Summary: M&S work on the mystery of who or what killed a society matron who moonlighted as a bag lady even as they're still adjusting to their new relationship.
Spoilers: Everything up until Season 7, does not follow canon for anything after "Je Souhaite". This takes place in my own little alternate universe; instead of Scully's pregnancy and Mulder's abduction the X-Files just went on as they had in the years before.
Author's Notes: I have not been to Baltimore since I was born there and don't know for sure that there are neighborhoods like I've described. But I have seen that type of abandoned urban area in Detroit, St. Louis, Chicago and Harrisburg, so I don't think I'm going too far out on a limb to put it there. The actual description is of what the neighborhood that I grew up in has looked like since about 1990.
The idea for this story came, oddly enough, from myself. Though I normally don't write much about my own life and experiences in my stories this one was too good of a casefile to resist. I leave it to the reader to figure out which parts of Crista van Adal's life parallel mine…
A special hug to my steadfast friend and beta reader Alia,
who let me know that this story was working about halfway
through when I nearly gave up on it, and insisted on the epilogue
which I agree was really needed.
HUGE THANKS to my new beta Cory
who made some outstanding suggestions
and helped control those contrary commas.
A writer can never have too many pairs of eyes.
Hidden
By Suzanne L. Feld
Rated PG-13
Day 1
"Mr. van Adal, we're very sorry for your loss," Scully said as she seated herself on the camel-colored sofa.
Mulder nodded as he sat down next to her, just a bit too close she noticed. "I imagine, however, that it's a relief to just have closure."
At first she thought that was a bit of an unfeeling thing to say, but the man sitting across the blonde wood coffee table from them in a pale blue armchair nodded. "Actually it is, Agent Mulder," he said, crossing his hands in his lap. "I had hoped that the news would be better but I'm not surprised, to be honest. If Crista had been alive I knew one of two things would have happened in the last two weeks: she'd have gotten in touch with me one way or another, or I'd have gotten a ransom note. She hated for me to worry like that…"
His voice trailed off and Scully jumped in. "We would like to ask you some questions, sir, if you don't mind."
"Did they find her car yet?" he asked, then heaved a sigh.
"Not that we're aware of, though there is an APB out for it," Mulder replied. "Mr. van Adal—"
"Just Maitlin," he said, gazing dispiritedly out the window behind them. "Do you want to know anything other than what the police asked me when she disappeared? Where was I at the time, were we fighting, were either of us having an affair, was she happy? Well the answers are at work downstairs, no, no, and yes as far as I know." He heaved another long sigh.
Mulder glanced at his partner then cleared his throat. "You work at home, then, Maitlin?"
"Yes, I'm a composer and have my studio in the basement," he said. "Didn't you read all this in the police reports? Why is the FBI getting involved? I thought you folks just dealt with kidnappings and bank robberies and the like."
"We're from a division that deals in the… unexplained, the unusual, shall we say," Scully said, preferring to handle the delicate parts. "And there were some anomalies regarding your wife's death that we'll be investigating."
"They told me that she was strangled from behind by a pair of very large, very strong hands, and that her neck was broken instantly by whomever choked her so she probably didn't feel a thing or even know she was attacked before she died," he said.
Scully refrained from saying anything but after having looked over the original autopsy report was glad that he'd been told this; that was nowhere near the truth other than that she'd been strangled. But she did have to tell him the rest to get his help. "Correct, but did they mention the soft tissue damage after she died?"
His eyes sharpened and moved to her face. "The dog bites? They told me that stray dogs had been at her… body… after she was killed," he said in a clearly bitter tone. "And it wasn't Adam, he's a big dog but he never would have hurt her, he truly loved her. Besides, he was in the yard by the time I came upstairs."
"I'm sure it wasn't him," Scully said quickly, not caring to meet the giant Scottish Deerhound again. The animal appeared to be gentle and friendly, but a dog whose head came nearly to her chest was better left in the other room behind a closed door as far as she was concerned. "No, they're sure it was feral animals but the question has become what kind. It wasn't dogs or urban coyotes," she explained when he looked at her in puzzlement. "The bites are closer to those of a chimp or gorilla," she continued hesitantly. "They're still testing to find out exactly what—"
"Are you saying that a person had been at her?" The poor man turned white and Scully couldn't blame him. "Is that—"
"No, sir, that's not it at all," Mulder quickly interjected. "But that is why we were called in. It could be an important clue to finding who killed your wife and why."
"That's what gets me," the other man said with another sigh. "Crista had no enemies. She didn't have a lot of friends and she tended to be a bit of a loner; she preferred playing video games on the computer to going out with friends, though she did like to shop by herself quite a bit. I simply can't imagine who hated her enough to kill her."
"Sometimes it's not hate," Mulder pointed out. "It could have been a mugging or a carjacking gone wrong; they never did find her purse or ID."
"And that's what we're here to find out," Scully said, rising. Mulder followed her lead a beat later. "We won't take any more of your time, Maitlin. Thank you for seeing us."
The dejected man saw them to the door and, as they went down the front steps, Scully glanced back to see him through the window walking away from the door deeper into the house, head down and shoulders slumped.
"Wasn't him, the Baltimore PD was right about that much," Mulder said as he went around to the driver's side of their Bureau-issued sedan parked at the curb.
"Yeah, I get the same vibe," she agreed as she got into the Ford. "He still seems almost in shock and it's been over two weeks since she disappeared."
"Lost," Mulder said, starting the car. "He seems lost. From everything I read they were a very close couple, and he definitely seems not to know what to do without her."
Scully nodded as he drove out of the exclusive subdivision in the equally exclusive Baltimore suburb of Whitman Oaks that the van Adals lived in. It reminded her a lot of the one in San Diego they'd played house in last year. The sub wasn't gated, but there was a security car parked at the entrance which had stopped them on the way in and now the uniformed driver waved as they left. "Where to next?"
"What time are you going to examine the body?" he asked as he merged onto the freeway heading back to D.C., its proximity being one of the selling points of the ritzy suburb that the van Adals lived in, Scully was sure.
"Three o'clock, so we've got time for lunch on the way back if you're hungry," she said. "I wouldn't mind a bite before going to Quantico."
"I'll never get how you can think food and autopsy in the same breath," he said, glancing over at her. "But sure, it's getting to be that time. Out or in?"
"In, I think, we have time," she said. "And it's on the way back to work."
"What do we have to eat?"
"Hmn… you ate the last of the eggs for breakfast but I think there's soup in the pantry. We need to go grocery shopping, Mulder."
He groaned as he switched freeways. "Doesn't the woman usually do that kind of thing?"
"I'm not Laura Petrie, wiseass, no matter what you may have hoped for when we moved in together," she snapped, biting back a grin. Despite all his grumbling Mulder usually made shopping fun and she wasn't about to let him out of it. "Fifty-fifty, remember?"
"All right, soup it is for lunch and shopping after work tomorrow," he said grudgingly.
"What about tonight?"
"I'm heading over to the Gunmen's for strategy planning, remember?" he said. "We've got the big Quake tournament on Saturday night. I can't let them down."
"Good lord," was all she said, and they rode in comfortable silence until he pulled into the driveway of their leased brownstone.
"There really isn't room with both of our cars here; you should park on the street," she said, getting out and noting that a few inches of the Ford's trunk stuck out over the sidewalk. "You'll get a ticket if one of those little parking guys goes by."
"Need food," he said as they went up the steps. "Feed me, woman."
"Feed yourself, lazy," she retorted as he unlocked the door. "You must be mistaking me for that crazy cop's wife in Connecticut or Vermont or wherever it was who made you Eggs Benedict and veal parmesan or whatever it was while I was freezing my ass off watching frat boys vomit in the gutter."
He laughed and hugged her to him with one arm before letting go, tossing his keys on the table just inside the door and sprinting to the bathroom that was at the base of the stairs. "Back in a bit."
Scully mumbled under her breath as she made her way through the townhouse to the kitchen, which was spotless except for Mulder's coffee cup and dirty plate in the sink. Once a bachelor always a bachelor, she thought as she put them in the dishwasher which was barely half-full. But then he has only been domesticated for a few months…
"That's it, Scully, our killer is a shapeshifter like Ellen Adderly! Or remember Lauren, the werewolf in Michigan who could do it on demand? We've run into this before, now just to find out whether or not—"
Scully was laughing so hard she was doubled over the back of a kitchen chair. "Mulder, look down."
"Oh. Oops." He tucked his shirttail back into his fly and zipped. "Anyway I was saying—"
"I'd bet my next paycheck that you didn't put the seat down, either."
"Scully! Let me finish!"
"I'm almost afraid to ask if you flushed."
"Dammit, Scully!"
She grinned at him as she got two soup bowls down from the cabinet. Only he could be so involved in a case that he didn't remember to zip his fly after using the toilet. "Only if you open cans while you're talking."
He took the can opener from her and went to work on the two cans of Healthy Choice soup she'd set on the counter without a complaint, unusual for him. "Reminding me of that cop's wife made me think of what could have made those odd bite marks. So when you do the autopsy be sure to check all of the bite marks, see if any might be human and morph into animal-like…"
As he went on Scully put the filled bowls in the microwave and turned it on, then leaned back against the counter and watched him pace the kitchen around the table, suit jacket lapels and tie flapping.
"That would explain a lot, Scully, a lot. The only question we would have from there is who and why." He ducked into the fridge then closed it, frowning. "We're out of lunch meat."
"And eggs, and mayonnaise, and your favorite Zesty Italian salad dressing among other things," she said. "I'll make a list for tomor—" Then a thought hit her. "She was last seen leaving the store, right? Did anyone see if they have security cameras?"
Mulder looked over at her from where he was leaning one shoulder against the front of the new refrigerator. "I don't think so, I don't recall reading it in the police report," he said. "What are you thinking?"
"Well, they think she might have gone there right before she disappeared, right? And if they have external cameras we might be able to see which way she went after she left."
"It's in a pretty nice neighborhood so I won't be surprised if they don't."
"But it is a liquor store so I won't be surprised if they do."
The microwave dinged and she reached for it, but Mulder brushed her aside with oven mitts on and said, "Outta my way, woman, I've got this well in hand."
She stepped back, rolling her eyes, and then went to get spoons. Every minute she expected to hear the shatter of breaking china and/or a howl of pain, but when she turned back he had set the bowls neatly on the placemats without mishap. For once.
They ate in companionable silence for a time, then Mulder remarked, "This isn't bad for that low-fat low-sodium low-sugar no-fun stuff you always buy."
She huffed. "You wouldn't know the difference if you hadn't opened the cans!"
"Yes I would, I can always tell when you buy that stuff." He picked up his bowl and drained it, then set his spoon in it and looked over at her. "We've still got half an hour."
She raised a brow, getting up to put the bowls in the dishwasher. "We do, don't we? And what do you suggest we do with that extra time?"
When she turned around after closing the dishwasher he was right there and without touching her, leaned down and whispered into her ear. As he leaned back she grinned up at him, then they bolted and raced each other into the living room. "Hey, no fair, I'm wearing heels," she yelled as he hit the couch first.
"Never slowed you down before," he smirked, picking up the remote as she landed beside him, hitting the power button for both the TV and VCR. "My choice."
"Oh, Mulder, I'm really tired of 'Best NBA Jump Shots" she moaned as the paused picture came up on the TV screen.
"And I'm not watching reruns of 'I Love Lucy' again," he said stubbornly.
Can't outrace 'em, outsmart 'em, Scully thought with a small grin. "Oh, Mulder?" she said sweetly, getting up on her knees next to him.
"What?" he said suspiciously, eyeing her with concern. Scully didn't like to be bested and was sometimes far too sneaky for her—or his, perhaps—own good.
"I have yet another idea," she said, putting both hands on his shoulder and leaning over to whisper in his ear this time.
"That's more like it!" he said enthusiastically. The remote went flying, shortly to be followed by certain items of their clothing.
***
"We were bad," Mulder grinned over at her, straightening his tie as she locked the front door behind them.
"We were good, then bad," she smiled back knowingly, putting her keys in her blazer pocket. "Or is it bad, then good… and no less good for being quick… Mulder, is that a ticket on the pool car's windshield?"
"Oh, sh—!"
