refill your blush
samples."

From behind the frame he could hear the sound of numerous locks being
turned and chains being slid. Frohike opened the door wide and greeted
him by saying, "Maybe you should try using some on your palely ass,
Mulder."  He was wearing his usual drab garb, a grayish tee-shirt,
jeans, and a red pullover vest that provided the only color to the
otherwise dreary ensemble.

"You know, Melvin," he said, gesturing with a thumb towards the six
locks on the inside of the door, "you are the most paranoid son of a
bitch that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

Frohike smiled, "Coming from you, Spooky, that's one hell of a
compliment."
Mulder glared at Frohike for the rebuttal and then proceeded into the
room which maintained the cozy decorum of a breeding zone for computer
geeks and mathematicians.  Langly was seated in a relaxed position,
chair bent back and legs crossed over a counter, reviewing a tape
about the NASA conspiracy regarding the staged lunar landing of Apollo
11, while Byers combed quickly through the most recently reported crop
circle findings in Manchester, England.

"Hey, Mulder," Langly called to him, too engrossed to even look from
the television screen.

"Nice to see you, too," he muttered under his breath as Byers
approached, folders in hand.  "Hey, Mulder," he said, "what brings you
to our neck of the woods?  Working on something interesting?"

"I don't know if you can handle it," Mulder baited them, "It looks
like you've got a lot on your plate as it is."

"Oh, this?" he asked, pointing to the reports, "just you're everyday
run-of-the-mill falsified alien landing sites, generated by the
government in order to deflect attention to the true crisis that faces
the American people."

Mulder nodded his head solemnly, "Boy bands." 

"Worse," Byers said, "the generation of a microbe so lethal that it
could devastate the entire population of Tokyo in less than three
hours."

"A real bummer, Mulder," Langly chimed in, eyes still intent on the
T.V., "Make a mental note.  Don't go visiting Toxyo anytime soon."

"Well," he antagonized, "if you're not up to the challenge, all you
had to do is say so."

Frohike plopped himself down on a chair. "Damn it, man, why don't you
just come out and tell us what it is that you've gotten yourself into.
 What do we have to do to bail out your ass this time?"

"Jesus, Frohike," Mulder said, "what the hell crawled up your ass and
died? Get up on the wrong side of the child's-size bed or what?"

"Don't mind him," Byers said. 

"Yeah," Langly chimed in, "he's just pissed off that you didn't bring
Agent Scully with you."

"Speaking of Scully," Frohike said, his ears perked at the sound of
her name as his eyes gleamed with less-than-honorable intentions,
"where is your tasty little red-headed partner?"

"She's back at the Bureau," he told him, "I was afraid that if we were
in the same room together, she would never be able to look at me the
same way, that if we were on a stakeout together, it would be the name
of 'Melvin' instead of 'Mulder' that she would cry out.  And I just
couldn't handle that kind of
blow to my ego." 

"Since we're on the subject, Mulder," Langly asked, "how are things in
that department going?"  Then he added, a toothy, boyish grin
appearing beneath his large, black, box-shaped glasses, "Did you know
that your initials spell out 'S&M'?"

Byers, shook his head, disregarding the last comment, "Yeah, Mulder,
have you told her how you feel yet?"

Mulder sighed. "I tried, boys," he told them, "I really tried, and I
thought that we were truly getting somewhere at one point."  He
suddenly looked very tired. "Listen," he said, "I really don't feel
like talking about this right now.  Besides, we have more important
things on our 'to do list' than Scully."
Frohike smiled, "She's number one on my 'to do list', Mulder." 

"Easy there, big fella," Mulder responded with a smirk, "I've got
another project that I need you to saddle."

He thought anxiously of the discussion that he and Scully had had the
day earlier in the hotel room.  Since then, the awkwardness had
dissipated and they had gone back to their regular working
relationship.  But that was not what he wanted at all. "What do I have
to do to get on her 'to do list'?" he wondered to himself.  He pushed
all thoughts of Scully from his mind for the time being with a gentle
shake of his head and proceeded to the matter at hand.

"What do you have for us, Mulder?" Langly asked excitedly, finally
giving Mulder his full attention, "Government conspiracy?  Killer bees
spreading alien viruses?  Artificial intelligence turned murderers?"

"Been there, done that, boys," he told them, "what I have is much more
interesting, and you won't even have to get dirty doing it either."

"Aww," Frohike sneered, "and I was hoping that I'd have to get all
dressed up and purdy, too."

Mulder opened the left flap of his coat and removed several pictures
printed from a security surveillance system with his right hand.  He
threw the pictures in a heap on the desk nearest to him and proceeded
to brief the trio: "These pictures were taken last night at Quantico
Medical Facility, approximately 6:13-6:14 P.M..  They captured a
Yellow-Haired Man in the process of stealing a body from an
examination room on the third level.  He transported the body to the
basement parking lot where the victim was then transferred to a
waiting ambulance.  A Black-Haired Man was seen driving away with the
body."

Byers picked up the photos and started strumming through them lazily. 
The first several depicted Scully standing over the body, apparently
preparing to conduct an autopsy.  The next showed her leaving the
room, followed by the entry of the Yellow-Haired Man of which Mulder
spoke.  The next picture was of the Yellow-Haired Man and the body in
an elevator, and the last were of an ambulance by driven away by the
Black-Haired Man.

"What exactly is so important about the body, Mulder?" Byers asked. 
Mulder took numerous copies of files from his right pocket, handing
them to Byers. "Do you know this is?" Mulder questioned him.

"Of course," Byers said without the slightest hint of hesitation,
"It's a representation of DNA."

Langly peered over the shoulder of his friend, "Yeah," he said, "but
what kind?  That doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before."
Byers agreed, "I've never seen it either, Mulder.  Where did you
obtain this wellspring?"

"You don't happen to remember a little gem called 'Purity Control,' do
you boys?" he asked them.

"Purity Control...Purity Control?"   Frohike placed a finger aside his
lips as he thought aloud, "Wasn't that the code name of that bacteria
you found in that flask...what was it that you told us, that you
thought it was alien?"

"Bingo, Frohike, you got it on the first try." 

"Well, I'll take this as my prize then," he said, picking up one of
the first pictures of Scully and placing it in a pocket for
safe-keeping.

"You're a sick one, Melvin," he told him as Frohike licked his lips. 

"Right back at you," he replied. 

Mulder glanced toward Byers who asked, "What does Purity Control have
to do with this DNA sample, Mulder?"

"The DNA sample is a fusion product," he answered, "constructed from
the genomes of the alien bacteria found in Purity Control and the
human genome.  That same sample was found in two separate women in two
separate locations, who
were killed by the same murderer." 

The room grew silent.  Frohike, Langly, and Byers all glanced at each
other, the smiles on their faces lengthening until they could no
longer control themselves, bursting into spontaneous laughter.

"An alien based genome," Langly said, more of a statement than a
question, "right. Where do you come up with this stuff, Mulder?"

"Yeah," Byers chuckled, "not even we could come up with a theory
so...so..."

"...weird," Frohike finished for him. 

"I was going to say farfetched," Byers replied, "but weird works,
too."

"OK," Mulder said, "we've all had our little laugh for the day.  Now,
are you going to help me or not?"

"Sure," Langly answered for the three of them, "we wouldn't want to
pass up such a...monumental discovery."

"What do you want us to do?" Byers asked, stifling another bout of
laughter.

"I need you to go through all of the workers at Quantico," Mulder
commanded, "Get me a background check and see if anyone would be smart
enough to carry out this whole genetic fusion thing.  Cross-reference
with anyone who might have come in contact with any of the victims." 
He pointed to the last photocopy that contained all of the names of
the nine victims. "Then see if you can find any information on either
the Yellow-Haired or Black-Haired Man."

"Anything else, 'O Great Leader'?" Frohike asked as Mulder turned his
back and started walking towards the door.

"Yeah, Frohike," he answered, turning back to face the
geniuses-in-geeks-garb, "be gentle with that picture, you don't want
to rush the first time."  Then turning to leave, he called out an
"Adios, amigos," and with a wave of the hand, he was gone.

J. Edgar Hoover Building 
11:01 A.M. 

Scully was seated elegantly in a chair facing the television that was
propped against the wall opposite the office door.  Even from behind
she appeared poised and in control.  Her legs were tightly closed and
fell at a "ladylike" diagonal over her seat.  Her arms were folded
neatly across her body and her elbows rested gently on the sides of
the chair.  She was the very model of his ideal, total perfection – at
once the peak of professionalism and effeminate vulnerability. "Hell
if she couldn't hold her own, too, though," he thought affectionately.

As if sensing his presence in the room, she swiveled in her chair,
turning to face him without even standing up.  Her face carried a
dubious look of extreme boredom which wore away obstinately at her
beguiling features.  "That was quick," she called to him, propping her
head by placing a fist against her temple.

"Apparently not quick enough, Scully," he answered, noting her obvious
distaste for her latest assignment.

"Mulder," she stated, the slightest touch of irritation in her voice,
"I've been through these tapes like you asked and I still have yet to
find anything relevant."  She coupled the statement to an immediate
question, "Where were you?"

"I just went to visit Manny, Moe, and Jack," he said, "They're going
to try and dig up some information on our missing assailants."

He walked towards her and pulled his chair next to hers.  She turned
around and faced the T.V. as he seated himself haphazardly on the
chair.

Scully sighed a deep sigh of resignation.  "Mulder, I can't help
feeling like we're wasting time with this.  I just don't know what you
expect me to find.  We have little to no chance of tracking down
either the Yellow-Haired or the Black-Haired Man and those bodies are
long gone by now.  If someone took the trouble to steal nine bodies
then I'm sure he disposed of whatever trace evidence was left on
them."

Mulder leaned in closer to the set as Scully continued her harangue. 

"Not to mention the fact that..." 

Mulder wasn't listening now.  He held up his left hand without
removing his gaze from the surveillance view of the ambulance. 
"Scully," he interrupted her, "push 'Rewind' on that tape for me."

She shot him a quizzical look.  "Mulder, what do you see?" 

He watched the tape for another few seconds as a look of excitement
crossed his face.  "There," he said, "did you see it that time?"

Scully shook her head. 

"Rewind it again, Scully," he said, "but this time watch the driver's
side mirror."

Scully did as Mulder commanded.  A few seconds elapsed as they watched
the Yellow-Haired Man climb into the driver's side of the ambulance. 
As soon as his door was closed, Mulder hurriedly pushed "Pause."

"See it now?" he asked.  

Scully saw, indeed.  The mirror depicted a man sitting in the driver's
seat, or rather, what looked like two men fused together down the
center of the body.  The left half of the Yellow-Haired Man and the
right half of the Black-Haired Man stared back at her, a real-live
"Two-Face" torn from the pages of a Batman comic book.

"There must be some glitch in the camera," she said, "It's possible
that the light reflected off the mirror at such an angle that it
caused what appeared to be a fusion of the men sitting in the driver's
and passenger's sides."

Mulder shook his head.  "Scully," he said, "we saw the Yellow-Haired
Man climb into the driver's seat."

"That doesn't mean that he didn't climb over to the passenger's side."

"As soon as he climbed in, he disappeared and the Black-Haired Man
appeared.  Now what does that suggest to you?" he asked.

"It suggests just what I said," she answered, "cheap lighting and
camera tricks, nothing more than mechanical chicanery - an accidental
parlor trick."
"I think it's more than that." 

She braced herself.  "Okay, Mulder, I'll bite.  What do you think it
is?"
"I think that the Yellow-Haired Man is the Black-Haired Man, that they
are one and the same person.  I believe this man, whoever he is, has
morphological capabilities not unlike those that we've seen before. 
Remember the alien Bounty Hunter had the ability to change his
appearance, as did Jeremiah Smith?"
"You know, Mulder," she said, "I was never fully convinced that those
men had the ability to change their physiology."

"Not men, Scully," he corrected her, "aliens." 

"So what are you saying?" she asked, "That the man who stole that body
from Quantico wasn't human at all?  That he was an alien?"

"That's the logical explanation, Scully," he replied. 
She shot him a sideways glance.  "And I suppose," she said with a tone
teeming with disbelief and sarcasm, "that next you're going to tell me
that the connection between kidnapper and the kidnapee is Purity
Control."

Mulder opened his eyes wide with a look of surprise, and then settled
into an overtly calm demeanor.  "Imagine, if you will," he said, a
thin smile crossing his face, "an F.B.I. agent not unlike any other. 
Skeptical, cunning, beautiful, but determined not to believe the truth
until scientific proof is in her grasp.  Today, she has found herself
on the opposing side, today she has found herself in the position of
believer, proponent of truth.  Today she has entered 'the Spooky
Zone'."

"Mulder," she scolded, her face betraying a look of mild
entertainment, "I may be a proponent of the truth but I certainly
cannot endorse this highly irrational concept of yours.  If you can
logically explain to me the scientific basis for what it is that you
are purporting, then perhaps I will consider it a possibility."

"Scully, what more scientific proof do you need?" he asked,
"Everything in that folder on your desk is screaming out the truth but
you obstinately refuse to take a leap of faith, and it would not even
be a large leap at that.  Just look at the evidence.  Science has
concluded that the composition of Purity Control is identical to not
just one dead woman, but two who live hundreds of miles away from each
other.  Now would it be such a leap to say that the other seven
victims contain the same genes as well?"

"Perhaps not, Mulder," she answered, "Maybe you are right and the
government is conducting cloning experiments that we should not even
have the technological capabilities to carry out.  Now what?  What is
our next course of action?  It may not be such a outlandish conjecture
that nine clones exist, possibly twelve if the Apostalic connection
holds true, but I am simply not about to believe that our killer is a
morphing Two-Faced alien based upon faith alone."

He looked her up and down, sizing her up coldly.  "Maybe I was wrong,"
he finally said, "maybe it was wrong of me to think that you would
believe me, just this once, simply because my faith in this belief was
so strong."  He shook his head sadly, "You once told me that you had
the strength of my beliefs, Scully.  Why can't you just believe me
now?"

Without saying another word, he stood and stormed abruptly out of the
room, leaving Scully sitting speechless in solitary contemplation.

Washington, D.C. 
Undisclosed Location 
4:12 P.M. 

"Back so soon, Mulder?" Langly asked as he opened the steel door to
the headquarters of The Magic Bullet.

"Well," he said, passing by the lanky blonde, "I was going to catch a
flick but I said to myself, 'Hey, why don't I go find out who's behind
the serial murder of nine women and prevent the future murder of three
more before fire and brimstone fall from the sky and the Four Horsemen
roam the earth' instead."

Mulder stood behind Frohike and Byers who were seated next to each
other in front of two different computer screens.  The sound of
clicking resonating from the keyboards reverberated off of the largely
unfurbished walls.  He placed his hands on his hips and asked them
collectively, "What've we got?"

"We've got nothing, Mulder," he said with an amazingly strait-face,
"but as to your after-hours conquests, well, that will have to remain
a...what's the word I'm looking for...an irritation all your own."

"Hey, Frohike," he replied, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning
closer, "get a haircut."

Frohike mumbled as Langly resumed his seat opposite the other two. 
"I've been working on tracking down anyone who works or who previously
worked at Quantico with exceptional medical knowledge specifically
regarding microbiology and genetics," he told Mulder, "I've just
finished compiling a list of the fifteen leading researches in those
fields."  He handed Mulder a list including the fifteen names, the
history of their medical training, and the more publicized projects to
which their names were connected.

"Dr. Elizabeth Sykes," he read aloud, "Six years at Quantico as a
practicing microbiologist.  Had a prominent career and much success,
with work ranging from the identification of specific motor proteins
in chemical synapses..."  He smiled. "Whatever that means," he said,
and then continued with the briefing, "...to providing assistance with
the Human Genome Project.  She became a full agent in 1982, and has
been working at the microbiology unit in J. Edgar ever since."

He looked up above the printout at Langly.  "I think this Sykes woman
is the same agent who discovered the link between Purity Control and
the victims," he mused, "I think I'll have Scully take a look at this
list."

Frohike looked up through his large, round glasses with a gleam in his
eye.  Mulder pointed at him.  "Don't even say it," he told him.

"What?" Frohike asked, raising both of his hands in an inquisitive
gesture.
"Whatever it was you were going to say," Mulder answered. 

"I was going to say that I'm still cross-referencing the close
contacts of the victims, but now I thinking about some four-letter
words I'd like to say instead."

Byers turned around in his seat and looked at Mulder, hoping to steer
the discussion back to the findings that they had spent the better
part of the day researching.  "I've been attempting to discover the
link among the victims," he said, "but it is a difficult task because
the background of all of the women is extremely convoluted."

"Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" he asked Byers. 

"Perhaps too much of a coincidence," he answered, "What better way to
erase a person from existence than to destroy his entire past?  Not
only have the victims' bodies been disposed of, but almost their
entire life has, as well."

"Maybe the objective isn't to erase them," Mulder proposed, "Maybe
these women simply do not have a past.  If they were genetically
engineered, synthesized in a lab, then perhaps there is no past that
needs to be destroyed."

"I thought of that," Byers answered, "Several of the names on Langly's
list worked for the same medical facility at one point or another in
their life, a place called 'Chimera Genetics.'  This facility, Mulder,
was the foreground pioneer in genetic engineering.  Chimera technology
led to the first fusion experiments conducted between rodent and human
cellular membranes, which led to the discovery of the modern
Fluid-Mosaic membrane model – the model for which we base our beliefs
on how the cellular membrane is composed.  Back in the days of the
rodent-human fusion, Chimera wanted publicity, it thrived on it
because it was backed solely by grants from the American Medical
Association."

"The A.M.A.," Mulder stated. 

"Yes," Byers continued, "but for the last twenty years or so, Chimera
has been a covert operation.  Grants were no longer needed as Chimera
began to be backed by private, confidential donors.  Today, no one
except the experts working there knows what experiments are being
conducted."

"Sounds like Chimera has moved on from rodents to a higher species,"
Mulder said.

"Yeah," Frohike concurred, "and we're not talking about Langly." 

Langly shot him a look of disdain while Mulder thanked the Gunmen for
all of their assistance.  "Great job," he told them, turning to leave,
and said, "Frohike, have those results faxed to me by about 7:00
tonight."

Without waiting for a response, Mulder walked out the door. 

"Jesus," Frohike called after him, "Who died and made you Assistant
Director?"

Route 1S 
4:20 P.M. 

Mulder fiddled anxiously with the radio knob as he waited for the
stoplight to turn green, finally settling on "Heartbreak Hotel" by
Elvis Presley.  He felt as though he was on the verge of something
big, something that he was sure Scully would be afraid to admit.

"Scully," he said aloud, realizing that he had left her quite abruptly
in the basement of J. Edgar.  He picked up the cellular phone that was
seated on the passenger's side as the light changed color.  Inching
along, he dialed Scully's number as cars flew past him on the left.

"Since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell," he mouthed, in
sync with the lyrics.  By the time she picked up he was singing the
chorus softly to himself: "I've been so lonely, I've been so lonely,
I've been so lonely I could die."

He could almost see the quizzical expression on her face as her voice
rang through the phone, "Mulder, is that you?"

"Yeah, Scully," he said, "It's me." 

"What are you doing, Mulder?" she asked, "Where are you?"  There was a
pause on the other end of the line, "And what is that in the
background?"

"Karaoke," he replied simply, and then asked her, "Can you meet me at
my place in fifteen minutes?"

"Why?" she asked, "Did you find something out from the Stooges?" 

"Just meet me there.  There's something I need your help with." 

"Sure, Mulder," she answered, "I'll be there." 

She pulled the phone from her ear, about to turn it off when she heard
a soft, yet insistent voice, "Scully?"

"Yes?" she asked, replacing the receiver once more against her ear. 

He gulped down a lungful of air, and hesitated, "Um...never mind," he
said, "See you in fifteen."

Fox Mulder Residence
4:53 P.M. 

Mulder glanced around the room.  It was exactly as he had left it. 
Files were strewn on the floor and a blanket still lay on the couch
which had served as his bed the night before he had traveled to
Philadelphia.  The descending sun was shrouded by dark thunder clouds
and the light from his fish tank provided the sole illumination.  He
walked towards the tank and grabbed for the flake-food bottle that was
hidden behind a picture of he and his mother.  He opened the yellow
cap and poured some into the water, watching peacefully as the fish
fed.  They were so content, so carefree.  Sometimes he wished for the
same sort of blissful ignorance.  He replaced the food and picked up
the silver frame that encased the picture of his mother.  He touched
her face lightly with his finger.  He remembered how much Samantha had
looked like her.  She had the same striking features – the pronounced
chin, high cheekbones, and flowing, dark hair.  He placed the frame
back on the table as a fist rapped loudly on his door.

"Coming," he called, and walked across the room to answer it,
stumbling over a pile of dirty laundry as he did.  He unlocked the
latch and opened the door, revealing Scully in a stunning red suit
that highlighted her ruby lips and fiery hair.

"Come here often?" he asked with a smile, extending his arm in a
gesture that told her to advance.

"Only when overcome with an overwhelming desire to vacuum," she
answered.  She seated herself on his couch, after removing several
items of clothing from the cushion.  She gazed up at him as he
approached her.  "What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until
tomorrow, Mulder?" she asked.

He seated himself on his "bed" next to her and pointed to the file
that lay overtop twenty others on his coffee table.  "That, Scully,"
he answered.  He opened the front portion of the manila folder,
revealing the lists compiled by the Gunmen.  "I need you to look
through that list for me.  It's composed of the fifteen people from
Quantico who are the most likely to be connected to this case.  They
all have a deep background knowledge of genetics and several are
connected to a laboratory facility known as Chimera Genetics."

"Chimera?" she repeated. 

"Yes," he said, "have you heard of it?" 

"Yes," she answered, "When I was an undergraduate student, I worked
with a professor performing chromosomal identification techniques in
fruit flies.  During that time, I researched many scientific journals.
 At that time, I noted a strange occurrence.  Many of the journals
that I researched involving genetics originated from work compiled
from Chimera.  I remember asking my professor if such an occurrence
was customary and he informed me that Chimera was the foremost leader
in experimentation involving genetics."

"But did you know, Scully, that in 1983, all grants provided by the
American Medical Association to Chimera Genetics were withdrawn due to
'questionable experimentation techniques?'  After '83, funding was
provided by private donors and no works have been published by Chimera
geneticists since that time onward."

"What exactly are you driving at, Mulder?" she questioned. 
"I'm saying," he told her, "that someone is using Chimera as a
resource for something other than to simply perpetuate knowledge in
the field of genetics.  Someone is using Chimera for personal gain."

"Mulder," she said, "With all of the regulations established by the
scientific community, I don't see how someone could have gotten away
with using Chimera as a personal guinea pig for all of those years. 
Chimera must have been checked out by someone in authority.  Besides,"
she added, somewhat indignantly, "all scientists have a duty to report
their findings, and if duty isn't a strong enough motivator, then the
desire for prestige and monetary gain provides the incentive.  I
simply do not think it is possible that Chimera has been operating
under selfish motivations."

He shook his head.  "You're wrong, Scully," he said, "Do you know what
a Chimera is?"

Scully nodded. "Actually, I do.  In Greek mythology, the Chimera was a
horrible beast that plagued mankind, part dragon and part ram.  It was
destroyed by the Corinthian hero Bellerephon with the aid of the
winged horse Pegasus.  The term has been adapted for medical use. 
Today, a chimera is known as a fusion
product generated from two different genomes." 

"That's right, Scully," he concurred, "And do you know for what
experimentation Chimera Genetics is most famous?"

"Yes, I do, Mulder," she answered, "Chimera scientists proposed the
modern-day theory of the Fluid-Mosaic Model of the cellular membrane,
a semi-permeable barrier composed of proteins and phospholipids."

She cocked her head to the side and gazed at him, long and hard. 
"Where is this going, Mulder?" she asked.

"I believe that Chimera is the site of the experimentation being
conducted on Purity Control, experimentation that led to the formation
of human-alien hybrids like the nine missing women.  Like the
mythological beast, geneticists are engineering the fusion of Purity
Control with humans, generating two separate entities that are able to
coexist and function as a unit."

She looked at him, her eyes betraying her disbelief, "That's a little 
farfetched, don't you think?" 

"I don't think so," he answered, his voice alive with passion, "Langly
told me that the first experiments that led to the perpetuation of the
Fluid-Mosaic Model included fusing rodent membranes to human
membranes.  What if, Scully, these scientists have figured out a way
to not only combine our cells to that of rats, but our entire genome
to that of the bacteria found in Purity
Control." 

"Mulder, that kind of technological capability is decades, even
centuries down the line."

"Then how do you explain the gel results, Scully?" 

She stammered, feeling somewhat defeated, "I don't know." 

"And what about that list of geneticists at Quantico, Scully?  It
can't just be a coincidence that eight of the fifteen most qualified
in their field spent at least three years researching at Chimera."

Scully picked up the list that still lay atop the open manila folder. 
"Oh my God," she said suddenly, her eyes and mouth widening to double
their natural size.

"What is it?" he asked her. 

"Mulder," she said, "I recognize these names."  She pointed at the top
two on the list of qualified geneticists.  "Dr. Elizabeth Sykes," she
read aloud, "Mulder, she's the woman who informed me of Purity Control
in the women's bloodstreams in the first place.  And Dr. Anne
Carpenter, she was the sister of Sykes who originally isolated the
base pairs in the Purity Control DNA sequence.  She was killed for our
work, Mulder, killed because she discovered the truth that lay hidden
Purity Control."  Her eyebrow arched as she completed the last
thought, "Why would Agent Sykes make me aware of the Purity Control
connection if Chimera was carrying out the genomic fusion in the first
place?"

J. Edgar Hoover Building 
5:16 P.M. 

"Inform her that Agent Scully is here and that the matter is urgent." 

Scully straightened her posture and puffed out her chest, attempting
to look as important as possible.  She was having extreme difficulty
convincing Ms. Donnelly, Agent Sykes' secretary, that she needed to
see the good doctor.
"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Ms. Donnelly said, looking up through a
stack of papers that needed to be filed, "but Dr. Sykes told me that
she was not to be interrupted at any costs, that includes convening
meetings with Special Agents who have neglected to make an
appointment."  She turned her attention once more to the work at hand.

Now Mulder was growing impatient, as well.  "If we neglected to make
an appointment, Ms. Donnelly, then it is most likely due to the fact
that our confidence in your ability to correctly pencil us in is
somewhat lacking."

Ms. Donnelly scowled.  She was about to coldly respond to his
completely unnecessary commentary when she was interrupted by the
sound of the opening of Dr. Sykes' office door.  "It's okay, Angela,"
she said, "Please send them in."

Mulder stuck his nose up in the air and turned away from the
receptionist, a small "Hmm," escaping his lips, as if to say, "See, we
told you so!"  Ms. Donnelly watched as the two agents walked into Dr.
Sykes' office.  "Asshole," she muttered as soon as Mulder was out of
earshot.

Mulder and Scully entered the room and Sykes closed the door behind
them.  "To what do I owe the pleasure, Agents?" she asked as she
gestured to the two leather seats in front of her.  Scully waited for
the doctor to be seated behind her desk before she started her
interrogation.

"Agent Sykes," she began tartly, "some very intriguing details
regarding the case have come to my and Agent Mulder's attention,
details that you neglected to tell me when you first brought my
attention to Purity Control."

"Such as?" she questioned, her dark eyes hardening into an unfamiliar
firmness.  They seemed as stormy as the night clouds visible through
the window behind her.

Mulder took up the reins.  "Like the role that Chimera Genetics has
played in bringing about the creation of human-alien hybrids."

Sykes' eyes flashed as thunder shook the night sky.  "How did you hear
of Chimera?" she asked.

"So you don't deny, then, that there is connection to Chimera," Mulder
said,
his eyes twinkling with the rush gained from catching the perpetrator
in a lie.

"Of course not," Sykes answered, "I was simply hoping that it would be
unnecessary to bring Chimera's role in all of this to light."

"Why don't you tell us everything," Scully interjected, "from the
beginning.  Please do not leave anything out."

Sykes shifted in her chair and fiddled nervously with a letter opener
that lay on he