Teacher from the Black Lagoon

by hellogoodbye57

This has a little of everything--it's a case file with some Mulder/ Scully romance. It follows my oneshot Impetuous though you really don't have to read that to understand it--just know Mulder and Scully are together at the beginning.

The Teacher from the Black Lagoon

The Teacher from the Black Lagoon

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. I just enjoy writing stories with them.

One month, five days, and six hours. That's how long it had been since Special Agent Dana Scully had last seen her partner, Fox Mulder. One month, five days, and six hours. The numbers on the calendar on her refrigerator seemed to dance in front of her eyes, taunting her as they grew larger. And when the end of the month finally arrived and she ripped off the sheet and threw it in a nearby garbage can, new numbers appeared to torment her. She thought about throwing away the whole calendar, but immediately dismissed this thought as irrational. The calendar was nothing more than a few pieces of paper and some ink. It had no sinister motives in mind. She was simply making more of the situation than was actually there. It was ridiculous, really.

And throughout the entire one month, five days, and six hours, Scully had only heard from him once. It had been a simple phone call which had lasted less than two minutes and left her feeling even more alone than before. Logically, she knew that Mulder could not make any additional contact with her. He was undercover somewhere in Georgia. She did not even know where in Georgia nor did she know any of the details of the case. All of that information was need to know and, in the words of her boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner, "Frankly, Agent Scully, you don't need to know."

She wanted to tell him that if anyone deserved to know, it was her. After all, Mulder was her partner. Actually, he was more than her partner. He was her best friend, her constant, her touchstone, and, more recently, her lover.

Scully clearly remembered the night when they finally became one in every sense of the word. After he was released from the hospital, they had spent a few lazy nights together at one of their apartments, eating pizza, watching bad movies, and talking about anything except for work. Always, the nights had ended with a simple, chaste kiss on the lips. Scully could tell Mulder was holding back, and she was glad, for she was still sorting out the first development in their relationship. Neither felt the need to rush things, for they would have plenty of time to progress beyond kissing later. They were simply content to know that they loved one another.

And then one Friday nearly a week after Mulder had been released from the hospital, he had instructed Scully to dress up a bit more for the evening because he was taking her out. They had gone to a nice Italian restaurant and then spent an enjoyable couple hours at the park where Mulder insisted that Scully push him on the tire swing. Although she had chided him for acting like a petulant child, Scully had found that she actually enjoyed playing on the playground equipment, so much so that she had joined Mulder on the tire swing as he spun them both. It was nice to take a break from work and forget about the horrors they had seen. For one night, they could finally be a normal couple.

After the park, they had returned to her apartment. She had brought out wine, and they started talking, swapping stories about childhood experiences on playgrounds similar to the one they had visited earlier that night. After awhile, Mulder had set his now-empty glass on the table and turned to Scully who was still making fun of his attempts to "fly" off the swingset. When she had turned and looked at him, she had immediately seen the question in his eyes. As always, he was giving her the chance to back away. He understood her better than anyone, understood how important it was for her to make her own decisions without feeling pressured. And she knew that he would never pressure her. If he had to wait his entire lifetime, he would wait for her. It was a sentiment that she returned.

But Scully was done with waiting. She had made her decision. She trusted Mulder, and she trusted the bond between them. Intimacy could only make it stronger. Leaning towards him, she had given him the clearest answer she could.

Before long, hands sought out clasps and zippers as the need to feel bare flesh grew greater. Their hands and lips danced over each other's bodies, exploring previously forbidden places. Over the course of their partnership, Scully had seen him wearing little to nothing, but seeing him naked before they made love for the first time was different. She was no longer his partner or his doctor. She was his lover, and she admired his nude body as only a lover could.

At some point in time, they had made their way to the bedroom; Scully was still unsure of how exactly they had managed this particular feat, for her attentions were elsewhere at the time. And as he lay her down in his bed and hovered over her, Scully's eyes met his, and she was overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment. She felt loved. She felt complete.

And yet he still paused, giving her one final chance to back out. Most people would not think Fox Mulder was a considerate man; early on in their partnership, Scully would have agreed with them. But she had found that he was actually one of the most considerate people she knew. Time and time again, he had put her feelings before his, her welfare before his, even her life before his own. And he never asked for anything in return. He simply did what came naturally to him—he cared about her.

Naturally, Scully had not backed away. And as they finally came together, Scully finally realized what true perfection entailed. It was not the Hollywood picturesque version of true love. She did not see stars or feel like she had suddenly entered the pearly gates of heaven. Instead, she was overcome with a feeling of rightness. She did not need all the bells and whistles to know that Mulder was the one, the man she would spend the rest of her life with in one way or another. Their lives had been woven together when they first began their quest over five years before. And now, the weaves had simply become tighter, and she doubted that they would ever come apart.

The next day, Skinner had called Mulder into his office as soon as he reached the Hoover Building. Before Scully could process what was happening, Mulder was telling her that he had to leave on an assignment, and his lips met hers, briefly lest someone interrupt since they were still in their basement office. And then he was gone, leaving Scully with his distinctive taste lingering in her mouth and flashes of the night before still playing through her mind.

Scully was torn from her thoughts by a loud voice calling her name. She looked up from the case file she had been pretending to read for the better part of an hour. She was no longer in the basement office; she had traded the white walls plastered with newspaper clippings and pictures of UFO's and government conspiracies for the dull, gray walls of a small cubicle. The change was not her choice; Assistant Director Skinner had insisted that she take a break from the X-files until Mulder returned despite her assurances that she was perfectly capable of investigating the cases by herself. She wished she was back in the basement office. Although the decorations were eccentric, they had become a part of her life, and she was comforted by the normalcy of it.

Scully's eyes came to rest on the man who had earlier demanded her attention. He was a couple years older than she was, but the years had not been as kind to him. His face was lined especially around his steely gray eyes. His brown hair was thinning, and he barely had enough to completely cover his head. He was tall and thin, but Scully had noticed immediately that his leanness was different than Mulder's. Even through the dark suits that Mulder typically wore, one could see the power of his body. He worked hard to stay in shape, and his efforts had left him strong, quick, and agile. The man standing in front of Scully, however, looked almost sickly. His suit appeared to hang from his body, and Scully often thought he seemed in imminent danger of collapse.

"What is it, Agent Brackston?" Scully made no effort to conceal the irritation in her voice, but it went unnoticed.

"I just needed your signature on the final report from the Texas case." He passed her a thick folder, and Scully sighed, flipping through it quickly before signing her name on the final sheet. With Mulder gone, she had been assigned to work with Agent Brackston. Throughout the entire time they had worked together, Scully could not help but think about how different he was from Mulder. Whereas Mulder worked off hunches, Brackston would not pursue a lead unless he had strong, concrete evidence. Previously, Scully would have admired this quality, but she quickly found that Mulder managed to solve cases quicker and more accurately by working off his instincts.

On top of everything else, Brackston had developed an attraction to Scully, and he seemed to be under the misconception that she shared this attraction. Although Scully had continuously rebuffed all his attempts to start a relationship, he continued to persist. It seemed that every day, the first question out of his mouth was, "So, do you want to go out to dinner tonight?" And every day, Scully answered in the negative.

"So, Dana, do you-"

"No," Scully answered firmly before he finished. "And I'd prefer it if you would address me as Agent Scully."

"You didn't know what I was going to ask," he protested.

"Of course I did. You were going to ask me to dinner."

"See? You can read my mind. That must mean we're meant to be together."

"I can't read your mind. I simply knew what you were going to ask since you have asked that same question nearly every day since we began working together."

"Only because you continue to refuse me."

Scully was saved from further argument by the shrill ring of the phone on her desk. She winced involuntarily. She hated the ring of the phone; it reminded her of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. But she had unfortunately been unable to change it, so she had come to dread any phone calls. Unless, of course, they happened to interrupt one of her disputes with Brackston as this one had.

"Scully," she answered, picking up the phone. Brackston placed both his forearms on the top of her cubicle, leaning his chin on them as he watched her talk. She was all business as she spoke; in fact, he could not remember a single time during the month of their partnership that she was not all business. Everything she did exuded professionalism from her sensible, dull colored suits to her insistence on always maintaining a space between her and the other agents around her. This space was not necessarily physical (although she certainly did not appreciate anyone coming too close to her); it was an unwillingness to allow anyone to get too close to her. She had locked the gate around her heart and thrown away the key. When she talked to Brackston, she spoke only of details of the case, never revealing anything personal. It was as if she did not exist outside the walls of the Hoover Building. No matter how many probing questions Brackston asked, no matter how many subtle (or not so subtle) innuendos he spoke, she refused to open up to him. The only side of her he saw was Special Agent Scully.

But he knew that she was more than an FBI agent. He had never been the smartest guy in school, but he had had a decent knack for reading people, and he sensed that she did have a life outside of the FBI. He had heard a couple of the other agents refer to her as the "Ice Queen," and he had not yet seen anything to disprove their assertions. Something told him, however, that she was not as cold-hearted as the rest of the agency seemed to think. If only he could convince her to open up. . .

"Of course, sir, I'll be right there," she said, abruptly bringing Brackston back to the present. He gave her a wide smile.

"We got a new case?" he inquired.

"Agent Skinner wants to see me," she said, quickly standing and unconsciously smoothing her skirt although no wrinkle marred its surface.

"So it probably is a new case then." He fell into step beside her, noticing, not for the first time, that she walked quite fast for such a small woman.

"Agent Brackston, when I said that he wanted to see me, I meant just that. The invitation was not extended to both of us."

"Oh." Brackston's face fell slightly as he wondered why the Assistant Director would only want to see her. After all, they were partners. They were supposed to investigate cases together. "Well, I guess I'll see you soon."

However, she did not respond; she had already moved into the elevator with a couple other agents. Brackston watched as the red numbers above the door began to grow larger. When the number finally stopped at nine, he sighed and turned away.

Scully walked down the familiar hallway to the Assistant Director's office, wondering what could possibly be so important that he had asked to see her right away. She hoped that he was assigning her to a different agent or, even better, assigning her to the X-files once more. As skeptical as she had been (and in many ways still was), the X-files had become her life. She was as devoted to them as Mulder was, and she found herself actually missing their cross-country trips chasing after demons and ghosts and little green men. "Gray," a voice in her head corrected, a voice which sounded suspiciously like her missing partner. She smiled involuntarily.

Skinner's secretary, Kim, smiled at her as she walked into the outer office. "He's waiting for you," Kim announced. Scully nodded her thanks before walking to the door and knocking once.

"Come in," a gruff voice called.

Scully opened the door to reveal a man with sparse gray hair around the sides of his head and glasses perched precariously on his nose. He had the bone-weary appearance that many upper-level FBI personnel had adopted after too many years in the field. Still, the eyes that peered at Scully from behind the thick glass were intelligent and clear, and his dress and posture was impeccable. "You asked to see me, sir."

"Sit down, Agent Scully." Skinner gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and Scully took it, glancing automatically at the second empty chair beside her. The lack of occupancy merely increased her loneliness, and she felt her loss hit her like a freight train. As always, however, the emotion which flitted across her face was fleeting, and in another second, she turned back to Skinner, her face impassive.

"I called you in here regarding the case Agent Mulder is working on."

Fear suddenly gripped Scully. Her thoughts immediately turned to her partner lying lifeless on some unidentified street in some unidentified town, being passed by busy people who did not even give him a second glance. After all they had been through together, after all the powerful enemies they had fought, she could not believe that he could die. Not without her.

Skinner obviously saw the fear, for he hastened to reassure her. "He's okay, Agent Scully. But the case is more. . . difficult than any of us anticipated."

"Difficult how?"

"Agent Mulder was sent to Juniper, Georgia five weeks ago to investigate a number of deaths at a local private school. The Deputy Director thought the best approach to the case would be to send an agent in undercover as a teacher because conventional police work failed to turn up anything of interest. Because of Mulder's background in psychology, he seemed to be the ideal candidate."

"With all due respect, sir, why are you telling me this now? You refused to give out any details on the case five weeks ago."

"There's been another death. A teacher was found yesterday, her body mangled almost beyond recognition. The Deputy Director has decided that this job is too large for one person to handle. There are over one thousand students at the school and anther two hundred staff members. So he decided to send in another agent."

"Me," Scully guessed.

"Yes, well, after all the work you've done with Agent Mulder, we figured you two would be able to work well together. I have plane tickets reserved for you for tonight. Other arrangements and the details of the case are in this folder." Skinner passed her a thick manila folder. "Read that carefully, Agent Scully."

"I will, sir," she promised, standing up.

"And Agent Scully? The Deputy Director wants this handled quickly and efficiently. I assured him that you could do that. Please prove me right."

"I'll do my best, sir."

Fox Mulder stepped into the pristine halls of Ritley's Preparatory School, trying hard to ignore the smell of bleach and stale food that seemed to linger in the hallways of every high school he had entered. He sighed. He had hated high school when he had attended it, and he found that his loathing had increased over the years. He could not stand the sight of the bright blue lockers which lined the walls with sulking teenagers leaning against them, forming their exclusive cliques. The scene seemed to be the same in every school he entered, but now it was simply dressed up a bit nicer.

A bored-looking boy glared at him suspiciously from under his shaggy brown hair as Mulder passed. The boy's khaki pants and school polo seemed out of place, but the fancy outfit seemed ill-suited for many of the kids in the school. Mulder often wondered why the school officials insisted on the uniform. He assumed they wanted to promote a sense of togetherness by forcing the students to dress alike, but the uniforms actually tended to separate the students. There were those who felt comfortable in the uniforms, and they invariably ostracized those who did not.

Mulder massaged his forehead as he maneuvered around the masses of students toward his classroom. He just wanted to solve this case and leave. He wanted to go back to the X-files, to spend his days in the basement office instead of in the dreary classroom where the nauseating smell of dry-erase markers perpetually lingered in the air. Most of all, however, he wanted to see Scully again. He wanted to hold her close, to feel her smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingers, to kiss her, to. . .

No, he could not start thinking of that. He needed to concentrate. If he ever wanted to get back to that life, he needed to solve the case, and that would require his full attention. He began to mentally run through all the conversations he had had in the past few weeks, searching for any hidden meanings he had previously missed.

Something caused him to stop in his tracks. It was his sixth sense, the one that could sense only her. But no, that could not be right. She was hundreds of miles away in DC, probably wondering why he had not called again. He wanted to, but he was afraid that he would lose all self-control if he did so. So far, he had managed to avoid hopping on a plane back to DC so that he could see her again, and he planned to maintain this self-control even if it killed him.

Still, he turned, unable to assuage his curiosity otherwise. And then he saw it. A flash of red over the crowd of students. He knew instinctively that it was her. But why was she here? How had she found him?

Without thinking, his feet carried him toward her. The crowd seemed to part before him like he was Moses standing on the banks of the Red Sea. But he did not notice the sudden lack of people in his path; he had eyes only for her. His eyes quickly swept over her small frame, taking in the knee-length gray skirt and matching jacket, the blouse with a single button open at the top revealing the gold cross beneath it, and the pumps that still only brought the top of her head to the level of his chin. Their eyes met, and in that instant, time stopped. He did not even recall taking the last two steps that placed him directly in front of her. Everything was hazy.

Suddenly, he became aware of just how close they were standing, and he backed away slightly. He did not know how to greet her. After all, he was not Special Agent Fox Mulder anymore. It would certainly look odd if he took her face in his hands and planted his lips firmly on hers. Still, he longed to do just this.

Instead, he settled for extending his hand. "I'm James Hardy," he explained. "I teach psychology here."

As she took his hand, her blue eyes twinkled with silent amusement, and he saw the unasked question in them. "Psychology?" His eyes answered, also without speaking. "Well, what did you expect?"

"A gym teacher, I guess," she said aloud. At this, he chuckled, knowing that if anyone had been privy to their conversation, he or she would now be completely confused. Since the two communicated more silently as they did in words, it would be impossible to follow a conversation simply by listening.

"Well, I'm a man of many talents, Ms. . ."

"Bolder," she told him, taking his hand. "Jenny Bolder."

"Well, Ms. Bolder, what brings you to this fine establishment?"

"I heard they were in need of a biology teacher."

"Ah, yes, that was a rather. . . unfortunate occurrence." He cleared his throat and looked around, happy to note that not a single person was paying attention to them. "So, Ms. Bolder, may I escort you to your classroom? This school can be rather confusing if you aren't familiar with it."

"That would be wonderful, thank you. I'm in room 107."

"Lucky you, you're just three doors down from me. Follow me." He led her to one of the many side halls, and they began to walk down it in comfortable silence. Mulder resisted the urge to reach out and place a hand at the small of her back, contenting himself with walking a couple feet away from her so that their hands would brush surreptitiously from time to time as they walked. When they passed a bathroom, Scully turned to him with her eyebrows raised, knowing that the most recent body had been found in a bathroom. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before moving his head to the side and back so quickly that Scully would have missed the gesture had she not been watching for it. She nodded, and an understanding passed between them. They would talk about the case later when they could secure some privacy.

"So, Ms. Bolder, this is your humble abode," he said, opening the door of a classroom. Scully walked in and saw that the floor was covered in white linoleum that had numerous colorful spots scattered across its surface. Rectangular black tables, each with two seats, formed three rows in the front of the room while a number of benches across the back and sides held computers and various pieces of lab equipment. "It's bigger than mine," Mulder said, the spitting image of a pouting child.

"Jealous?" Scully asked, grinning.

"Nah. I'm still the one with the desk." He closed the door before moving to the side, away from the window, and pulling her to him. Lips and tongues eagerly reacquainted themselves with one another, and Mulder's hands dropped to her hips, pulling her closer. Her own hands moved to his soft, brown hair as she kissed him back with the same force. Desire roared to life in them, and Scully felt her heart beat speed up. She wondered what would happen if they made love right there.

The door suddenly opened, and the two sprang apart as if burned. A couple students entered, too focused on their conversation to notice the apprehension on the faces of the "teachers" next to them. "Well, Ms. Bolder, I'm glad I could be of some assistance. If you need anything else, I'm in 104." With that, Mulder was gone before he lost the tenuous grip he already held on his self-control. He glanced down at the bulge in his pants and gave a deprecating laugh, thinking that it was going to be a long day.

Mulder found that he actually enjoyed teaching more than he had anticipated. Although some of the students tried his patience, there were a number of students who actually possessed some intelligence and seemed genuinely interested in the subject. He could not help but feel a little proud when one of the students answered a question correctly. And most of the students seemed to like him; they actually laughed at some of his jokes and paid attention during his lectures.

When he walked into the classroom that day, only two students were sitting in the classroom. They looked up at him and smiled, and he gave them a wide grin of his own, still feeling the lingering euphoria from his earlier meeting with Scully. "How are you two today?" he asked politely.

"Fine, Mr. Hardy," they answered in unison. Mulder had noticed that they did nearly everything in unison. They were both senior girls, both blond, and both wore more makeup than necessary in Mulder's opinion. Still, they made decent grades in his class and obeyed the rules, so he had no complaints.

"Mr. Hardy, can I ask you a question?" the one on the right, Jessica, asked. Mulder nodded, shuffling through the multitude of papers on his desk. "What would you be doing if you didn't go into teaching?"

Mulder looked up, slightly surprised. What would he be doing other than teaching? Hmm. . . Possibly chasing down aliens and other supernatural occurrences as an FBI agent. Of course, he could not give this answer, so he said the next thing which popped into his mind. "I've always wanted to play in the NBA."

"Really? That's so cool! Are you any good at basketball?" the second girl, Rachel, inquired.

"I can hold my own," Mulder answered.

"Why didn't you go into the NBA?" Jessica questioned.

"Well, the NBA doesn't typically recruit from Oxford."

"You went to Oxford?"

Damn. He had not meant to give away so much. Still, he doubted that either of the girls would check on his story. And Oxford was a big place; even if they did check school records, they would likely never find his true identity. "Yeah."

"I went to England last summer," Jessica told him. "It was beautiful there."

"It is," Mulder said, his attention still on the papers on his desk. Luckily, the door opened at that moment, and a few other students entered the classroom, saving him from further conversation.

When the bell rang and the class began to file out, Mulder turned to turn off the slide projector he had been using to teach. Some old habits died hard. Because his back was to the door, he did not see her enter, but he turned as soon as he heard the familiar voice. "Mr. Hardy, do you think you could help me for a minute?" Scully asked.

Mulder turned and smiled when he saw her. "Of course, Ms. Bolder. What seems to be the problem?"

"The overhead projector in my classroom is not working right, and I really don't know my way around electrical equipment. Do you think you could do anything?"

"I'll take a look at it," he said. As he followed her out of the classroom, he automatically opened the door for her before following her through the crowded hallways. Her classroom was empty when they entered, and he turned to her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, Agent Scully, I'd say you were trying to get me alone with you," he remarked, stepping closer.

"Not now, Mulder," she objected, turning before she lost her self-control.

"Well, now I feel a bit rejected. Don't tell me you really have a broken overhead projector."

"Of course not! And even if I did, I wouldn't ask you to fix it."

"That hurts, Scully."

"Mulder, you're not the most mechanically-minded person."

"I'll have you know, I have fixed countless household appliances."

"Did any of them actually work afterwards?"

He glared at her, but his face quickly relaxed in a smile. It was nice to have fallen back into their familiar banter. One of the things he had missed most about the past five weeks was the absence of his debates with Scully. They were equals intellectually, and their verbal sparring matches made things interesting.

"So, why did you really want me here?"

"The case."

"Is extremely frustrating. I've got over a thousand suspects, but I can't find a single one with a motive. At least, not a motive for all the victims. I've been talking to some of the teachers, trying to figure out their opinions on the first three victims. The first was a sophomore boy who, by the accounts of all his teachers, was the perfect student. He always showed up to class on time, always did his homework, made straight A's, etc. Truthfully, he reminds me a bit of what you were probably like in high school."

"You don't know what I was like in high school."

"Valedictorian, president of the student body, model student, loved by teachers and peers, never once got into trouble. Am I right?"

"Not quite, Mulder. I was vice president." He flashed her that familiar cocky grin.

"Anyway, the next victim was also a boy, but he was a senior. Quarterback for the football team, spent most of his time drinking, partying, and chasing girls, only came to class when he felt like it."

"Basically, he's you in high school."

"I'll have you know, Scully, that I attended nearly all of my classes in high school. And I made straight A's in them. I've never been a fan of football either."

"And the chasing girls part?"

"Now that I can't deny."

"So, were there any connections between the victims?"

"No, that's the frustrating part. The first two boys hung out in different social circles, they had a completely different set of classes, and I don't think I can find a single person at this school who knew both of them."

"What about the third victim? The janitor?"

"His death just makes the case stranger. He's pushing fifty, so it rules out the possibility that our guy has a particular age of victims. And then the most recent death, the biology teacher, proves that he doesn't even care about the sex of his victims."

"I'd like to do an autopsy on the most recent victim."

"I'm not sure if they would let you, Ms. Bolder. Dissecting frogs does not exactly give you the credentials to slice and dice a human cadaver."

"Mulder, you know I'm perfectly qualified-"

"Agent Dana Scully is perfectly qualified. Jenny Bolder, however, would probably faint at the sight of blood."

She opened her mouth to object again, but the door to the classroom opened, and students began filing in. "There's a great spot out by the football field. I like to eat lunch there when I'm feeling particularly pensive," Mulder told her quietly. Raising his voice, he added, "There. I think your projector should work now, Ms. Bolder."

"Good because I have some great diagrams to show today."

"Oh? What are you studying?"

"Platyhelminthes," she answered.

"Flatworms? As in fluke worms?"

"You are correct, Mr. Hardy."

"Interesting choice of topics, Ms. Bolder. Very interesting." And with that, he left.

At lunch that day, Scully made her way to the football field. She found Mulder sitting near the top of the bleachers, steadily making his way through a freshly-opened bag of sunflower seeds. "Didn't you bring anything more substantial for lunch?" Scully asked, leaning against the side of the bleachers and looking up at him. Wordlessly, he shook his head and turned to spit a shell away from her. She watched it bounce on the metal for a moment before holding up a large paper sack. "You're lucky I brought two sandwiches today then," she remarked. He turned to her.

"Not liverwurst, I hope," he remarked, remembering a conversation early on in their partnership. She smiled, obviously recalling the same moment.

"Turkey, actually. But I do have iced tea."

"I always loved a woman with food. Come on up."

Scully surveyed the bleachers carefully. The bottom opened onto a red track which was enclosed by a fence. The gate of the fence was padlocked shut. "How exactly am I supposed to do that?" she questioned.

"Easy." He climbed down a few rows before dropping to a crouch. Grabbing the metal plate beneath him with both of his hands, he carefully slid his feet through the gap between the seat above him and to footrest where he was currently positioned. Releasing his grip, he dropped lightly to the ground and weaved his way through the supports under the bleachers until he reached her side. "Your turn now."

"Mulder, I don't think-" Before she had a chance to finish her sentence, he had taken her hand and was guiding her under the bleachers. He chose a spot where the bleachers came down a bit lower for her to make her ascent. Scully looked at the metal bench in front of her for a moment before turning back to Mulder.

"Don't make me pick you up and carry you up there," he warned.

Instead of pointing out the impracticality of this suggestion, she glanced down at the clothes she was wearing. "I'm not exactly dressed for this, Mulder."

"Don't worry. I won't look," he promised, turning his back. She sighed, but since it seemed she had no choice in the matter, she raised her arms above her head and gripped the edge of the metal tightly before pulling herself up. Somehow, she managed to scramble onto the bleachers until she was lying on her stomach on the narrow strip of metal with her feet still dangling below her. With a slithering motion, she pulled her feet up, too, and turned to look at Mulder who was smoothly pulling himself up behind her.

"See, Scully, that wasn't so bad," he told her, brushing himself off.

"Don't expect this to become a regular occurrence, Mulder," she told him, retrieving the food she had placed on the bleachers before pulling herself up. Straightening, she smoothed her skirt and joined him on the higher row. "Remind me why we're here again," she said as they climbed up to the corner where he had previously been sitting.

"No one else comes out here. We'll have all the privacy we want while we discuss the case. Or do other things, if you are so inclined." Scully glared at him. "Come on, you can help my teenage fantasy of making out under the bleachers come true."

"Mulder, we need to work on the case."

"Fine. If that's the way you're going to be." He pulled the case file from inside his jacket. Scully saw that it was thicker than hers, and she immediately realized why. The folder contained dozens of pages filled with notes in Mulder's sloppy handwriting. "I've talked to most of the teachers in the school and a few of the students, and I can't come up with a good suspect list. I just don't get that vibe from anyone."

"That vibe?" Scully asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, you know, the I-just-murdered-someone-with-my-bare-hands vibe."

"Do you get that vibe from people often, Mulder?"

"You'd be surprised." Although he grinned for a few seconds, his smile soon faded as he returned his attention to the case file in his hands. "I've been here over a month, and I've still not found any concrete leads. There's no fingerprints, no motive, no victim profile, no pattern. And this is not even an X-file. Why are we here, Scully?"

"We're here because you're the best criminal psychologist the bureau's got, and they know that you can find the killer even if no one else can."

Mulder shook his head. "After five years, Scully, how can you still be so naïve? Don't you see what they're doing? They're trying to get rid of the X-files by assigning us to some unsolvable case. It's just like burning down our office, but they've now decided to be a bit more subtle."

"You're being paranoid, Mulder."

"Am I?" He looked at her, and she could see in his eyes that he truly believed everything he was saying. He thought that whatever forces in the government that were working against them were once more attempting to shut them down. And as she stared into his eyes, she started to believe that he could be right. That was one of the things about Mulder which made him different than most other people. He believed in everything with such conviction, such passion, that one could not help but believe in those same things.

"Look, if what you're saying is true then we need to solve this case as quickly as possible so we can get back to the X-files. Okay?"

He smiled. When he had first started on the X-files, he had not wanted to work with anyone else, for he had feared that another person would inevitably slow him down. And when they had first sent Scully to debunk his work, his fears had simply increased. But having her assigned as his partner had turned out to be the best thing which had ever happened to him. And now, the X-files were no longer his work alone. Pursuing cases with a paranormal quality had become "their" work. He had started the journey alone, but he knew instinctively that he would not end it alone. Scully would be with him through it all. They were partners in every sense of the word.

As they walked back to the school after lunch, Scully felt suddenly lightheaded. She stumbled slightly, and her hand flew automatically to her head. Mulder, of course, immediately noticed her falter and was instantly facing her with concern in his eyes. She cut him off before he could ask the question she knew was on the tip of his tongue. "I'm fine, Mulder," she assured him. "It was just a momentary feeling of dizziness. It's passed now." He looked at her as if he did not believe her, but he did not press the issue.

Later that night, Scully was unpacking a few of her things, trying to make herself comfortable in the unfamiliar apartment which would be her home until she solved the case. It smelled faintly of urine and cats, and Scully lit a couple candles she had brought with her in an attempt to chase the scent away. Soon, the sweet smell of cinnamon apples filled the room, and Scully began to relax. It had been a long day. The teaching itself had not been a big deal; she had taught at Quantico for a short time, and she knew the subject matter well. But the case itself was proving to be frustrating. She had gotten to know some of the students and teachers and realized that Mulder was right. No one seemed to have a motive or any idea of who the killer might be. Everywhere she turned, she found nothing but another dead end. And worse, she had called and been informed that she was not to go near the morgue, so she would have no way of autopsying the body.

A knock on the door startled her from her ruminations. Slightly apprehensive, Scully grabbed her gun from the side table in the living room before approaching the door and peering through the small peephole. A familiar figure stood outside her door, grinning widely. Setting her gun aside, she unlatched the chain and opened the door.

"Mulder, you shouldn't be here," she chastised. "We're not supposed to know each other, remember? You could jeopardize our cover!"

"Relax, Scully, no one knows I'm here. And even if someone does find us together, we'll just admit to a secret relationship and they'll think nothing of it. Trust me, if anyone were to walk in on us right now, their first thought would not be, 'Well, they must be two undercover FBI agents.'"

Scully looked as if she wanted to protest again, but she still stepped out of the doorway and allowed him to enter. As he walked into the small apartment, she noticed that his hands were not empty. "What's that?" she questioned.

"Independence Day," he told her with a smile. She shook her head at him.

"Really, Mulder, do you always have aliens on the brain?"

"Actually, I always have you on the brain." He stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her as he brought his lips to hers. The movie clattered to the floor, but neither one noticed as they finally surrendered themselves to long-suppressed emotions.

Sometime later, Scully lay on the couch, sated and happy. Her back rested against Mulder's chest, and his arms were wrapped protectively around her, holding her close. Her hands moved in abstract patterns across the skin of his muscular forearms, and she felt his steady breathing gently caress the top of her head. "I should probably get up and make us some dinner," she said though she made no attempt to extricate herself from his embrace. He mumbled something into her hair before kissing the top of her head. They sat in silence for another minute or so before she said again, "I really should get up."

"Mmm, I guess." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his stomach gave a loud growl, and he laughed, removing his arms from around her. "It seems that your suggestion of dinner went over well," he remarked.

"I've got some pasta. I can probably have something ready in twenty minutes," she told him, reluctantly rising off the couch.

"Sounds wonderful. Anything I can do to help?"

"Stay out of the way. And set the table."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

They spent dinner catching up on what each one had done during the other's absence. As Mulder explained how a simple discussion of Freud had gone horribly wrong during class one day, Scully saw the passion in his eyes that he usually only reserved for when he was talking about an X-file or about her. "So, you're enjoying teaching then?"

"It's not bad," he admitted.

"Thinking of a career change?"

"And give up our cross-country trips hunting aliens? Never. I'm content with my job. I don't think I could be happy doing anything else."

"Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to be normal?"

"You mean a steady nine to five job, a white picket fence, 2.5 children, and all that jazz? A, I'd be bored out of my mind with a nine to five job; if you haven't noticed, Scully, I live off of unpredictability. B, I don't like fences, especially white picket ones. They always seem so. . . containing, I guess. It's like I'm trapped in my own house. And besides, they're pretty damn ugly, too. C, I don't really know what I'd do with half a kid. It could get rather awkward, and I'm sure he'd get made fun of."

Scully rolled her eyes but still could not stop a smile from spreading across her face. No matter what situation they were in, Mulder could always make her laugh. This unflappable sense of humor was one of the reasons why she loved him as much as she did. "Do you want children at all?" she questioned.

"One day, yeah, I guess that would be nice."

"Oh." Scully suddenly fell silent. He wanted children; she could see it in his eyes when she first asked the questions. And why would he not want children? After all, he was great with kids. She remembered how wonderful he was with Emily, how he had managed to make her smile so soon after he met her. Of course, it was only natural that he was good with kids; after all, he often acted like a big kid himself. He deserved to be a father. Any child would be lucky to have a father like him.

But she could not provide him with children. They had learned awhile back that she could not bear children. It broke her heart to think that she would never experience the joy of bringing another life into this world, yet she could not deny him this same joy. It would be better for him if he found someone else to spend his life with, someone who was not broken, someone who could give him exactly what he wanted.

Mulder obviously sensed the thoughts going through her mind, for he quickly said, "You never let me finish. Yes, I'd like children, but only with the right person. And if I never have kids, I'm okay with that. I've got everything I want right here."

Scully had suddenly become very interested in her pasta. She could not look up at him, could not let him see the tears which had formed in her eyes. She was strong; she was a Special Agent with the FBI, for Christ's sake. She had trained herself never to let her emotions show, and she thought she had done a damn good job of accomplishing this. Unless, of course, Mulder was around. When she was near him, her carefully constructed walls seemed to turn to dust, and all bets were off. "I don't deserve you," she mumbled, more to the pasta than to him. "I'm broken, Mulder. I can't give you a family. I can't give you even one kid, much less 2.5. You deserve better."

Mulder snorted. "I think the same thing every day about you. Dana, I want you to look at me." The use of her first name caught her attention, and she brought her eyes up to meet his. Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his, squeezing her fingers gently as he spoke. "You've done everything to deserve me. You're the only person who believes in me, the only person who will actually listen to my crazy theories, the only person who will follow me on what most see as nothing more than wild goose chases. You are my complete opposite, but that's what makes us work. We complement each other. And as for the thought that you're broken, you are so far from the truth that I think you might be visiting my little grey buddies." This comment elicited a small smile from Scully. "Dana, you are the strongest woman I know. God knows you're a hell of a lot stronger than me. And it's partially my fault that you can't give me a family. I know, I know, I shouldn't blame myself," he said, anticipating her objection. "But I can't help it. That's what I do. But I believe in miracles. I think that if we hope enough, we might find that having a family is not nearly as preposterous as it seems. Though I doubt that our family could ever be normal."

"You believe in miracles, Mulder?"

"You're Catholic, Scully. I thought miracles would be the one thing we could agree on."

"I believe it was a miracle that cured me of cancer. And it's a miracle that either one of us are alive right now considering the number of times we've been on the brink of death. But I just don't know when my quota of miracles is going to run out."

"I think God can spare us one more, don't you?"

After dinner, they drove back to the school at Mulder's urging. He claimed that the police had not let him see the scene, and he was sure that they had missed something. And so, Scully found herself standing outside the building she had left only four hours previously as Mulder attempted to pick the lock.

Eventually, she heard a satisfying click, and Mulder swung the door open. The light on the alarm by the door blinked to red and a series of low beeps began to sound. Unfazed, Mulder went to the white box and punched in a series of four numbers. As soon as he released the final one, the beeping stopped and the light again turned green.

"How did you know the code?" Scully asked.

"I've gotten to be friends with the new janitor," Mulder told her. "Come on, the crime scene's this way." He led the way down the darkened hallways, not bothering to turn on the flashlight which he held loosely at his side. Scully followed quickly, trying to ignore the echoing click of her heels on the linoleum, a rather disconcerting sound. In a minute or so, she found herself standing in front of a girl's bathroom. At first, nothing seemed different about it. It looked just like every other bathroom in the school that Scully had passed. But as she stepped closer, she felt a sudden, unexplainable chill. It was as if the bathroom housed something sinister, like it still retained some vestige of the atrocity that had been committed there, a remnant that was now forcing Scully away.

Scully quickly dismissed these thoughts as preposterous. She had been around Mulder far too long; before long, she would be spitting sunflower seeds. With the logical portion of her brain now fully in control, she stepped into the bathroom.

Mulder was already standing in the room, allowing the beam of his flashlight to sweep over it. The stalls were painted a pale yellow and covered with secret confessions of love and hatred hastily scribbled in an attempt to leave a lasting mark. The sinks across from the stalls were rather plain and mounted directly to the wall. One of the faucets was dripping steadily, and Scully automatically reached over and turned the knob to cut the water off before looking back at Mulder. He had approached the far stall, pushing the door open with his foot so he could sweep the area inside with his flashlight. Scully knew from the crime scene photographs that the body had been found where he was now searching. But someone had cleaned up since the photographs were taken; she did not see a single trace of blood on the floor.

Mulder glanced at the floor for only a few seconds before turning his attention to the door of the stall. Something seemed to catch his eye, and he reached out and carefully wiped something off the door. "What is it?" Scully questioned.

"Mud of some kind, I think," Mulder answered, staring at the substance. He leaned over and sniffed it carefully before wrinkling his nose. "Maybe not."

Scully also took a whiff. "It's methane," she announced. "You're right, it is mud, probably from a swamp. But that doesn't mean anything. There's a swamp just off the school campus; anyone could have been out there and then brought the mud in here. That doesn't mean she's our killer."

Mulder said nothing; instead, he stepped out of the stall and pulled the door shut behind him. "Scully, open this door," he told her.

"What?"

"I want you to open the door," he repeated. Bewildered, she did as he asked, placing one hand on the plastic surface to push the door open. "That's what I thought."

"What's what you thought, Mulder?"

Mulder pointed to her hand in answer. "The mud's too high. Most of the girls here are around your height; they would push open the door in the same place you are now. But if you look, the mud stain is about four inches higher."

"Some girls here are taller than me."

"But not many. I think this came from our killer."

"Okay, Mulder, you might be right. But that doesn't really help us much. Most of the guys in this school are probably tall enough to place their hand here."

"I don't think it's a guy in this school," Mulder mumbled, still looking at the door.

"Great. So you're saying it could be anyone?"

"Not necessarily anyone. More like anything."

Scully groaned and tilted her head back, knowing that Mulder was about to spout off some wild theory. "Mulder, if you're about to suggest that these murders are the work of the teacher from the black lagoon-"

"The teacher from the black lagoon, Scully? Where did you get that crazy idea?"

"It's a children's book. I read it to my nephews and niece sometimes." Mulder still looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You know what? Never mind. The point is, Mulder, this is not an X-file. You said it yourself. So don't make it one."

"Just hear me out, Scully. There are plenty of documented cases of creatures who lurk around swamps. There's been a significant amount of deforestation in the area lately to make way for the multi-million dollar homes that keep springing up. Maybe something destroyed its habitat, forcing it to the nearest shelter it could find: the school."

"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding as if she agreed with everything he was saying though both knew that she did not believe a word of it. "And why hasn't anyone discovered this swamp thing yet?" she questioned.

"For the same reason that no one discovered it when it was living in the swamp. It knows how to hide well, and it's learned to blend in."

"No offense, Mulder, but I don't think that a swamp monster can blend in anywhere. People will tend to notice it."

But Mulder was no longer paying attention to what she was saying. He had returned his attention to the stall, searching for evidence that only he seemed to be able to find. "There were no signs of a struggle," he remarked.

"That doesn't mean anything," Scully told him. "All the autopsy reports show that the victims sustained significant head trauma shortly before their deaths. Likely, they would have been unconscious during the. . ." Scully could not think of an appropriate word for the brutal attack which had occurred.

"Mauling?" Mulder suggested, turning to her. "You have to admit, Scully, these killings have an animal quality to them. The sheer brutality of the attack seems to indicate that whatever killed these people wasn't human."

"Mulder, you know as well as I do that killers don't always act like other humans. Many psychopaths will revert to carnal behavior while killing."

"Yes, but not often to this degree. Something did this with its bare hands."

"Hands imply something human, Mulder."

"Not necessarily. Did you get permission to go do that autopsy?"

"No. Skinner warned me not to blow my cover."

"We need to see that body."

"Mulder-" Scully began, knowing what he was about to suggest.

"If we go down there tomorrow and flash our badges, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to let us take a peek at the body. I only need to see it for a minute or so."

"Mulder, I'd be disobeying a direct order."

"Since when has that stopped us? Besides, Skinner just said that you couldn't go. He never said anything about me."

"Mulder, you are not qualified to perform an autopsy."

"I don't want to perform an autopsy. I just want to take a look at the body."

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Mud."

"Mud?"

"Yes. If there's mud in the wounds, then it supports my theory."

"There was no mention of mud in the wounds of the other victims."

"Yes, but the other three victims were found outside. The coroner would probably dismiss any mud as contamination from the scene."

"Mulder, you cannot seriously be considering this."

"Come on, Scully, it makes perfect sense."

"No, it doesn't. An animal does not kill just for the fun of it. An animal will kill to eat or protect itself, and whatever killed these people was not doing either of those."

"I'm not saying this is an animal."

"If it's not an animal and not human, what is it?"

"I think it's a mutant of some kind."

"Oh great, another mutant," Scully mumbled, but Mulder appeared not to hear.

"You're right, Scully, humans are the only creatures on this planet who kill without necessity. But we temper this desire with our morals and legal codes. Yet if something partially human is mutated and hindered by neither, it would make sense that it would begin killing without a reason."

"Mulder, have you ever thought that just this once, these murders might have been committed by a normal, completely human serial killer?"

"I don't think so, Scully. I'm getting that vibe."

"The 'I'm-about-to-murder-someone-with-my-bare-hands vibe?' Because I think that might be coming from me, Mulder."

"No, it's just a feeling that there's something different about this case. Something spooky." He grinned. "And as everyone in the FBI knows, spooky is my specialty."

They searched the bathroom for a few more minutes before Mulder declared that there was nothing further to discover. Although he wanted to go out and explore the swamp a bit, Scully flatly refused, claiming that it was dark, and she was tired and not wearing the right clothes to go traipsing through a swamp. He relented after a couple minutes of arguing, and the two returned to Scully's apartment.

Scully woke the next morning just after 7:00. Although she did not recognize her surroundings, she was not startled, for she had stayed in so many different motels during her five years on the X-files that she was accustomed to awaking in unfamiliar places. The one thing she was not accustomed to, however, was the strong arm around her waist. After all, she and Mulder had only spent one night together before he had to leave, and the last time she had spent the night with a man before that. . . well, it had been before she started at the X-files.

Though it was unfamiliar, it was certainly not awkward. If anything, it was comforting to be lying wrapped in Mulder's arms, listening to the steady breathing so close to her head. For the first time in over a month, she actually awoke fully rested.

Carefully, Scully turned so that she could face him. His mouth hung slightly open, and his nose was partially buried in the pillow. He lay on his side wearing nothing but a pair of lime green boxers which were only partially concealed by the sheet which came to just below his waist. From her current vantage point, Scully could clearly see the well-developed muscles of his arms and chest and the dark hair which lightly covered the front of his body. He smelled like strawberries and cream, having been forced to use her shampoo the previous night, but underneath that scent, she sensed another aroma, stronger and less easily identified. But the scent was distinctly his; over the years, she had come to associate it with comfort and safety. And now, it surrounded her, leaving her feeling relaxed and contented.

He stirred, and a lazy smile formed on his face when he saw her looking at him. "Good morning, beautiful," he remarked, pulling her closer.

"Mulder, we need to get up," she told him as he moved to kiss her.

"No, we don't. It's Saturday. The day to sleep in."

"Mulder-"

"Scully, I have not seen you in five weeks. Are you saying that you don't want to spend a couple hours in bed with me?" This time, when he brought her closer, she gave no objection.

Sometime later, they were sitting together at the small table in the dining room eating breakfast. Mulder was still wearing his boxers, but he had also pulled an undershirt on. Scully was wearing a robe over her silk pajamas, having never been able to leave her room with only her pajamas after a rather embarrassing experience in college.

"I figured I'd get dressed and head over to the morgue after this," Mulder said casually as if discussing nothing more exciting than the weather.

"I really wish you wouldn't," Scully told him though she knew that he would not listen to her. Once Mulder decided to do something, nothing could deter him.

"You don't have to come with me."

"You know I will."

"I know. I just wanted to point out that it is your choice to come with me. I have not forced you to do anything." He took a sip of the coffee that Scully had brewed earlier, noticing that it was stronger than what she usually made. Obviously, she had finally grown tired of his complaints about her "coffee-flavored water."

An hour later, they were sitting outside the city morgue. It was a low brick building that looked oddly similar to the other low, brick buildings surrounding it. There were no identifying features of any kind, not even a sign out front to proclaim the building's purpose. The only thing which gave away the purpose of the building was that the small number next to the ominous looking metal door in front matched the number that Scully had earlier found on the internet when searching for the morgue's address.

"Cheery place," Mulder remarked sarcastically as he pulled into one of many empty parking spaces. Looking at the open spaces around him, he said, "It seems rather dead." Scully rolled her eyes, and he grinned widely as he stepped out of the car.

Inside, the feeling of emptiness seemed to linger in the air, smothering the two agents. The first room they came to was a large, tiled area which had only a few metal chairs pushed to the side. It was ominously silent.

A bit unnerved but unwilling to admit it, Scully approached an unlabeled metal door on the right side of the room. She opened it to reveal a long, narrow hallway with the same off-white tile that covered the first room. "Hello?" she called, wondering if there was anyone else in the building. Her question was soon answered, however, when one of the doors on the left side of the hallway swung open and a middle-aged man in a set of scrubs walked out. He peered at Scully curiously through the thick lenses of his glasses as he approached her.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Obviously, he was unused to visitors, and Scully could clearly see why. The morgue was not exactly the most comforting place.

"Yes, my name is Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner Special Agent Fox Mulder," Scully said, indicating Mulder who had moved to stand in the doorway behind her. They both showed their badges. "We're with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could take a look at the body of Theresa Fowler."

"I didn't know the FBI was involved on that case."

"We'd just like to see the body, sir," Mulder said, dodging the question.

"Certainly. I haven't actually had time to autopsy it yet. We've had a number of traffic fatalities over the past month. All these teenagers keep getting their licenses and seem to think they make them indestructible. It's sad, really."

"Actually, sir, Agent Scully is a medical doctor and qualified to do autopsies. I'm sure she'd be willing to perform an autopsy on Ms. Fowler to save you some time." Mulder beamed at Scully who responded with a glare. The coroner appeared not to notice her rather obvious unwillingness.

"That would be wonderful. I hate to be behind. I'll just show you where it is." The man led them down the hallway to a second door a few feet farther than the one from which he had emerged. Opening it, he revealed a small room with a single metal exam table in the center. A number of storage drawers lined the sides of the room, some labeled with names and some temporarily empty. The coroner scanned the names before discovering Theresa Fowler's. "She's right here," he announced, pulling the drawer out halfway to reveal a body covered in a white sheet. "Thank you for doing this, Agent Scully. Michael, the only other worker now that Julia is gone, is off for the week, and I really am falling behind. I'll be right next door if you need anything."

With that, he was gone, leaving Scully still staring at Mulder as if contemplating the best way to ensure that he ended up in one of the refrigerated drawers. "Now you can do that autopsy like you wanted," he told her.

"Mulder, if I put my name on the report, Skinner will know I disobeyed orders."

"I think he'll be able to forgive it, especially if we solve this case." Mulder helped her move the body to the exam table. "Besides, we've done a lot worse than autopsy a body, and we're both still here, so I think we should be okay."

"I thought you just wanted to look for mud."

"Well, this is even better. Now you can figure out exactly what killed her." Mulder turned toward the door.

"Wait a second, where are you going?"

"I've got some digging to do," he said elusively.

"Mulder, you can't just leave me here."

"Relax, I'll be back in a couple hours. Call me if you find anything interesting."

"How is it that I always end up spending my Saturdays autopsying a dead body?"

"You're dedicated to your work."

"Next Saturday, we're doing something normal for a change. I don't want to see a dead body or even hear about one, okay?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Mulder stopped by the library to do some research. One of the librarians helped him to find many of the old town newspapers on microfilm, and he began searching through them. After thirty minutes of fruitless searching, he began to feel the familiar pounding feeling in the back of his head that the rapidly-passing headlines always seemed to trigger. He shut his eyes for a moment and adjusted his reading glasses, but the headache was relentless. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned back slightly in his chair. A somewhat familiar voice caused him to straighten abruptly, and he nearly fell out of the chair. Turning, he looked to see a man about his own age sitting beside him. The man had dark hair and was cleanly shaven, revealing his strong jaw line. He wore a pair of fitted jeans and an orange polo shirt.

"Mr. Hardy, I didn't expect to see you here," the man remarked.

Mulder scrambled through his memory for a moment before he found a name. "Well, Mr. Yeats, I figured that if I was going to force the students to come to the library, I should come here myself from time to time."

"How very noble of you. What are you researching?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just looking up some material for class."

Yeats glanced down and saw the four newspapers that Mulder had picked up from the corner. They were too recent to have been transferred to microfilm; Mulder had picked them up because they each dealt with one of the murders. "I thought you would have gotten enough of that by now," Yeats commented when he saw the papers.

Mulder silently cursed himself as he looked down and saw the top paper was open to a page where the words "Local Biology Teacher becomes Fourth Victim in Private School Murders" graced the top. He forced his face to remain impassive, however, as he simply shrugged. "I was just curious to see what people think happened."

"People think a lot of things, Mr. Hardy," Yeats said. "If you ask me, Ms. Fowler simply got what was coming to her."

Mulder suddenly became very interested in the other teacher. After all the casual questioning he had done, all the subtle attempts he had made to discover a motive, could the break in the case come from a nosy teacher who nearly blew his cover?

"Why would you say that?" Mulder questioned, trying to appear casual.

"You haven't heard the rumors?"

"What rumors?"

"The rumors that Ms. Fowler was having an affair with Mr. Pearson."

"No. Who was spreading these rumors?"

"Oh, pretty much everyone was talking about it, especially after Mr. Jameson found them together a few months ago. Naturally, they denied everything, said that she was just 'helping him clean up his room.' But that didn't stop the rumors from flying."

"Why haven't I heard any of these rumors?"

"Probably because you're the new teacher and no one trusts you yet."

"Do you think they're true?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they were. It was common knowledge that Pearson was less than happy with his wife; he'd gripe about her nearly every day in the teacher's lounge. And he seemed quite interested in Ms. Fowler, always making excuses to visit her room or talk to her after lunch. Actually, most of the male teachers in the school were interested in Ms. Fowler, and I can't say I blame them. She was drop-dead gorgeous. And the new biology teacher they hired is even better. Have you seen her yet?"

Mulder nodded. "We met on Friday."

"Then you understand what I mean when I say she's stunning. I just hope she's single because I'd really like to get to know her better, if you know what I mean."

Mulder fought the jealousy which was beginning to boil over in his stomach. "Actually, I believe she mentioned a boyfriend to me," he said.

"Boyfriends come and go," Yeats remarked with a shrug.

Forcing himself to focus on the case and not his increasing desire to punch the man sitting in front of him, Mulder asked, "You say the other male teachers were also interested in Ms. Fowler. Do you think any of them had a relationship with her?"

"I doubt it. She wouldn't even give them the time of day. I never really understood why she made an exception for Pearson. I wouldn't have believed that she had if Jameson hadn't seen them that day."

"So, who is Mr. Jameson anyway? I don't believe I've met him."

"That's because he disappeared about four months ago."

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah, he didn't come home one night, so his wife called the cops. They found his car just outside the woods. The battery had died; they figured he had tried to take a short cut through the woods to get to a gas station."

"Did they ever find his body?"

"No. They looked for it for awhile, but they eventually decided that he had probably ended up at the bottom of the swamp. You can't really see where you're going in those woods at night; it wouldn't be too hard to take a wrong turn and step into that swamp. And once you start sinking, there's no getting out."

"But nobody's seen or heard from him since then?"

"Of course not. He's dead. We all know that. Why all the questions anyway?"

"I'm just trying to get a better feel for the school."

"Well, just so you know, it's not usually this interesting. I've taught at the school for almost fifteen years now, and there's never been a murder or disappearance of a student or teacher until these five. And now, everyone's in an uproar. Parents are pulling their kids out of school, a lot of the big wigs are threatening to pull their funding, and I've heard that there's even been talk of shutting us down. And the police aren't doing a damn thing about it; they keep saying they're working on it, but people keep dying. Honestly, I'll be surprised if this school is still open next year."

"You don't seem too worried."

"I have a Ph.D. in theoretical physics, Mr. Hardy. Trust me, I've had plenty of job offers over the years. If I were you, I'd start making sure you have some of your own."

"Thanks. I'll think about that."

"Well, I need to get going. I'll let you get back to your research."

"It was nice to see you," Mulder said with a genuineness he did not often have when voicing that particular phrase. But he had enjoyed talking to Yeats; the teacher had given him valuable information which could help to break the case. Now, Mulder had a new theory; he just needed to find the proof to back it up. With a sigh, he turned back to the nauseating microfilm machine and expanded his search to include older papers.

Two hours later, Mulder pulled into the parking lot of the morgue, finding it just as deserted as it had been on his first visit. This time, he strode purposefully into the building, making his way quickly to the autopsy room where he had left Scully. He found her meticulously sewing up the body, creating a neat row of tiny, black stitches. Over the years he had worked with Scully, he found that she preferred order to chaos, and she worked hard to ensure that everything she did was as good as she could possibly make it. This attention to detail was what made her a good scientist, a good doctor, and a good FBI agent.

"Scully, I figured it out!" Mulder announced proudly, waving the pages of information he had copied at the library.

"Figured what out, Mulder?" she questioned, finishing the last stitch and placing her needle on the small, metal tray beside the body. She used the back of her hand to brush a few stray red hairs out of her face as she looked up at him.

"The case. I know who did it."

"The Swamp Thing?" she questioned sarcastically.

"Not exactly. I think it was a teacher who was. . . claimed by the swamp when he got lost in the woods a few months ago." Scully rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to point out the impracticality of his theory, but he held up a hand. "Let me finish, Scully. Like I told you, I went to do some digging. And I was looking through old newspapers at the library when Yeats—you know, the physics teacher from school, who thinks you're 'stunning' by the way." Scully's eyebrows shot up. "What? You don't think anyone can find you stunning? Of all the things that I was planning on telling you, that was the one that I thought you were most likely to believe."

"Mulder, just finish the story."

"Okay. But just for the record, I think you're stunning, too. Though there are probably some other descriptors I would add, too."

"Mulder, either tell the story or shut up."

"Sor-ry. Anyway, we were talking, and he mentioned that Theresa Knowles was having an affair with one of the other teachers. Evidently, this teacher, Jameson, caught them one day. I'm not sure exactly what they were doing—Yeats wasn't too explicit about that, but evidently it was enough to convince everyone of the affair, so I imagine it wasn't something you would do in front of your mother."

"Well, there's your motive."

"What?"

"An affair. It happens all the time, Mulder. A wife gets jealous that her husband's cheating on her and kills his mistress. It's a logical explanation."

"It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense about it? The fact that it doesn't involve anything remotely strange or unexplainable?"

"No. What doesn't make sense is why a jealous wife would kill the other three victims. She wouldn't have any motive for those murders."

"Maybe she killed them to make the police believe they had a serial killer on their hands. I've heard of it happening before; a murderer will kill one person for a reason and then a number of other people with whom he has no connection so that the police are searching for a psychopath and not someone with a personal connection to one victim."

"I don't think that's the case here, Scully. First of all, there's nothing personal about these murders, not even Theresa Knowles'. Whatever killed her didn't do it out of jealousy; it did it out of rage, pure and simple."

"Jealousy can cause rage, Mulder."

"I just don't think that's what we're dealing with here."

"Mulder-"

"Scully, just hear me out, and then I promise, you can debunk my theory as much as you want to, okay?" He interpreted the silence that followed his question as consent and continued. "As I was saying, when Yeats first mentioned Jameson, I realized that I had never heard of the guy before. I knew I hadn't talked to him, and in the five weeks I've been here, I've talked to every damn teacher at that school. So I asked Yeats who he was, and Yeats explained that he went missing four months ago. Evidently, his car broke down, and he decided to cut through the woods. They never found a body, so the police just assumed that he drowned in the swamp."

"I'm guessing you don't think so." Scully's eyebrows were high on her forehead, a look she often adopted when Mulder began to expound on one of his theories.

"No. I think he fell into that swamp, but I don't think he died. I think he came out of it again, but he was changed. Mutated. His human sense of right and wrong was gone."

"But why kill those four people?"

"You said it yourself, Scully, animals only kill when they feel threatened. Well, I think that the swamp and this creature that Jameson had become, which was part of the swamp, felt threatened by the people at this school. The swamp's been getting smaller; it has been for decades, but it's fighting back, trying to stop man from encroaching on its territory. The people at the school were easy targets—they were all alone at school late at night. Also, the school's closer to the swamp than any other part of town, so it's only natural that the creature would choose to kill there."

"Mulder, this is ridiculous."

"But it's happened before, Scully," Mulder told her. His was growing more excited, and his speech sped up as he set the papers he was carrying on an empty countertop and spread them out so that Scully could read some of the headlines. "Once I realized what was happening, I figured this probably wasn't a one-time thing. So I did some research. In 1974, a man went hiking in the woods and disappeared. Once again, police were never able to find a body; just like in Jameson's case, they assumed the man had drowned in the swamp. But three days later, a woman was murdered as she was driving down the highway near the swamp. Something actually jumped onto the hood of her car, caused her to crash into a tree, and then dragged her body out of the car and killed her with its bare hands. The investigators found a large, human-sized dent on the hood of her car which was covered in mud. About a month after that, two hikers were found in the middle of the road, once more killed by something's bare hands. And nearly two months after that, a hunter reported an attack by something he called the "Mud Man". He shot whatever it was twice, and it fell in the swamp, never to be seen again."

"So I'm guessing this is your Swamp Thing."

"Yes. The school wasn't built in '74, so it didn't have to contend with the people there which is why it went for hikers and drivers instead. Anybody who got too close to its territory was fair game."

"Mulder, please tell me this isn't the story you're going to try to pitch to the Deputy Director when you turn in your report."

"Scully, the evidence is all right here!" Mulder jabbed a finger impatiently at the newspaper clippings he had worked so hard to obtain. "And the attacks didn't just happen in '74. There's reports of attacks and murders by humanoid creatures covered in mud in '57 and again in '35 and again in '12 when this town was first founded."

"Mulder, all I see is a bunch of newspaper clippings describing some pretty brutal murders and fantastical stories that people have created to explain them."

"Fine, Scully, I'll prove it to you then."

"How?"

"We'll stake out the school."

"When?"

"Tonight."

Scully groaned. "Mulder, it's a Saturday night. The last thing I want to be doing is sitting in a dreary school building waiting for some mutant to attack us. Besides, if anyone saw us there, it would be hard to explain."

Mulder looked frustrated; one hand ran through his hair while the other rested just above his hip bone. His eyes were distant, vacant, and Scully could practically see the cogs turning in his head. When Mulder had an idea, he would latch onto it like a dog on a bone, often rushing headlong into a reckless situation because he thought his actions would help solve a case or prove one of his theories. And despite her better judgment, Scully usually followed him in their dangerous pursuits because she knew that at the end of the day, these impetuous actions solved cases. She would follow Mulder to the ends of the earth if he thought it was a good idea. Why? Many would claim it was because she loved him, but while the latter part of that statement was true, it did not adequately explain her fierce devotion to him and his cause. She followed Mulder because she trusted him, trusted in his mind and his intuition. She might not believe in aliens or ghosts, but she believed in Mulder.

"Fine," he conceded after a few moments of silence. "We'll stay after Monday , maybe even go trekking through the woods for a bit to see if we can bring this thing out of its hiding spot." He looked at her, and she nodded.

"Okay, Mulder, we'll stay after Monday. I'll even bring a change of clothes and some flashlights for your little hiking expedition."

"Good. Now, what did you find?"

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I did find mud in the wounds. I sent a sample of it to the lab to be analyzed, but I don't expect much to come of it. It looked and smelled like ordinary mud from a swamp." Scully walked over to the body as she continued to talk, her tone now clinical and detached. She was still wearing her clear, plastic goggles, a set of blue scrubs, a face mask, and latex gloves. As Mulder looked at her, he realized that the outfit was oddly fitting. Most people who met her would not assume that she would look so at ease in the outfit; her body was more suited to a nice evening gown or something a bit more revealing. But her current outfit was more natural to her than any dress could have been. One could not always judge with a single glance.

"The cause of death was hard to determine," Scully said. "There was significant head trauma, but it didn't kill here. The blow probably knocked her out, however. Most of the lacerations on the skin were inflicted before death," Scully said, pointing to the wounds which covered the body. "The lacerations appear to have been caused by fingernails, indicating that this woman, like the other victims, was killed by somebody with his or her bare hands. There are also a number of contusions, some which could only be caused by significant force, so I would guess that the killer in decent physical condition. There are no signs of defensive wounds, so I think the killer surprised her and smashed her head against something before she could try to fight back. None of the wounds he inflicted killed her directly, but with all of them, she would have bled out in a matter of minutes."

"Not a pleasant way to die," Mulder commented.

"Certainly not," Scully agreed. "I sent a blood sample to Quantico so they can run a tox screen, but I don't really expect to find anything. Oh, and there's one more thing that you might be interested to know."

"What's that?"

"She was pregnant. My guess would be that the father is this teacher she was having an affair with."

"I wonder if he knew."

"I wonder if his wife knew."

"It wasn't the wife, Scully. You yourself said that some of the contusions were caused by considerable force."

"And you think a woman can't use considerable force? Would you like me to demonstrate exactly how much force women are capable of using, Mulder?" Her eyes glinted dangerously as she looked at him.

"No need to show me, Scully, I'm well aware of how much punch you pack. But don't forget the mud on the door. Our killer is likely around 5'10" or 5'11"."

"How tall is this teacher's wife?"

Mulder shrugged. "I've never met her."

"Then check the DMV records. I'd like to make sure there aren't any viable human suspects before we go chasing after the Swamp Thing."

"Fine." Mulder glanced around the room.

"My laptop's on the table over there." Scully pointed, and Mulder retrieved the computer as Scully made a few final notes on her autopsy report and began to remove her protective clothing. When she was once again in street clothes, she joined Mulder who was hunched over the computer which sat on a small metal table.

"Rebecca Pearson is only 5'2"," Mulder announced proudly after a couple minutes of searching. "There's no way she's our killer."

"Then maybe Pearson himself killed those four people. Theresa Fowler might have told him she was pregnant. If he refused to help with the baby, she could have threatened to tell his wife about the pregnancy. So Pearson panicked and killed her."

"Along with three other people?"

"Maybe they somehow knew about the affair."

"I doubt it. These killings are not the work of someone panicking. They're too brutal. If he just wanted to keep people from talking, a shot to the head would have been just as effective."

"I still think we should talk to Pearson. How well do you know him?"

"About as well as I know any of the teachers in the school. He teaches Advanced Placement English. I've talked to him a couple times in the teacher's lounge, but I thought he was a bit dry. Then again, most English teachers are."

"Dry or not, you need to talk to him more. See if you can find out anything else about his relationship with Theresa Fowler or the other victims."

"Actually, Scully, I think you might be able to get more information out of him."

"Why's that, Mulder?" He looked at her meaningfully, and she suddenly understood. "You want me to flirt with him?" she questioned incredulously.

"You're the one who wants to know if he's involved in this. I'm merely pointing out that the most effective way to glean information from a man like Pearson is not through questioning by another man."

"Fine, Mulder. I'll talk to him on Monday."

"Okay. But you're not going to find anything. He's innocent."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

As they walked out of the morgue, Scully stopped suddenly, feeling her head begin to spin. She brought a hand up to her forehead, shutting her eyes to avoid watching the ground dance below her feet. She was dimly aware of her knees beginning to give way beneath her, but she had no way to stop them. None of the muscles in her legs seemed to be responding to the signals in her brain, and she wondered briefly if she had somehow been paralyzed. Before she had time to fully process this thought, she was falling. Dimly, her brain registered that she should be hitting the hard, unyielding asphalt soon, but she completely lost consciousness before the impact.

Mulder saw Scully pause and raise her hand to her head, and he immediately turned to her with concern. As he reached to place a hand on her shoulder, he saw her knees buckle, and his arms instinctively reached out, one behind her back, just above her hips, and one on her shoulder, supporting her. With an eerie sense of déjà vu, he called her name frantically. "Scully! Scully! Can you hear me?"

She was breathing; he could tell that much by the steady rise and fall of her chest. But she appeared to be unconscious. He lowered himself to the ground, laying her head in his lap as he checked her body for signs of anything which could have contributed to her sudden unconsciousness. She had no bee stings, no puncture wounds, no marks on her skin of any kind where he could easily see them. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could call an ambulance, but she was already beginning to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, looking vacant for a moment before they focused on his face.

"What happened?" she questioned, seeing the worry in his eyes.

"I was hoping you could tell me. You just collapsed." Mulder reached up the hand that was not behind her shoulders to gently push away an errant lock of hair.

"I remember feeling a bit dizzy," Scully said, trying to sit up. Mulder, however, kept a tight hold on her shoulders, effectively pinning her in his lap.

"You shouldn't be moving."

"I'm fine, Mulder. I think I just fainted."

"Fainted?"

"Yes. It's no big deal." Scully managed to pull herself out of his arms with some difficulty. He watched her carefully as she sat up, looking for any sign of a reoccurrence of the fainting spell. Scully noticed his gaze. "I'm fine, Mulder, really."

"You should see a doctor," he told her.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I don't need a doctor to tell me that."

"I'd still feel better if you went. Just in case."

"Mulder. . ."

"Okay. But anymore fainting or dizziness or anything else, and I won't take no for an answer. I'm not going to risk losing you, Scully."

"Fine, Mulder," she said with a sigh. Though many would consider it sweet that he was so concerned for her health, she found his worrying a bit annoying. She wished he would show the same concern for his own health and safety as he showed for hers.

Mulder sifted through the notes for the case for nearly two hours before shoving the papers aside in frustration. No matter how many times he looked at the details, they never seemed to make any sense. His best theory was still the one that Scully had scoffed at earlier that day, but he had no way of proving himself correct until Monday night. Until that time, he could do nothing more than sit back and twiddle his thumbs.

Needing a break from the case, he pulled out his cell phone and called Scully. She picked up after the first ring. "Hello?"

"Scully, it's me. Look, I'm really not getting anywhere with the case, and I'm way too wired to just sit here. I saw a gym on the way to the high school, so I'm going to work out for a bit. Feel like joining me?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Great. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Nearly an hour later, Mulder was immersed in the cool, chlorinated water of the gym's pool, gliding smoothly from one end to the other. His powerful arms cut through the water like razor blades, pulling him forward as his legs added additional speed. He had been working his way up to swimming a mile for awhile now—it was something he had been able to do in college, but he had stopped swimming so often after joining the Bureau, and his endurance had decreased. A year ago, however, he had noticed that his lack of a strict exercise regime was having a disastrous effect on the muscles he had so assiduously developed, and he had started working out with more regularity. Still, he had not reached that final goal he had set for himself six weeks before—swimming a full mile without stopping.

He was currently seven laps from his goal, and his muscles were already cramping. His lungs screamed for oxygen, and he found himself bringing his head above water to breathe on every other stroke. He continued to swim as if his life depended on it, however. He was not exactly sure why he was so determined to swim that mile. After all, he would receive no acclamation for reaching this goal. His life certainly would not end if he did not finish the mile. But he would prove that he could swim a mile, prove that he could do whatever he set out to do. And in the end, this achievement was more important than anything, even his life. If he could not trust in himself and his abilities, how could he trust in anyone else?

When they reached Scully's building, Mulder followed her up the stairs to her apartment. As soon as she opened the door, he made a beeline for the couch and collapsed onto its cushions, leaning his head against the back. "Uhh, I don't think I have the strength to make it back to my apartment," he groaned, feeling the ache which seemed to be present in every muscle in his body. Even the simple task of walking to the elevator in Scully's building had seemed akin to climbing Mount Everest.

"I'll order a pizza," Scully offered.

"Mmkay," Mulder mumbled, his eyes already closed. Scully glanced over at him and shook her head before grabbing the phone book to find the number for a pizza place.

Mulder perked up a bit when the pizza arrived. Scully laughed at his eager expression as she carried the hot pie into the living room. He always seemed to respond well to food; the smell of pizza or Chinese could rouse him even from the deepest slumber (not that Mulder ever slept too deeply, for he often only slept in two or three hour stretches). "What kind did you get, Scully?" Mulder questioned as she set the pizza on the coffee table and walked to the kitchen to retrieve plates and napkins.

"Pepperoni, pineapple, and mushroom," she told him.

Mulder's hand stopped with the lid to the box halfway open. "Excuse me?"

"I just had a craving for all three toppings, and I thought they'd be good together," Scully explained, reentering the living room with the dishes.

"Pepperoni, sausage, and ham are good together. Pepperoni, pineapple, and mushrooms make it seem like you were choosing toppings alphabetically."

"You can eat it or not. I don't really care." Scully opened the box fully and pulled out the largest slice, placing it carefully on the plate. She scooped up the stray bits of cheese with her fingers and twirled them on top of the slice before lifting it to her mouth. Taking a large bite, she chewed carefully, savoring the flavor. Despite what Mulder said, the pizza was excellent—it had just the right blend of spicy, sweet, and salty.

Mulder watched her eat for a moment, and when he saw that she did not spit out the food in disgust, he reached for a slice of his own. Naturally, he did not use a plate, so the strands of cheese stretched out as he brought the pizza to his mouth, eventually breaking and falling into his lap. He seemed ignorant of the mess, however, focusing his full attention on the slice of pizza in front of him. Tentatively, he took a small bite, chewing experimentally. It was surprisingly good, and he quickly took another, larger bite.

In no time at all, they had finished the entire large pizza. Having had no time to go to the grocery store, Scully had nothing in her refrigerator, so Mulder offered to take a quick trip to the gas station on the corner to find something to drink. Scully insisted on joining him, so the two donned their coats and set out together with Mulder still teasing Scully about the unusually large amount of pizza she had eaten that night.

"I told you, I didn't have much lunch today since somebody insisted I do an autopsy."

"I said you didn't have to come with me," Mulder reminded her.

"I didn't realize that agreeing to take a trip to the morgue with you meant that I gave you permission to offer my services to anyone."

"Your services, Scully?" Mulder smirked at her choice of words.

"You know what I meant, Mulder."

Still grinning, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her ear to his mouth. His warm breath washed over the cartilage of her ear, chasing away some of the chill of the October air. "Can I enlist your services tonight?" he whispered.

"Depends on what you have to offer in return," she countered.

"I think I can come up with something."

Scully woke up the next morning before any light had begun to come through the shutters over her bedroom window. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was just past 5:00 in the morning. She wondered what had awakened her for a moment, and her hand instinctively reached for the handle of the nightstand drawer where she kept her gun. Before her fingers closed over the cool metal, however, her stomach gave a warning lurch, and she quickly swung her legs to the ground and raced for the bathroom. She barely made it in time; for once, she was glad of Mulder's tendency to leave the toilet seat up. Bending over the porcelain bowl, she proceeded to rid herself of most of the pizza from the night before. It did not taste so good the second time around.

After about a minute, she felt a warm hand on her back and another pulling her hair out of her face (too late, she thought ruefully; it had already been in the splash zone). She was going to tell Mulder that she was fine and insist that he return to bed, but another wave of vomiting prevented her from speaking. When she had finally emptied her stomach, her body was covered in a clammy sweat, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Wordlessly, Mulder helped her sit back against the wall before standing to retrieve a glass of water and a wet washcloth. He held the glass to her lips, and she took a few sips to satisfy him. Gently, he used the washcloth to wipe most of the sweat off of her face Her eyes slid shut as she familiar touch soothed her. She hated having other people take care of her, hated admitting her weakness, but every now and then, it was nice to have someone doctor her when she was sick. Especially if that someone was Mulder.

When Mulder had finished wiping the sweat from her face, he placed the washcloth next to the sink before kneeling beside her again. Placing one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, he lifted her and started to carry her into the bedroom. "No," she protested weakly. "Shower." He looked at her in surprise. She seemed barely capable of keeping her eyes open, much less standing up in a shower. She sensed his concerns and cut him off before he could protest. "I can stand up. I'm fine." To prove her point, she wriggled around in his arms until he was forced to put her down or risk dropping her. He kept one arm around her back, supporting her as she stood shakily. "See?"

"Scully, you need to get back to bed."

"What I need to do is get this vomit out of my hair and all the sweat off my body." Her voice was gradually growing stronger as she regained some of her strength. She needed to prove that she was still strong and independent.

"Okay, but I'm coming in with you."

"Mulder-"

"It's either that or you go back to bed."

"Fine."

"Good. I'll go get you some clothes."

In the end, Scully was glad that she had allowed Mulder to join her in the shower. As much as she hated to admit it, her body was still weak, and she would never have been able to stand up for the whole time if he had been behind her, supporting her with one arm as his other gently washed the sweat and vomit from her body. Though she knew he did not intend his touch to be sexual, as he ran his hand over her torso, lathering it with soap, she could not suppress the shiver of desire which ran through her body. She only wished she had the strength to act on that desire. Turning slowly, she looked up at him, and he smiled. "Later," he promised. "When you get your strength back."

He insisted she stay in bed for the remainder of the morning as he took care of her. After a short trip to the grocery store, he entered the room with a cup of tea and two slices of slightly burnt toast. "Sorry. I've never had much luck with food," he apologized when she raised her eyebrows at the black bread.

"That's okay. I'm sure it'll taste fine with some butter." She reached for the meal, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. Her stomach had settled somewhat, and it reminded her with a loud grumble that it was empty, having divested itself of the pizza from the previous night. Mulder smiled when he heard the noise.

"I have the rest of the loaf left if you think you can handle more charred bread."

"Let's see how this goes down first." She took a large bite of the buttered bread and found that it did not taste as bad as she had first feared. In no time at all, she had finished both slices and most of the tea.

"Want me to make you something else?" Mulder offered. "I bought some eggs, but I must warn you, my ability to scramble an egg is about as well-developed as my ability to toast a slice of bread." He smiled.

"I'm fine right now," Scully told him. "Maybe in a couple hours."

"Okay. In the meantime, I think we need to see a doctor. I know you don't want to, but if you're sick, it's better to know sooner rather than later."

"Mulder, I'm fine. I'm not even running a fever."

"We're going, Scully. End of story. Now I just have to find a doctor who will see patients on a Sunday."

"And what are we supposed to tell this doctor? I'm undercover, Mulder, and Jenny Bolder doesn't have any medical records."

"I'll call Skinner. I'm sure he'll agree that we can break our cover this one time since it is your health at stake." With that, he gathered the plate and mug up and left the room.

Three hours later, both agents sat in the waiting room of a local doctor's office. As usual, Mulder could not keep still. His eyes swept over the other people in the room, taking in the heavyset man in the corner who seemed to be coughing up a lung, the heavily pregnant woman leaning against the window, and the harried blond woman who was trying to control three screaming kids all under the age of five. His hands fidgeted nervously, and he finally picked up a nearby magazine in an attempt to quell their movement. As soon as he saw the title, he quickly replaced it, opting instead to simply shove his hands in his pockets and toy with whatever items he found there. He glanced over at Scully who had been immersed in some medical journal since they first sat down. For once, she was not wearing a pants suit; she had on dark jeans and a red blouse. Her hair still framed her face neatly, and she looked the part of the consummate professional. It was hard to believe that she was the same woman who had been shaking on the bathroom floor that morning.

"Dana Scully?" a female voice called from one corner of the room. Mulder and Scully looked up to see a young brunette nurse standing in an open doorway, holding a clipboard. Both stood simultaneously. "We're going to be in room twelve," the nurse told the two, leading them behind the large receptionist's desk to a nondescript wooden door with a plastic number twelve hanging next to it. The nurse pushed the door open, and Mulder stepped back, allowing Scully to enter the room first. "If you'll just sit down right there, I'm going to take your pulse and blood pressure," the nurse said, pointing to a low, black chair. Scully obeyed silently, and Mulder moved to the opposite wall, leaning against the counter as he watched the nurse carefully fit the cuff for the sphygmomanometer around Scully's slim arm. His arms and ankles both crossed as he relaxed against the wall. After a couple minutes, the nurse made a note on her chart and announced, "Well, everything seems normal, Ms. Scully. Your blood pressure's 104 over 63, and your pulse is a steady sixty beats per minute. The doctor should be in here soon to run some tests."

"Thank you," Scully said. Neither she nor Mulder bothered to correct the nurse with Scully's proper title (which often changed between doctor and agent, depending on which would benefit her the most in the current situation). They felt that it was best not to draw any more attention to their careers than was absolutely necessary. As soon as the door closed behind the nurse, Scully turned to Mulder, "See, I told you everything was fine."

"You and I both know that a normal pulse and blood pressure does not mean everything's fine," Mulder pointed out.

"It's a good indicator of general health, however."

"But not foolproof. Now, let's see what the doctor has to say."

They waited another twenty-five minutes before the door to the room opened and the doctor bustled in. He was in his late forties with thinning brown hair, a slightly heavy build, and a round, boyish face. He looked up from the clipboard he was holding and flashed a wide, extensively practice smile. "So, Ms. Scully, what seems to be the problem?" he questioned.

Mulder knew Scully would trivialize her symptoms, so he stepped in before she could answer. "She's had sudden moments of dizziness, and she fainted the yesterday. This morning, she was vomiting." Scully glared at him, her expression clearly telling him that she was perfectly capable of explaining her symptoms to the doctor.

"And these symptoms have just developed recently?"

"Yes, I just began experiencing them two days ago. Honestly, I don't think there's any problem with my health. I likely have a simple stomach virus."

"Well, there's actually a couple tests I'd like to run if you don't mind. Just to make sure."

"Of course."

"I need to take some blood. Can you hold out your arm for me and squeeze this?" The doctor passed her a rubber ball, and Scully obediently held it tightly in her hand as he drew her blood. "Thank you, Ms. Scully. I should be back in a few minutes," he promised, carrying the blood from the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Mulder pushed his body up from the wall and began to walk around the room, examining the posters hanging on the walls. Scully watched him for a few minutes until his restless pacing began to fray her nerves.

"Mulder, stop that!"

"Stop what?" He turned to look at her in confusion, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong this time.

"Stop pacing. You're making me nervous."

"I thought you didn't think anything was wrong with you."

"I don't. But the fact that you're nervous makes me think something's wrong."

"Fine." Mulder stopped where he was and turned to face her. They were quiet for a moment before Mulder finally said, "You know, I'm only doing this because I'm worried about you. After all we've been through, I just have to make sure. . ."

His voice trailed off, but Scully did not need to hear the end of the sentence to know what he had to be sure of. He needed to know that her cancer was not back, that the alien virus she had been exposed to had not been reawakened. He needed assurance that whatever was causing her symptoms was a completely curable, human illness.

They stared at each other for a couple minutes, their eyes communicating the fears they were unable to put into words. The air around them seemed to grow heavier as if weighted down by the multitude of concerns. Involuntarily, Scully's hand sought out the small, gold cross which hung around her neck as she offered up a prayer to God. She prayed that Mulder's concerns were unfounded, that she would be proved correct and walk out of the doctor's office diagnosed with a simple stomach virus. She did not know if she could handle another close call. She did not know if Mulder could either.

The sound of the door opening startled both of them, and Scully jumped slightly in her seat as she turned toward the doorway. Mulder was standing as straight as a military recruit during inspection, his expression looking like a man about to face a firing squad. Both watched as the doctor stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Glancing down at the sheet of paper in his hand, he smiled, and Scully relaxed slightly. The news could not be bad if he was smiling, could it? Surely he would not smile if he was about to diagnose her with terminal cancer.

"Well, Ms. Scully, it seems that congratulations are in order."

"Congratulations?"

"You're pregnant. I thought I recognized the signs. I'm actually surprised you didn't. Most women pay pretty close attention to these types of things."

"That's not possible," Scully breathed, still unable to believe what the doctor was saying. She had been told she was barren; she had seen the test results, had failed to conceive through in-vitro fertilization. She had accepted the fact that she would never have a baby.

"Trust me, Ms. Scully, the test results don't lie. I understand if you weren't trying-"

"It's not that," Scully said quickly, cutting him off. "It's just. . . I had been told I couldn't have children." She looked at Mulder who was staring at the doctor, his mouth slightly open. Sensing Scully's gaze, he turned to her, his eyes sweeping her body as if he might suddenly notice a sign of her pregnancy that he had previously missed.

"Well, it appears that you can. I can run another test to be sure, but these tests are extremely accurate. You're pregnant." He glanced at the two partners who were still staring at one another, digesting the information. "I'll give you two a few minutes alone while I go run that second test," he offered.

"Thank you," Scully said, still not taking her eyes from Mulder. Once the door closed behind the doctor, he let out a long breath. "Mulder, talk to me," she told him.

"I'm sorry, this is just. . . so. . ."

"Bad? Horrible?" she suggested.

"Unexpected," he corrected firmly. "But certainly good. Wonderful, even. It's just a bit hard to chew on. I mean, after the IVF. . ."

"Trust me, I'm having a hard time believing it myself."

He smiled at this. "After all we've seen and done, it's amazing that we don't believe in something as simple as conceiving a child. I mean, after all, we did meet the necessary prerequisites."

"I was barren, Mulder. You found my ova. It just doesn't seem possible. Not without some kind of. . . outside help."

"Now, who's paranoid?" He looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty deep within the blue orbs. This was not right. This should be a happy time. She had wanted this so much; hell, they had both wanted it. And now that they had it, they could not be happy because they were still too worried about aliens and government conspiracies. "Hey," he said, moving toward her and kneeling in front of her. "However this child was conceived, that doesn't make him or her less of a miracle. We've both wanted this for so long, Scully. Let's not ruin it with all these what if's." She nodded slightly, moving forward so he could wrap his arms around her. He placed his lips against her forehead in a gesture they had used to comfort one another countless times during their partnership. "For all we know, this baby could have been conceived the good old-fashioned way. Maybe all those years of celibacy finally paid off," he remarked.

Scully smiled as she buried her head against his chest, and he pulled her closer. "We're going to have a baby," she whispered. The words still sounded foreign to her as if she was temporarily living someone else's life. Dana Scully certainly was not meant to live a normal life. A white picket fence and 2.5 kids was simply not in the cards for her.

"Yes. We're going to have a baby." He smoothed her hair with his hand, a gesture that both found soothing. "I'm going to be a father."

"Mulder?"

"What?"

"I don't want to run any tests. I don't want to go looking for a reason for my conception. This is our baby. That's all I need to know. I just want to leave it at that."

"Okay," Mulder agreed. "That sounds good."

When they left the doctor's office, both were smiling. The second test had confirmed the first: Scully was pregnant, about five weeks along. This bit of news only widened their grins. The timetables fit; it was perfectly plausible that the baby had been conceived in the normal way. There was no reason to suspect otherwise.

"I think this calls for a celebration," Mulder announced as they got into his car. "Why don't we go somewhere nice for lunch, and then we can spend the day doing whatever you want. We don't have to even think about the case."

"That sounds good."

"Okay. One of other teachers mentioned a good Italian place around here somewhere; let's see if I can find it."

The lunch was excellent; Scully greatly enjoyed being able to sit back and relax without worrying about their current case. Mulder, too, seemed to be happier than Scully had seen him in awhile. The shadows that usually haunted his face, memories of his sister's abduction and the horrors he had faced in the past, were gone. He almost seemed to be a different person.

Mulder shattered this illusion almost as soon as lunch was over. They stopped by the video store to pick out some movies to watch, and Mulder immediately chose Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T., Alien, and Plan Nine From Outer Space. When Scully saw these movies, she shook her head and held up two movies of her own. "I get to pick half, you get half," she compromised.

"Let me guess. Girlie movies."

"Depends on your definition of a girlie movie."

"Those." Mulder pointed to the two movies she held in her hand.

"I can always choose all the movies."

"Fine." Mulder studied the movies he held for a moment before replacing two of them on the shelf. "But if I fall asleep, it's your fault."

"I think we can find some way to keep you awake."

In the end, they did not watch any of the movies. They became nothing more than background noise as the two spent an enjoyable afternoon celebrating the good news they had received earlier that day. When they finally collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs on the couch, it was nearing 8:00. "We're getting too old for this, Mulder," Scully remarked, her breathing labored.

"Who are you calling old, Scully? I, for one, am in the prime of my life and perfectly capable of going another round." His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that he had not eaten anything since lunch. "As soon as I get some food."

Scully laughed and stood up with him, walking to her bedroom to retrieve a bathrobe. She found him in the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers and eating a sandwich that looked as if it had nearly half a pound of turkey in the center. "Hungry?" she questioned.

"Starved. You really know how to wear a guy out."

"I thought you were ready for more," Scully remarked as she pulled a diet soda from the refrigerator.

"Is that an offer?"

Scully sighed and sank into one of the kitchen chairs with her drink. "Not right now, Mulder. I'm beat." She closed her eyes, and after a couple minutes, she felt his hands on her shoulders. Gently, he began to move his fingers around her shoulder blades, loosening the tense muscles he found there. Scully relaxed with his touch, sinking further back in her chair. When he stopped after a few minutes and pulled his hands away, Scully moaned at the loss of contact.

"Turn," he instructed. She obediently moved so that she was sitting sideways in the chair, and he began to move his hands downward, seeking out the knotted muscles in every part of her back. Once his hands reached her waist, they began moving upward again until they rested on her shoulders once more. Now, his lips joined his hands, kissing the base of her neck before moving outward. His hands gently pushed the fabric of the robe aside to give his lips easier access to her shoulders and upper arms. Scully felt her desire roar to life again, and she marveled for a moment at this reaction. She was dead tired, and yet her body still responded strongly to him, still quivered with anticipation as soon as he so much as touched her.

In no time at all, the boxers and bathrobe were on the floor, and they found themselves lying on the kitchen floor, hungrily kissing and caressing. They were acting like hormone-crazed teenagers, and Scully knew it. She had no idea why her desire was so strong; the scientific portion of her mind speculated that her pregnancy could have disrupted her normal hormone levels. Or the five years of sexual tension followed by five weeks of not seeing one another could have finally caught up to them. But she knew that these reasons only partially accounted for the raging passion that coursed through her body. Her relationship with Mulder was different than most other relationships. At times, it felt as if it was only the two of them against the rest of the world, and this isolation brought them close together, giving their relationship a natural intensity even before they became romantically involved. And now that they had allowed themselves to move to the next level, the intensity was simply displaying itself in other ways—namely, through their incessant love-making that afternoon. Scully hoped that the intensity would not manifest itself in such a way too often. As much as she had enjoyed the afternoon, she was not sure how many more afternoons like the one she had just had her body could take.

When they finally rose from the kitchen floor, both were a bit stiff, but neither one was willing to admit it. Mulder had finished his first sandwich, so he quickly fixed himself another before offering the bread and turkey to Scully. She took it gratefully and made a sandwich of her own. They ate in companionable silence, each one lost in his or her own thoughts. These moments of quiet were one of the things Scully loved most about her relationship with Mulder. In most of her previous relationships, her boyfriends had always felt the need to talk to her whenever they were together. They would ask her what she was thinking, how she felt, what she wanted. Mulder did not need to ask any of these questions; he already knew what she was thinking and also knew that sometimes, she just liked to be left alone with her thoughts. He was aware that they did not always have to talk and that silences could sometimes help them to communicate better than words ever could. They were both private people; it had been hard for them to open up to each other at first and learn to trust one another. But now that they had developed that trust, they gave it to no one else.

Mulder left Scully's temporary apartment early the next morning so he could return to his own and change clothes. Scully toasted a couple more slices of bread which both turned out nearly as black as the ones Mulder had made the previous morning. She frowned at the toaster; maybe Mulder's cooking skills had not been the only contributors to the burnt toast.

Before she could try to determine the problem with the toaster, her stomach gave a lurch, and she went flying into the bathroom. Her stomach quickly cleared itself of its contents, and she rose shakily to her feet when she finished, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was paler than usual and covered with a sheen of sweat, and her hair was disheveled and also slick with sweat. Sighing, she quickly rinsed her mouth out before finding a fresh set of clothing and turning on the shower. She would have to remember to ask her regular doctor to prescribe her something for the morning sickness.

When Scully entered the school that day, she immediately began to search for Pearson. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Mulder was right. Pearson would likely respond better to her questioning, especially if she asked in the right way. She hated to be singled out because of her gender, hated that the simple fact that she had two X chromosomes instead of an X and a Y somehow made her different than male investigators, but she knew that sexism would always exist in the world. No matter how many advances they made, women would always be treated differently than men. Scully had chosen a job which ensured that she was surrounded by men every day, so it was inevitable that she would stand out.

She spotted Pearson entering the teacher's lounge, and she followed him, making her way to the coffee machine in the corner. She was contemplating how best to start a conversation with him when he saved her the trouble. "You're the new biology, teacher, aren't you?" he asked. His voice was deep and slow.

"I am." Scully turned, setting her coffee aside as she extended a hand. "Jenny Bolder."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Bolder." His green eyes sparkled as he smiled broadly, and Scully attempted to echo his smile, hoping he would not notice how hard it was for her to produce that simple upturning of the lips.

"You too."

"I'm Jack Pearson. But you can just call me Jack."

"Then you should call me Jenny."

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you." He nodded to the coffee.

"Why? You didn't poison it did you?"

He laughed lightly. "No. But I might as well have. It's awful. You learn pretty quickly to avoid it at all costs. Here." He held up a large thermos. "I've got enough for two."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." He took a Styrofoam cup from the stack by the machine and filled it almost to the top with the steaming black liquid from his cup before handing it to Scully. She added a packet of sugar before blowing on it carefully to cool the liquid. Pearson watched all her actions with fascination.

"It's very good," Scully commented after taking a small sip.

"Thank you. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's making coffee."

"So, what do you teach?" Scully asked as she took another sip.

"English."

"That sounds like fun. I've always been fascinated by literature."

"So have I. It just gives you such insight into humanity. I mean, when you read the works of some of the best authors, you start to realize a lot of things about yourself and others around you. And the best part is that these realizations might not be the same from person to person. What I take from a book might be totally different than what you take from it, but we're both right. I guess that's different from biology."

"True. But I think each subject has its own merits."

They talked for a couple more minutes until Scully felt that Pearson was finally comfortable enough with her to allow her to bring up the topic that was the real purpose for her conversation. "I've heard a lot of things about the teacher I was hired to replace," Scully remarked off-handedly, watching Pearson closely to gauge his reaction. He was a skilled deceiver; she could tell that immediately. To the casual observer, his expression would appear not to have changed, but she was a trained investigator and had worked with Mulder long enough to learn how to read people well. She saw the slight darkening of his eyes and heard the momentary quickening of his breathing.

"You have to realize that much of what you hear isn't true, Jenny."

"The papers were saying she was murdered."

"It was a terrible tragedy. One we're all trying to put behind us."

"It's just a bit scary to think about. To know that somebody was killed right here. Did you know the poor woman, Jack?"

"She was a colleague," he answered elusively.

"Not a friend?"

"Well, I guess you could say she was a friend."

"I'm sorry. This must be hard on you."

"Don't worry about it. We weren't that close." This time, Scully saw it as clear as day, that hint of deception in his eyes before he turned away. She knew he was hiding his affair, but she wondered if he had another greater secret.

She was about to continue her questioning when the door opened and two other teachers walked into the room. They both nodded to Scully before taking two seats beside Pearson and engaging him in conversation. Knowing she would glean no more information out of him at that time, Scully stood and left, taking her coffee with her.

She met Mulder at the bleachers again during lunch that day. Despite her promise that she would not do it again, she once more found herself wriggling through the gaps in the seats to join him. He smiled at her. "Saved you a seat, Scully!" he called, patting the empty space beside him. She glared at him and brushed the dirt that only she seemed to be able to see off of her skirt.

"Couldn't you choose somewhere to eat where you don't have to be a contortionist to get to it?"

"I was unaware that either one of us was a contortionist."

"You know what I mean, Mulder."

"Well, if all goes well, this is the last day we'll have to eat lunch here."

"What makes you say that?"

"I have a hunch, Scully."

"Uh huh." She joined him on the top bleacher, sitting down close enough so their thighs were touching lightly and their knees brushed against each other. "I talked to Pearson this morning," she told him as she pulled out the sandwich she had brought.

"Find anything?"

"He's hiding something. I know that. But I didn't get a chance to find out what it was."

"He was having an affair."

"I don't think it's that."

"Well, I found something, too." Mulder pulled a sheet of paper from inside his jacket. "DMV records for one Howard Jameson. Guess how tall he is? 5'11"."

"That doesn't prove anything. A lot of men are that height."

"I was talking to a couple other teachers about him. Seems he was obsessed with the swamp. They told me he was an environmentalist, always talking about the destruction mankind was causing. He thought we were slowly killing the swamp, and he wanted to stop it. Said it would be gone in a few years if somebody didn't do something."

"So he slaps some mud on himself and starts killing anybody he thinks is threatening the swamp? Why not target developers or contractors? Why teachers?"

"I don't think he wants to stray too far from the swamp. He's exhibiting animalistic behavior. Just like an animal, he has his territory, and he's only killing people who happen to enter that territory."

"Mulder, don't you think you're going a little overboard with this Swamp Thing theory?"

"Just wait, Scully. Tonight, we'll see who's right."

They walked back to the school building together, parting ways in the front atrium. Mulder had a class in a couple minutes, but Scully had a free period. She was hoping to spend it in the teacher's lounge and maybe gather some more information about Pearson. She still could not believe Mulder's theory about the swamp's revenge. Her scientific brain told her there must be a human killer.

As she turned toward the main hallway which led the teacher's lounge, a voice suddenly stopped her. "Where were you, Jenny? I didn't see you for lunch."

"I ate outside," Scully said, turning to face Pearson.

"With that new psychology teacher? Hardy, isn't it?"

"I was eating alone."

"I saw you come in with him, Jenny."

"We ran into each other outside. He was just saying hi. Nothing more."

Pearson's hand suddenly came out, grabbing her forearm and squeezing. Hard. Scully imagined that she would have bruises there in the morning. "Don't lie to me, Jenny." His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, Scully saw them change. They were darker, blacker, less than human. She had seen those same eyes before on various serial killers she had spoken to over the years. She had seen the same look in Donnie Pfaster's eyes when he had tried to kill her. She shivered involuntarily. Even after four years, that case still had a profound effect on her. It was one of the few times in her life when she had felt vulnerable, afraid. After everything she had seen over the years, all the atrocities she had witnessed, it was that one case that still frightened her the most. Perhaps it was the knowledge that a human was capable of such acts, someone just as normal as she was. Someone she could pass on the street every day without giving a second glance. It was Pfaster's normalcy that scared her the most because it made her wonder what other people might be capable of.

"Let go of me." With considerable effort, Scully wrenched her arm from his grip. The teacher's lounge forgotten, she made her way quickly down the hallway to her classroom, intending to seek solace in the one place she had always felt safe, with the one person she knew would never harm her. She could feel Pearson's eyes on her, almost as if they were boring into the back of her head. It was disconcerting. Her breath was coming out in short gasps, and it took a great deal of effort to keep herself from running to his classroom.

When she reached the classroom, she reached for the doorknob, hesitating before her hand closed over it. She was acting irrationally. Pearson was not Pfaster. He was not going to kill her, especially not in a school filled with people. And even if he tried, she had a gun. She could feel the cool metal pressing against her side where the holster was concealed beneath her jacket. She was a trained federal agent. She could easily handle Pearson by herself. She did not need Mulder's help; she certainly did not need to go bursting into his classroom in the middle of class. Such an action would inevitably raise questions, questions that could blow both their covers.

Scully glanced at Mulder standing at the front of the room. Somehow, he sensed her gaze, for he briefly looked away from the slides he was showing his class. Their eyes met, and the message flowed quickly between them. "We need to talk." Concerned, Mulder took a step toward the door, but Scully shook her head slightly before moving away from the window and into her own classroom. There was nothing so urgent that it could not wait a few minutes. He needed to wait until he could leave the classroom without arousing suspicion.

Five minutes later, the door to her classroom opened. Scully looked from the papers she was pretending to grade to see Mulder standing in the open doorway, his arms crossed across his chest, and his piercing eyes fixed on her face. "Shut the door," Scully instructed. Wordlessly, he did as she asked before turning back to her, still wearing the same questioning gaze. "It's Pearson," Scully said.

"You're sure?" Mulder asked.

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"He stopped me in the front lobby after you left. He seemed jealous, asked about me eating with you. I told him I was eating alone, but he kept accusing me."

"And?" Mulder asked, knowing there was more to the story. Scully closed her eyes. She had not wanted to tell him what happened next, for she knew he would overreact. Or worse, he would pity her. She did not need to be pitied. She needed to make sure that Pearson ended up behind bars where he belonged.

"And then he grabbed my arm, and I looked into his eyes, and I saw. . . I don't know what I saw, but I'm sure it's him, Mulder."

Mulder nodded, somehow understanding even though Scully herself was still unclear on what exactly she experienced. "I'll call the police department," Mulder told her. "I'll have them come and arrest Pearson and take him in for questioning. I want to stick around here at least until the end of the day though. If we keep our cover intact, we might be able to find something on this guy that'll put him away for good."

"Okay. I'm staying with you."

Mulder tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"Scully-"

"Mulder, you need to get back to your class. They're probably wondering where you are," she told him. He gave her one last appraising look before turning and leaving. Scully turned back to the papers in front of her, unable to shake the uneasiness that still coiled in her stomach.

By that afternoon, the entire school seemed to know that Pearson had been taken in for questioning. It was the topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge. Many of the teachers were speculating over why Pearson had killed those four people. Oddly enough, none of them seemed to doubt that he did it.

Mulder sat in one of the hard metal chairs during his free period, listening to the conversation around him. The speculations on Pearson's motives ranged from blackmail to pedophilia. Mulder wanted to point out that no body showed signs of sexual assault, but he knew he had to keep a low profile and continue to pretend that he did not know any more details about the case than those he could read about in a newspaper. When his cell phone rang, he stood and walked into the hall. None of the other teachers seemed the least bit interested in his actions; for this, he was grateful.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Agent Mulder?" an unfamiliar voice questioned.

"Yes."

"This is Officer Greene with the Juniper PD. You called us earlier to give us information about a possible suspect in the Ritley Prep killings. A Mr. Pearson."

"I did."

"Well, I'm afraid that we had to let Mr. Pearson go."

"What? Why?"

"He had a solid alibi for the night of three of the murders. His wife and three other people can all confirm his whereabouts on those nights."

Mulder ran a hand through his hair, knowing Scully would not react well to this new development. He had seen the haunted look in her eye when she had told him about Pearson. He knew she fervently believed that he was behind the killings. "Which murder does he not have an alibi for?" Mulder inquired. He was grasping for straws, and he knew it, but he was unwilling to give up on Scully's hunch.

"The janitor. He says he was at home alone watching television. His wife was out, so she can't verify that."

"Okay, thank you." He finally said. He hung up the phone and shoved it back to his pocket. Grabbing the wrist of his right hand with his left, he pressed both hands to his forehead and let out a long breath. "Dammit!" he whispered vehemently.

The bell rang a couple minutes later, and mobs of students rushed out of classroom doors, unable to contain their excitement over their freedom. Mulder pushed through the crowd, slowly making his way to Scully's classroom. He found her talking to a couple students and waited impatiently by the door for them to leave. When they finally exited the classroom, she turned to him. One look at his face told her everything she needed to know. "They cut him loose, didn't they?"

"He has a solid alibi for three of the murderers."

"And the fourth?"

"Scully, these murders were all committed by the same person."

"We don't know that for sure. Maybe he only killed Theresa Fowler and copied the other murders to divert suspicion from himself."

"He has an alibi for the night Theresa Fowler was killed."

"I saw something, Mulder. You have to believe me."

"I do believe you, Scully. But we just don't have any evidence, and we can't hold him without evidence. You know that."

Scully sighed. "You're right. So, where do we go from here?"

"We'll stake out the school tonight. I still think that's our best chance of catching whoever—or whatever—is responsible for these killings."

"Okay."

Four hours later, Scully was still sitting at her desk in the classroom with the same set of papers spread out in front of her. She still had not looked at a single one. Instead, she had spent most of the time sifting through the case file, searching for anything which might link Pearson to the crime. She did not care how many people corroborated his story; she knew that he was not as innocent as he first appeared.

A sound caused her to freeze. She glanced nervously around the room, searching for any signs of movement. Night had fallen outside, and she had left the classroom lights off, so the only light in the room was from a small desk lamp in front of her. Much of the room lay in shadows, and Scully wondered what these dark places might conceal. She reached to her hip and pulled out her gun, releasing the safety. Holding it beneath the desk, she waited with baited breath for the sound to come again.

Just when she was beginning to think she had imagined the sound, she heard it again, a faint scuffing noise as if someone were shifting positions. She could not tell where the sound originated from, but she instinctively knew it was close. Now cursing herself for turning the lights in the classroom off, she slowly rose to her feet, holding her gun by her side. Carefully, she crept toward the bank of light switches beside the door, her eyes sweeping the room. Her heart was pounding wildly; despite all the dangers she had faced and the number of times she had stared death in the eye, she had never quite grown accustomed to the feeling that her life might end at any moment. She had a basic survival instinct; she wanted to live, now more than ever since she had something to live for. Her hand moved involuntarily to her still-flat stomach. Mulder had wanted her to go back to her temporary apartment for the sake of the baby, but she had put her foot down. He had eventually given up trying to argue with her.

Her feet were steady as they carried her across the room. She had trained herself not to let any of her fear show in her actions. Even when her insides were drowning in fright, as they were now, she remained outwardly calm. She had to do so, for a shaking hand could throw off her aim and easily cost her her life.

Her left hand threw the light switches, and the sudden fluorescent lights chased the shadows from the room. Scully's right hand brought her gun to eye level, and she swept the room quickly. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever she had heard must have come from outside the classroom.

Still holding her gun in one hand, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Mulder's number. "Mulder, I heard something outside my room," she whispered into the phone. As she said this, she heard the sound again, louder this time.

"I'll be right there." He hung up, and Scully turned back to the door. She grasped the handle and started to turn it, but it turned of its own accord beneath her hand. Both Scully's hands immediately grabbed her gun, and she pointed it at the tall figure which stood in the doorway. "Scully, it's me," Mulder whispered.

"Sorry. Did you find it?"

"No. I don't see anything." He examined the linoleum floor of the hallway.

"I'm sure I heard something, Mulder."

"Maybe it left when it realized there were two of us. This thing looks for easy prey." As he said this, they both heard a soft sound farther down the hallway. Immediately, Mulder also pulled out his gun, and they crept silently down the hall, trying not to let their footfalls be heard. The janitor had turned off the lights when he left, so only a couple emergency lights illuminated the area, giving it a murky, grey appearance.

When they reached the end of the hallway, they heard movement to their left, and both turned, pointing their guns at the opening of a boy's bathroom. They stood stock still, listening as the sounds grew louder. After a few seconds, a figure appeared around the corner, concealed by the shadow of the wall. "Freeze!" Mulder instructed. "Come out slowly with your hands in the air."

Obediently, the figure began to inch forward slowly with its hands extended. When it stood directly in front of Mulder, he squinted at it in the dim light from the flickering emergency light above him. "Mr. Nutt?" he finally questioned.

"Ye-ah?" Nutt's voice was slightly shaky as he looked from one agent to another, confusing etched onto his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to finish up some papers," he explained. "Nature was calling, and the teacher's bathroom is on the other side of the building."

Mulder sighed and lowered his gun. "Have you seen anything else come through here?"

"No. Why?"

"Is anyone else still here?" Scully asked.

"Not that I know of. Usually, people don't work this late, especially after all those murders. But I really had to get my papers done, and it's impossible to do them at home. I have a four-year-old and a two-year-old."

"So you've seen and heard nothing at all suspicious?" Mulder inquired, rubbing his head with the hand that did not hold his gun.

"No. What's all this about?"

"Okay, Mr. Nutt, I'm going to walk with you back to your classroom. You're going to get your stuff and then we'll go to your car together, and you're going to go home."

"You two aren't really teachers, are you?" Nutt questioned, seeing the guns they both held. "Who are you?"

"We're FBI agents," Scully told him.

"Really?"

"Yes. And now for your own safety, I'm going to have to ask that you do as we say."

"So, are you two undercover or something? It's just like the movies. Very-"

"Shh!" Mulder hissed before Nutt could continue. Immediately, Nutt fell silent and watched as Mulder listened carefully. All the muscles in his body were tensed, ready to spring into action. Looking at his current posture, one could immediately see the power of his body. He looked unbeatable.

The next time the sound came, all three heard it. It was unmistakably the sound of footsteps, but another sound accompanied them. The second sound was almost like a squelching as if the person was walking through a puddle of some kind. The sound was coming from farther down the hall, toward the back end of the school. "Go back to your classroom and lock the door," Mulder told Nutt. The man nodded fearfully before turning to do as Mulder had instructed. The two agents silently padded down the hall, following the footsteps which were steadily slowing. Just as Mulder and Scully reached the end of the hall, the footsteps stopped. They turned the corner and caught sight of something about twenty feet from them. It looked almost human, but the shape was odd somehow, amorphous like it was wearing bulky clothes.

Both agents trained their guns on the figure, and Scully took the lead this time, shouting, "Turn around slowly!" Even in the dim light, they could see the figure stiffen before it began to run. Its gait was slightly unsteady, but it was nevertheless fast, so fast that the squelching of its feet with each step merged together until it became a constant sound. Mulder immediately began to race after it with Scully close behind him, glad she had changed into flats and more casual clothes before they began their stakeout.

The figure reached the back door in record time, pushing it open with a force so great Mulder was surprised the door did not break from its hinges. By the time he reached the door, it was starting to swing closed again, and he thrust his free hand out in front of him, sending the door crashing open again. They tore across the field behind the school, the figure running with a loping, almost animal-like gait, albeit on two legs. Mulder was close behind, not gaining, but not losing distance either. "Stop! Federal agent! I will shoot!" Mulder shouted. Still, the figure did not slow, so Mulder raised his gun and fired a warning shot over its head. It did not even turn around.

Cursing under his breath, Mulder continued to follow the figure in a mad dash through the marshy area behind the school. He felt the ground growing less firm beneath his feet and knew they were rapidly approaching the swamp. He could not let the thing reach the swamp, for he had no doubt that if it did, it would disappear. With no other choice, he fired another shot, this one aimed for what he supposed was the shoulder—at least, it would be the shoulder if the figure was a man. His shot obviously hit its mark; he heard an animal-like growl, and the figure stopped. Before Mulder could completely register what was happening, it had turned and was running swiftly toward him. Though it was dark, he could make out some of its features in the light from the half-full moon. The face was bumpy as if whatever it was had a multitude of tumors covering the sides of its head. Its eyes were dark; they seemed to be nothing but holes in its lumpy head. As far as Mulder could tell, it had not hair or other distinguishing features to make it human; the entire body was misshapen, its nose nothing more than a slightly larger blob in the center of its face, and its mouth a simple slit at the bottom of its head.

With a lurch, the creature lunged at Mulder. He was too startled to shoot at first, and he soon found himself lying on his back in the mud with the creature standing over him, snarling. His gun had been knocked from his hand, and his fingers reached desperately for it, but he discovered nothing but the ubiquitous mud. The creature reared back, opening the slit that seemed to serve as its mouth. It let out a loud, inhuman sound, a cross between a growl and a shriek before lowering its head toward Mulder.

At that moment, Mulder's fingers finally closed over the welcome metal of the gun. He brought it up to his chest and fired three quick shots. With another loud shriek, the creature collapsed on top of him, and Mulder scrambled from beneath its weight, rising to his feet. He stood above the creature for a moment, staring down at it, his breathing still labored from the earlier chase and the subsequent attack. The creature seemed to be changing before his eyes. The lumps on its body were rapidly disappearing, the hair growing, the eyes lightening. Before long, Mulder was staring at a naked man.

Suddenly, Mulder realized something was not right. "Scully!" he called, listening desperately for an answering call or the telltale sound of her footsteps in the mud. But he heard nothing but the chirping of crickets and the low croak of the frogs. "Scully!" he tried again, louder this time. He spun around, searching the trees, but he saw nothing useful. "Dammit!" he cursed before he was once again running, this time back toward the school.

While they made the mad dash down the hallway, Scully had fallen behind Mulder. She always did; it was times like these when she absolutely hated her short legs. With his long limbs, Mulder could easily keep up with just about anyone or anything they chased, but she always found herself left in the dust. Still, she continued to run, knowing that even if she would eventually catch up. She hoped she would still be of some use then.

As Scully entered the forest, something hard collided painfully with her kneecaps, sending her sprawling. Her gun flew from her hands, and she heard the dull thud as it hit the ground a few feet away. Scully started to rise up to retrieve it, but a weight pressed onto the small of her back, pinning her to the ground. "Surprised to see me?" a familiar voice asked. This time, he did not even try to disguise the malice in his voice. "I must say, you are quite a piece of work, Ms. Bolder, if that's even your real name. You see, once the police brought me in and started questioning me about my involvement with Theresa, I remembered my conversation with you earlier today. It seemed eerily similar, too similar to be a coincidence. That's when I realized what had happened. For whatever reason, you had told the police that I murdered those people. I really don't like people who accuse me of murder, Ms. Bolder. Especially when the accusations are false."

His foot pressed harder onto her back, and Scully bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from crying out. "Why did you come back here?" she asked.

"I was driving by, and I saw your car still in the parking lot. It seemed like the perfect time to take my revenge. I could kill you and stage your body like the others, and everyone would just assume you were another victim." He laughed, and the abhorrent sound chilled Scully to the bone. She had to keep him talking. It was her only chance of survival.

"If you didn't kill those people, who did?" Scully reached forward, but her gun was too far away for her to reach. Carefully, she lifted her abdomen slightly off the ground, testing the pressure of his foot.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. Not that I care. It save me a lot of hassle."

"Why?"

"Because that little bitch was pregnant, and she threatened to tell my wife. I was actually trying to think of a way to kill her myself when the serial killer stepped in to help me."

At that moment, Scully felt the weight from his leg lift slightly, and she acted. Pushing off from the soft ground, she turned her body quickly, grabbing Pearson's legs and knocking him off balance. He fell, and she scrambled for her gun, but he was quicker. She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, and she struggled, trying desperately to escape his grip. Her foot kicked up, hitting nothing but air on its first try. The second time she kicked, however, her foot connected with his body, and he gave a shout of pain as the grip around her waist slackened. She kicked again, hitting him in the stomach this time, and his arms completely left her body. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to face him as she backed up slowly, her feet shuffling through the mud for her gun. He had also risen to his feet and was advancing on her just as slowly.

His lunged forward, and she brought her knee up to connect painfully with his groin before crushing his foot beneath hers. She jammed her elbow into his face, feeling his nose crunch beneath it. Enraged, he grabbed her again before she could react, moving his hands to her neck. His fingers closed over her trachea, squeezing the air out of it. Scully felt herself losing consciousness, and her counterblows were becoming weaker and more erratic. She forced herself to remain alert as she punched his side, but the blow did not seem to affect him. She tried using her foot next, but he moved his legs away before she could connect with his shin. He sensed her life slowly slipping away, and he smiled.

"How does it feel to know your life's almost over?" he inquired. She sputtered, and his hands squeezed tighter as his smile widened. Scully's hands moved to his, trying to pry them from her throat, but she was unsuccessful. Just as she began to accept that she was about to die, she heard a loud bang, and the pressure around her neck released.

"Scully, are you okay?" a familiar voice questioned, racing to her side. Her brain was still swimming from lack of oxygen; his face was blurry as it floated in front of her. She felt one of his hands gently cup the back of her head as the other arm slid beneath her shoulders, lifting her up so that her head was in his lap. At that moment, Scully finally waved the white flag and gave in to unconsciousness.

The next afternoon, Scully and Mulder were both sitting in Skinner's office. The doctor had released Scully from the hospital that morning; her ordeal in the forest had caused no lasting damage to her or the baby though she did have a few bruises around her neck. Mulder had urged her to stay home from work, but she had insisted on coming in. As soon as they had arrived in their office, Skinner's secretary had called to instruct them to come to their boss's office. Scully hoped that for once, they were not there to be reprimanded.

"I must say, you two did an impressive job," Skinner complimented once both had settled into their seats. Both agents looked up in surprise. Skinner rarely complimented anyone, especially them. It seemed unnatural to hear something other than a reproach coming from his mouth.

Scully was the first to recover from her shock. "Thank you, sir," she said.

"Not only did you catch the killer you were assigned to catch but you also managed to apprehend a man wanted for murder in three different states." After Mulder shot Pearson, they had run his fingerprints through the system and found that his prints had been found at eight different crime scenes in the United States.

"That was mostly luck, sir," Scully admitted.

"Well, luck or not, it was still damn impressive. People tend to notice arrests like that. I'm sure I will have no problem reassigning you two to the X-files if that's what you wish." He looked at Mulder and Scully who glanced briefly at each other.

"We'd greatly appreciate that, sir," Scully told him.

"Good. Now that that's settled,-" Before Skinner could finish his sentence, there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" he called. All three heads turned to watch the tall, gangly man enter the room.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I have some forms from our latest case that need both your and Agent Scully's signature," Agent Brackston said. He glanced around the room and immediately noticed Mulder. "Agent Mulder, I heard that you were back. Evidently, you solved that case you were on."

"I just had to have the right help." Mulder glanced at Scully who was already reaching for the papers in Brackston's hand. As Brackston handed them to her, he watched Mulder and Scully closely. He had been told that she was untouchable, that she was Spooky's girl through and through, but he had refused to believe that this could be true. He could not think of what such a smart, beautiful woman as her could possibly see in a man who, by all traditional standards, had long since gone off the deep end. Mulder actually believed in UFO's and aliens and secret government conspiracies. He spent his time chasing ghosts and goblins. Surely Scully, as a rational scientist, must see that he was delusional. She probably found his beliefs laughable and he himself little better.

But as Brackston looked at the two, he realized with a start that his initial beliefs were completely inaccurate. There was something in the way they glanced at each other and held an entire conversation without speaking that told Brackston they were closer than the average partners.

What shocked Brackston the most, however, was that Mulder was invading in on Scully's personal space and she did not even seem to care. Their chairs were right next to each other, much closer together than Brackston had remembered them being on his previous visit to Skinner's office. They sat so that their arms were less than an inch away, and their knees barely brushed against each other when one of them shifted. If Brackston had been sitting in the chair next to Scully, she would have long ago moved it subtly away. But with Mulder, she seemed to welcome the closeness, even encourage it by leaning toward him from time to time. They never truly touched; they merely hovered near each other as if some unseen force were keeping them apart, keeping them professional.

Scully briefly glanced over the paperwork before signing her name at the bottom and passing it to Skinner. Once Skinner's name also adorned the papers, Brackston took them and turned to leave. He paused at the doorway to glance back at Mulder and Scully once more. They appeared to be in an animated debate about something; Scully's hands were dancing through the air in front of her as she attempted to illustrate her point, and Mulder was watching with an amused expression gracing his face. When her hands finally paused in their motion, he leaned forward, so close that it appeared their noses were touching, and said something that Brackston could not hear, but it caused Scully's hands to fall to her lap and her eyebrows to shoot up. With a sigh, Brackston turned back to the door. Yes, she was definitely Spooky's girl through and through.

Two nights later, Scully was pacing her apartment restlessly. Though they had been assigned to the X-files again, there were no new cases, so she and Mulder had spent two days performing background checks, a mundane task that only succeeded in making both irritable. They had fought about something stupid which is why she was currently alone at her apartment. She thought about calling him to apologize, but she was too stubborn to do so. She wanted him to admit his mistake first. Not that she actually remembered what his mistake was.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Scully pulled on a coat and left the apartment. When she walked out of the apartment, she did not turn toward the parking deck where she kept her car; instead, her feet carried her the opposite way down the street.

It did not take her long to figure out where her subconscious was leading her. She turned into a small park and made her way around a lake to a wooden bench on the opposite side. A figure sat on one end of the bench, hunched over. He was wearing a dark coat, so it was difficult to see his face, but Scully immediately knew who it was. Her suspicions were confirmed when a small shell flew from beneath the coat and joined a number of others on the ground in front of the person.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Mulder commented when she stood beside him. He looked up, spitting out another sunflower shell.

"Is this seat taken?" Scully questioned, gesturing to the bench beside him.

"It's all yours."

She sat down, and they both turned to face forward. At the same time, both said, "I'm sorry." Their eyes met, and they smiled.

"Would you kill me if I told you I told you I didn't remember what I was sorry for?" Mulder asked.

"That's okay. I don't remember either."

"Sometimes I wonder why we haven't killed each other yet."

"Probably because we love each other too much."

"Oh yeah. That." His grin widened.

"Mulder, we have to talk."

"I've heard those are the four worst words to hear in a relationship."

"It's about the baby."

"I figured as much."

"Mulder, we can't raise a child while we go gallivanting around the country chasing aliens and mutants. One of us needs to stay at home."

"And you think it should be you."

"It's the logical decision. I could teach at Quantico again."

"Or I could teach at Quantico. Or go back to the VCU. People may think I'm off my rocker, but a lot of important people still remember that I have a knack for psychology."

"Mulder, I can't ask you to give up the X-files."

"Without you, the X-files aren't worth anything anyway. I told you once that I don't want to do this alone; the sentiment still holds. I'm only half the team; we would never have solved most of those cases if not for you. It just won't be the same without you."

"I'm sure they'll assign you a new partner."

"I don't want a new partner. The X-files are our work, Scully. Yours and mine."

"What about the truth, Mulder? What about finding your sister?"

"I can keep searching for answers without being on the X-files. It might actually be easier. I won't have to deal with the bureaucracy, won't have to give detailed accounts of what I've found to people who don't give a rat's ass about it. I can find the truths for myself without having to report them to others." He was lying, and they both knew it. If he left the X-files, he would never have the same freedom to search for the truth again. He would have other responsibilities.

"Mulder-"

"Look, Scully, I'm not giving up. I'm just reassessing my priorities."

Scully chose that moment to lean forward and kiss him. He responded almost instantly, wrapping an arm around her slim frame to pull her closer. Tongues dueled fiercely, neither one able to dominate. Eventually, Mulder pulled away and looked at her with a fain smile. "What was that for?"

"For offering me everything."

"Well, in that case. . ." He leaned forward and kissed her again.

This time, Scully pulled back from him after a few seconds. "We're still going to have to talk about work arrangements," she pointed out.

"We have eight months."

"Actually, I don't believe there is much to discuss," a voice remarked from behind them. It had a barely detectable British accent as if its owner had once been in Britain but had long since left. Mulder and Scully both whirled quickly, reaching for their guns. They saw a man standing behind him, but much of his visage was obscured by shadows. He wore a dark, bulky overcoat which made his height and build difficult to determine.

"Who are you?" Mulder asked. Both agents had trained their guns on the man.

"A friend," the man answered. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd lower your weapons."

"Like hell we will. I've had a number of 'friends' over the years, and most of them seem to cause nothing but trouble," Mulder said contemptuously.

"What do you want?" Scully questioned.

"I just wanted to give you a warning. Stay on the X-files. Both of you."

"Why?" Mulder questioned, his gun still steady.

"Because the work you do there is more important than you realize. If both of you don't continue, there could be serious consequences. For the entire world."

"What kind of consequences?" Scully asked.

"There is no way of knowing for certain. All I know is that both of you must remain on the X-files if there is to be any hope for our future."

"I thought you bastards wanted us off the X-files," Mulder remarked.

Although the light was too dim to see the man's face, Mulder could hear the slight smile in his voice as he spoke the next words. "I don't work with the. . . 'bastards' who want you off the X-files. Trust me when I say that you and I have similar interests."

"Trust you? Why should we trust you? For all we know, you were sent to kill us."

"And yet you are the one pointing a gun at me, Agent Mulder. I was not sent to kill you. I merely came to give you the warning as I have done."

"Why should we listen to you?" Mulder inquired.

"Because if you don't, we will make sure that this entire discussion becomes a moot point." The man turned pointedly to Scully. Rage roared to life in Mulder, and he moved toward the man, but Scully was quicker.

"You bastard," she spat, jabbing her gun into the center of his chest. "You'd actually threaten my unborn child? What kind of monster are you?"

"The kind who is willing to sacrifice a few to save many."

"I should kill you now," Mulder growled, the barrel of his gun dangerously close to the man's face. Now that he was standing directly in front of the man, Mulder could see his facial features more clearly. He was younger than Mulder had first expected; after years of fighting people his father's age, Mulder had come to expect all his enemies to be in their sixties, smoking cigars around a large wooden table as they discussed the best ways to destroy the world. But the man in front of him looked to be in his late thirties, barely older than Mulder himself. He had short blond hair and dark eyes. His face was smooth and round, almost boyish in appearance. Mulder nearly laughed. It looked as if they had sent a kid out to threaten him.

"Go ahead. That's not going to stop them. You've seen what lengths the other side will go to to ensure that their plan succeeds. What makes you think that we're not willing to make the same sacrifices? We're all on the same side, Agent Mulder."

"No, we're not," Mulder growled. "I wouldn't murder for anything."

"Not even for the truth?" Mulder did not respond immediately, thinking of the Cigarette Smoking Man and the other members of the Syndicate. Would he kill them to find the truth? In a heartbeat. A slow smile formed on the man's thin, pink lips. "That's what I thought. We all have a price we are willing to pay." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I would avoid drawing any attention to these new. . . developments in your relationship. There are plenty of people in the FBI who would love to see you two split up." And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows. Mulder considered following him, but he knew that he would learn little from such an action. The man was not a high ranking member of whatever group he represented; they had proved that he was expendable by sending him out to threaten Mulder and Scully.

Mulder and Scully continued to stare after the man for a few seconds before turning to each other. "We sure know how to attract them, don't we Scully?" Mulder remarked with a wry smile. "Seems no matter what we do, we manage to royally piss off some secret government agency."

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Scully questioned. Mulder looked at her and saw the fear shining brightly in her blue eyes. He cupped her left cheek in his hand, stroking it gently with his thumb.

"I don't know if he was or not, but I do know that you and I will both do everything in our power to protect this baby."

"I think we should both stay on the X-files."

Mulder nodded. "I think that would be best. There's no point in incensing them unnecessarily. Besides, it'll be nice to have you around for longer."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."

"Good." He used the hand still cupping her cheek to bring her face forward to meet his. After a few seconds, he rested his forehead against hers. "Why don't we continue this discussion back at my apartment?" he suggested.

"Okay." Scully took his hand in hers as they started to walk away. "Hey Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Right back at ya, G-woman."

A/N: If anyone is wondering about that last scene, I put it in because I want them to stay on the X-files since it's so much more fun to write stories that way. But I also wanted them to stay true to character, and I doubt that they would both continue to work if they had kids unless someone forced them to.