There was no one in this universe that Scully hated more in that moment than Fox Mulder.

The fact that he left her on this case, by herself, when it was his idea in the first place, wasn't the only reason she had to hate him. It was but one of a whole list of reasons she had to hate him in that moment. She could start with the fact that she hadn't properly slept in days, move on to the lack of any proper food in her diet in the last week, add in the broken furnace which made the chilly, early spring nights downright cold in the miserable hell hole Mulder had set up base camp in, and top all off with the fact that she had seen female breasts in this one week alone than in her entire residency as a doctor, including her rotation with the OB/GYNs. She had seen many other things she was fairly certain she hadn't seen in her time with the OB/GYN doctors as well, and she was fairly certain there wasn't enough bleach in the world to scrub that out of her mind. And as if all that wasn't enough, she knew Mulder was somewhere, on some case, living the high life and enjoying every minute of it.

The bastard…

This entire thing had been his idea in the first placed, she groused as she sat by her place at the window in a room she was fairly certain hadn't been cleaned anytime in the last half-a-century. The wallpaper, what was left of it, was a faded gray, at least where it wasn't missing in giant sheets. The plaster crumbled and Scully was fairly certain something creepy and crawly was living in the walls. The carpet smelled as if something had died on it and she wasn't about to investigate the funny, wet patch in the corner. The furniture looked to be on its last legs and she was not about to put one inch of skin on either the couch or the lumpy, gray thing on a frame that was euphemistically called "a mattress".

The view from the telescope wasn't particularly better than in the room. Dirty Dames was the sort of divvy place you only imagined existed in a movie, sleazy, smoky, and somewhat slimy. Even looking at it made Scully want to take a shower for a week. The music pounding out of the place was enough to keep everyone for blocks around awake. And despite the lofty statement that Dirty Dames was a gentleman's club, the clientele she saw going in and out of there was about as far from her definition of the term as she could possibly imagine. The only thing that seemed even somewhat wholesome in this den of iniquity was the dirty beat up van that perpetually sat outside of the curb with the words, "Jesus Saves" sprayed on it. But even that murky little glimmer wasn't even in sight tonight, the curb next to squalid, neon-covered building filled with prospective clients and drunken frat boys, tumbling out of their beat up car like wiggly, giggly little puppies.

Scully made a mental note that if she ever had to hear the words "dude", "bro", "horny", or "slam" ever again it the same sentence, it would be way, way too soon.

She glared at her cell phone, contemplating annoying Mulder just for the sheer spite of it, to spew her venom at him and beg off this detail once and for all. A solid week she'd been here with no relief. The Metro PD wouldn't even take up this watch and thought she was nuts for doing it. A solid week of looking for a horribly made up, bleach blonde, with enough eye make-up to make Tammy Fay Bakker jealous and no sign ever of their suspect. She had seen many other things that she couldn't unsee, but not their mysterious, invisible serial killer.

Maybe she really was invisible. So invisible that Scully would never find her. And she would be stuck there, watching this tableau of fornication from now till the end of time. And when Mulder finally pulled himself away from his case to come find her, he'd see nothing but Scully, hunched over a telescope, clawing at her eyes, starved and frozen to death, all because of him.

Yeah….that sounded like a fitting guilt trip.

Her cell phone was in her fingers before she could think twice, and Mulder's phone was ringing as she desolately glared at the building across the way. He picked up and she began her tirade without even a preamble.

"Mulder, when you find me dead, my desiccated corpse propped up staring lifelessly through the telescope at drunken frat boys peeing and vomiting into the gutter just know that my last thoughts were of you and how I'd like to kill you."

He paused for a long moment. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

If he was mocking her, so help her God. "It's a freak show, Mulder," she exploded, whining into the phone. "It's a nonstop parade of every lowlife imaginable."

"Well, the view may not be too different here," he muttered in what he obviously thought was solidarity. "It's dressed up a little nicer but underneath the surface, it's the same seamy underbelly."

Did he honestly believe that?

"It's not the same," she snorted derisively. "Trust me."

His chuckle on the other end of the line only served to annoy her.

"You know, Scully," he began, clearly shifting gears. "This case has turned out to be a little more interesting than I thought and I could use your help."

Help? He could use her help? Help sounded hopeful, like being somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here. "Are you talking about a reprieve for me?"

Idly she glanced out of the telescope, hoping against hope that Mulder would save her from this perdition and take her away to someplace where the most hopeful thing wasn't the rusty van of some street preacher sitting outside of a strip club.

Street preacher…rusty van….Scully blinked at the side of the "Jesus Saves" van that hadn't been parked there just a minute ago. It was the only consistent thing there every single night.

Mulder rambled in her ear. "Well, there's a murder victim I'd like you to autopsy for me. What do you think?"

She ignored him, thinking. Every night she had been there, so had the van. And she could bet that the van had been other places in the area too. Who would think to question a van with the words "Jesus Saves" on it? Probably most in this area, including the police, ignored it, too intent on the other sleaze going on.

"The van is back," she murmured, more to herself than Mulder on the other end of the line.

"What did you say," he queried, and she realized she hadn't really heard a word he said.

"Nothing! Mulder, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

She snapped her phone shut, staring out of the telescope, focusing it on the rear end of the ratty van. Brain spinning, she dialed again, this time the Metro PD. The operator on the other end answered with a mechanic greeting.

"Yes, this is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI, badge number JTTO331613. I need a run on some plates, District of Columbia, DZ-1555. Car is a white van, I can't get a make or model on it."

She could hear clicking on the other end of the line as fingers typed into keys. "We have that registered to a Mark Scott Egbert, has an Anacostia address."

Right…he lives near there. "Thanks." She clicked off, thinking. So, a man…possibly a preacher? She returned to the telescope, watching the van, wondering just what a man with "Jesus Saves" on the side would be up to?

As if reading her mind, the passenger door opened. Out stepped a tall, skinny man, white, unpresuming, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He glanced at the strippers, hookers, and interested parties wandering outside of the club, as if ensuring that no one was paying any attention to what he was doing. Most of the people outside in fact didn't seem to notice. Casually, he wandered around to the back of his van, opened it up, and climbed inside.

Interesting, Scully wondered. She watched, waited, curious to see if he came out again. For nearly half-an-hour there was nothing as her fingers froze and her breath fogged the air near the window. But finally, the doors opened.

And out stepped there mysterious blonde…

Scully gaped. The dorky, unremarkable man who climbed into the back came out looking like one of the women of the walking the corner, from shiny, red pleather to knee-high, leopard skin boots. He even had a cleavage that Scully would kill for.

"That is…amazing." She murmured to no one but herself, stunned at the transformation. Horrified too, as it could be all too possible their killer was trying to pass himself off as a hooker or stripper himself in order to ingratiate himself into the population there.

Another phone call, this time the exchange at the FBI. "Hi, this is Special Agent Dana Scully, I need you guys to run a trace on a Mark Scott Egbert, address is Anacostia, District of Columbia. Get me all the information you can get and call me back at this number."

Well this made things certainly more interesting than they had been in days. And quite possibly she had the break she had longed for. And soon, oh so soon, perhaps she could be in her shower, and a real meal with green vegetables, and a bed…oh, God, her bed! She would soak in hot water till the grime and stench of this place came off, she would crawl into her bed and not come out for months, and when she did, she would make Mulder make up for this week. How? That she didn't know.