CHAPTER FOUR:
COURTYARD, JUST OUTSIDE HOOVER
"Daniel? As in Dr. Daniel Waterston, the man you once had a relationship with?" Mulder asked, haphazardly tucking his shirt back into his waistband as his eyes searched the street for the BMW.
"Yes...at least I thought it was," Scully murmured as she surreptitiously adjusted the bra beneath her shirt. "But Mulder, I could be wrong. My line of sight was impaired, as was my cognitive ability at that moment."
"Plainly speaking, you were pre-occupied with my obvious skills as a lover," Mulder quipped, sliding his hand gently against her cheek and shoving an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
"Plainly speaking, I was using very poor judgement," Scully answered, stepping away from his touch. "We know better than to allow something like that to occur. We're not a couple of teenagers, Mulder. We're-"
"-Super G-Man and Super G-Woman, defending the free world against aliens, conspirators, and liver bile. We may scale sewers, escape from alien ships, and defeat fluke men, but we're not allowed to be human."
Looking at her partner's incorrigible face, she smiled. "Ok... but just every once in a while. And Mulder?"
"Hmm..." he said, his mind, obviously, still puzzling over the empty parking space at the curb.
"I've always wondered what was under Superman's cape," she said, giving his butt a gentle squeeze as she walked out of the courtyard, back onto the sidewalk.
"Anything for you Super G-Woman, anything at all," he murmured, wondering what Daniel Waterston looked like, and if he happened to be distinguished, and fifty-something-ish.
THE OFFICE OF DR. DANIEL WATERSTON, M.D.
LATER THAT SAME DAY
Mulder stood beside the desk, tapping impatiently on the computer monitor as he waited for the secretary to look up from his keyboard. When the gentleman finally finished typing, and raised his head, he came face to face with the official FBI badge Mulder held open in his hand. Mulder was playing a hunch, a hunch that would either pay off, or put his ass in a frying pan so hot he'd have third degree 'Scully-burns' by the time she was done with him. But the jumpy feeling at the back of his neck just wouldn't go away.
"Yes, may I help you," the young man asked, his curiosity evident in his inflection.
"I'd like to see Dr. Waterston, please."
"Do you have an appointment? Dr. Waterston's schedule is quite full today. He got delayed earlier, and that pushed him back. He's just now beginning to catch up," the secretary said as he pulled the doctor's day planner into view.
"Excuse me, Brad, is it? This is my appointment," Mulder reiterated, holding his badge once more in front of the young man's face.
"Ah...gotcha. Why don't I call the doctor and let him know you are here...uh...Agent-?"
"Mulder... Special Agent Fox Mulder. Brad, I think we're finally doing business now."
"Agent Mulder, I believe my secretary said it was urgent. What can I help the FBI with this afternoon?" Dr. Waterston asked as he came out from behind his desk. He walked to where Mulder was entering the door, and extended his hand out in greeting.
Giving the doctor's hand the obligatory clasp, Mulder took in Daniel's appearance. He was a man in his mid-fifties, graying hair, a moustache, and distinguished looking in his charcoal gray suit. He fit the florist's description perfectly. There was no doubt in his mind, that the good doctor was Scully's 'secret admirer'.
The question was, why?
Dr. Waterston, returning to his seat, motioned Mulder to a chair in front of his desk. Mulder decided to accept. Nonchalantly dropping his body into the place proffered, he smiled across the desk.
"Dr. Waterston, I'll get right to the point. I'm Agent Dana Scully's partner."
"You're Dr. Scully's partner?" Waterston repeated, obvious in his intent at using her medical designation instead of her FBI title. "Is there something wrong with Dana?"
Looking across the desk at Waterston's expression of concern, Mulder had no doubt it was false. As he held the man's attention, he asked, "Why don't you tell me, Dr. Waterston. You seem to have become inordinately interested with her, lately."
"Agent Mulder, I'm not sure what you mean by 'inordinately'. We haven't spoken to each other in months. Although, I've always been interested in Dana; we're very close friends," Waterston replied, his gaze never wavering from Mulder's. "But I hardly see how our personal relationship has anything to do with you, as her professional partner, I mean."
Deciding to quit pussy footing around, Mulder pulled a pink envelope from his pocket, where he unsheathed the card, holding it up so Waterston could see it. He asked, "Dr. Waterston, did you send Agent Scully this card?"
"Yes, Agent Mulder I did."
"Unsigned?"
Taking the card held out before him, Waterston opened it to the verse inside. Smiling, he silently read the words.
"Again, I don't see how this is any business of yours. This is between Dana and me, but, yes, I did not sign the card."
"May I ask why not?" replied Mulder, his voice thick with controlled anger. "Was there some particular reason you felt the need to send Agent Scully this card, unsigned; flowers, unsigned; and intimate apparel, again, without any acknowledgement of who the sender might be."
"Before I answer that, Agent Mulder," Daniel smiled, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers across his chest, "I'd like to ask you a question. Does Dana know that you are here interrogating me?"
Wishing he could wipe the smug, arrogant smile from his lips, Mulder kept his cool. Forcing himself to relax, he smiled in turn. "No, Daniel, Dana does not know I am here."
Chuckling, Daniel sat forth in his chair. "You are either a very brave man, Special Agent Fox Mulder, or extremely fool hardy. Either way, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Dana finds out."
"And...in answer to your question," Waterston continued, just as Mulder was going to reiterate, "I didn't sign the card because I knew Dana would understand the significance of it. That particular play of Shakespeare's holds great meaning for us. But, perhaps, she'd rather tell you about that. I feel as though, at least I should respect her privacy."
Ignoring the not so subtle jab, Mulder repeated, "And the flowers and the nightgown?"
"As far as the flowers are concerned, I did send a card. Perhaps something happened to it when it was delivered from the florist. As far as what it said, that was private. And the...nightgown, as you so eloquently put it...that didn't have a card, but it shouldn't have needed one, if she had received the one I put with the flowers. In light of that card, the negligee...uh...spoke for itself. I'm sorry to hear my message wasn't delivered. That explains why she hasn't gotten back to me."
Looking at his watch, Dr. Waterston stood. As he sauntered over to the door, he asked, "Tell me, Agent Mulder, do you normally get so intimately involved in your partner's personal affairs?"
Realizing the meeting had been deemed officially over, Mulder stood as well. Joining Waterston by the door, he replied, "Only in so far as her safety is at issue. And when 'Dana' receives personal gifts without the benefit of acknowledgement, or fingerprints for that matter...you did know Dr. Waterston, that there were no finger prints on any of her special gifts?"
"No, Agent Mulder, I did not. I have no idea how that could occur."
Glancing down at a hardback book thrown carelessly on the end table by the couch in Waterston's office, Mulder asked, "Dr. Waterston, you don't happen to drive a BMW do you?"
"Yes, I do."
"And did you happen to be in that car, parked near the FBI building this afternoon?" Mulder asked as he picked the book up, and turned it over in his hands. Dr. Colleen Azar's picture stared back at him from the dustjacket, her laughing face mocking him like a surreal ghost. It was as though she had just stepped across his grave, her footsteps silent testimony to the chills running down his spine.
Coughing slightly, Daniel replied, "No, Agent Mulder, I was at a meeting this afternoon. I was nowhere near your office. Why would I be?"
Handing the book to Dr. Waterston, Mulder slipped through the office door. "Why indeed, Dr. Waterston?"
LATER THAT NIGHT
He moaned. His body tensed. His legs twitched. His eyelids fluttered. His breathing became more labored with each flashing scene. Tossing his head from side to side, he tried to escape, but he couldn't.
Blood...bright red, flowing, vibrant-pulsing blood. It pooled on the floor beneath her head, intermingled with auburn strands of hair. It shouldn't have happened. She was the one. She had the credentials; she was a physicist, a woman of science. Surely she'd understand his point of view.
Screams...earsplitting screams of terror, outrage, cries of confusion-Which were hers? Which were his? Glass breaking, shattering into piercing shards just like his heart, breaking into pieces, again. She wouldn't understand; she couldn't understand.
Colleen thought he had come to her to discuss the miracle of his recovery, to investigate the imbalances in his life that might have added extra medical stress to his body. She thought she might be able to convert the great Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D. to her misguided way of thinking about the world.
He was not the one who needed conversion, she was. And she couldn't see. When he suggested all her mumbo jumbo, voodoo, chakra, aura, energy field crap was nonsense, she dismissed him, actually had the audacity to request he leave her house.
She wouldn't listen. She was patient, but she was firm in the defense of her beliefs. The more it became clear that she would never understand how fallacious her ways of thinking were, the more his blood boiled within his soul. He no longer heard her words, her entreaties that he "just leave". All he could hear was Dana's sparkling laugh, the splash of the ocean spray against the rocks on their beautiful day, their magical weekend. It was so obvious now, how could he have ever felt Colleen Azar could measure up to his Dana.
As the pounding surf's roar filled his ears, he turned away from her, feigning interest in one of the sculptures. It was delicate, as though it was a dancer, arms splayed out, skirts twirling. He took the surgical gloves from his pocket, and slipped them, with practiced ease, upon his hands. He'd been careful to not touch anything in her home. He hadn't left his fingerprints anywhere.
Giving the dancing sculpture a gentle spin, he turned, and advanced on her.
The serenity, the peaceful expression she must surely have practiced, disappeared. The pupils in her eyes dilated as they beheld the latex upon his hands. Her nostrils flared, comprehension coming to her in panicked waves of dread. He could smell the pungent aroma of her fear; it was fierce.
She didn't beg like the others had. He could see her eyes wildly tracking the room, trying to establish a way out. She thought her intellect would save her. She was incorrect in that assumption. As he lunged for her, she fell back, her head crashing hard against the coffee table, sending a waterfall sculpture tumbling to the ground.
As he beheld her glazed expression, her momentary confusion, he seized his moment, picking up the fallen sculpture and smashing it against the side of her head. He lashed out at her, over and over, until he knew this doppelganger was no more. Then he looked at the simple beauty of her living room, its shrine to her bizarre beliefs,
and went berserk...
Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D., the epitome of control, lost it. He smashed everything he could get his hands upon. He threw candles through the stain glass windows; he yanked silky sheers from their hooks, and tossed sculpture and Buddhist temple knick knacks around like he was Hurricane Daniel. Until, finally, spent, bent over double, he cried out in rage and impotence.
It was at this moment, that he saw car headlights flash through the front windows. No! He wasn't done. Frantically, he searched for his briefcase, tossing pillows and candles aside in his frenzy. Grabbing it from beneath one of the fallen sculptures, he fumbled at the clasps, jerking it open. He snatched the Polaroid camera from inside, and quickly snapped her picture. He needed to record this, to remind himself that there was no other for him, no one else that could replace his Dana. Never again would he stand for a poor substitution. Next time he would have the real thing.
Just as he heard the key in the front door lock, he exited out the back door, running like he had the hounds of hell at his heels. His breath burned in his lungs. His arms held his briefcase tightly to his chest as he made his way down the street as quickly as his legs would carry him. He was sure the sirens he heard were after him; they had to be. His eyes glazed over with fear, his lips were parched, his-
"Dad, wake up. Daaad."
Waterston's eyes flew open as his body jolted awake. He registered the hands shaking at his shoulders as the voice continued, "Dad, you're having a nightmare. Wake up, Dad."
Clarity came swiftly to him as he took in his surroundings. His body was drenched in sweat; his heart raced. But he was home, seated in a leather recliner, the seat tilted back so that his feet rested on the reclining stool. The television flickered light across the room, the sound droning in his ears. Maggie was bent over him; her cool hands stroked his brow as she tried to soothe the blood fever she knew nothing about.
He wasn't sure what the nightmare signified, other then being violent, and vivid, beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. Why he would be dreaming about that Azar woman was beyond him. It was probably a response to that book Maggie had given him, but the savagery of the night terror was so out of character.
Lately, however, it had become the norm. He was having more and more unexplained dreams like this, each more horrific than the last. Sometimes he felt as though he were split into two people, and it was getting harder to reconcile each with the other.
He shivered.
"Ma...aggie. What are you doing here? Why aren't you home with Mark? It's late; you shouldn't have come out."
"Uh...Dad, Mark and I-"
Daniel saw the floral suitcase and matching garment bag sitting on the floor at the entrance to the family room. Looking up he saw the tears welling in Maggie's eyes. She turned her back to him, and fussed with the newspapers that were scattered on the coffee table.
"Maggie?"
"I don't want to talk about it tonight, Dad. Please...I just need a place to say," she said, stacking the newspapers, then gathering them up in her arms as she headed for the recycle bin in the garage.
"I'm tired, I just want to go to bed. We'll talk in the morning, ok Dad?"
Daniel pulled the handle of the recliner, snapping the footrest back into position beneath the chair. He really didn't want to deal with this tonight. His brain was still trying to process the images of Dana and her partner engaged in lewd behavior out in the open like a couple of horny teenagers who didn't know better.
He hadn't been able to clearly see anything, but his imagination provided the details his eyes had missed. It was not a pretty picture, and one that would have to be dealt with, immediately, especially since Agent Mulder's visit to his office earlier that day.
Fox Mulder would not get in the way of his plans.
Rising, he walked to his daughter, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and stopping her departure.
"Maggie. I want to know, now," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "Why are you here, without Mark?"
Daniel felt the trembling of her shoulders as Maggie quietly cried. "It's off, Dad. I called the engagement off."
"Maggie, that's crazy. You're just having pre-wedding jitters. Sweetheart, that's all it is. Why don't you call Mark, and work it out? I know you want to," he said, picking up the portable phone and holding it out to her. "I'm sure he's beside himself worrying about this whole thing."
Maggie, ignoring the phone, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, smearing her streaked make-up even more. "Dad, no...This was not a quick decision on my part. It's been building for several days. He's...he's just too controlling for me. I thought he'd change if we were able to talk things out. I thought once he understood where I was coming from, he'd listen," Maggie said, walking into the kitchen, laying the papers on the counter, and grabbing a glass from the cupboard.
As she filled the glass with cold water, she continued, "I've told you how I want to drop out of law school-"
"Maggie, and I've told you how big a mistake that is. You would make a wonderful attorney. You are doing so well; you are so gifted," Daniel snapped, grabbing his own tumbler from the cupboard. Only he filled his with a shot of Jack Daniels, throwing it back in one angry, swift gulp.
"This whole writing idea of yours is crazy, Maggie. If you want to write, fine...just get your law degree first, and write on the side. It's a great hobby, but not a career."
Taking a deep breath, and carefully placing her glass in the sink, Maggie turned to leave the room. "You sound like, Mark, Dad. Have you been coaching him? I heard those same words from his mouth. 'It's a hobby, Maggie. Play time, Maggie. You aren't serious, Maggie.' You two get along so well; you marry him," she hissed, attempting to step around her father.
Daniel reached out, grabbing her arm. He roughly turned her to face him. "You are crazy to think that this choice of yours will make you happy. You are turning down a promising career, a chance to make a name for yourself, the opportunity to excel under my tutelage. You have no idea what you are throwing away. What I can offer you, Dan...Maggie-", he screamed at her, his flushed face, contorted with frustration and rage, inches from hers.
"Dana?! Are you experiencing deja vu, Dad? Is this how it was between you? The great Dr. Daniel Waterston tried to control her life, too. No wonder she left you!"
"How dare you mention Dana. You have no idea what it was like, what we were like."
Jerking her arm free, Maggie hurried into the living room and grabbed her suitcases from the floor. She turned, yelling across the room at her father who stood in the kitchen, shaking. His eyes were stunned, glazed with rage; his body trembled with the vehemence of his outburst.
"I'm outta here. I don't need to listen to this twice in one night. If you can get yourself under control, and want to talk, I'll be at Sarah's. But whatever your decision, Father, know that I am doing what's best for me. I am taking care of myself. I learned from a very early age not to depend on you!" Maggie screamed as she slammed out the front door.
Throwing his empty glass into the sink where it broke into dozens of splintered pieces, Daniel hurried after her. He threw open the front door as her car sped from their driveway. "Dana, you'll be back! You know I'm right! Medicine's your passion; I'm your passion! Don't you run from me! I'll follow you."