Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 02/11
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language
Spoilers: Through Season Five
Keywords: M/S UST
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
"Not the Doctor"
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 2
"I'm sorry I'm so late," Scully gasped as she entered the office. She was out of
breath from the stairs, too impatient to have waited for the elevator. Drenched
from the storm that raged outside, she placed down her briefcase and umbrella,
and carefully removed her coat to hang on the rack, sneezing in the process.
"The weather made the roads horrible, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper on the
highway," she informed her partner as she walked over to her desk and sat down,
opening her briefcase and removing a folder. "Before that, though, I had to wait
over two hours for the lab at Quantico to finish their analysis of those
cultures. I've only perused the lab report, but I think we've got the evidence
we need. I tried to call, but for some reason the machine kept on picking up,
and because of the storm, my cell-phone was on the fritz." Her statement
punctuated by another sneeze, she reached for a tissue. "Mulder?" she called out
as she blew her nose. There came no reply. In fact, she realized then that he
has been unusually quiet since she returned. Looking over at him, she now
understood the reason.
Mulder sat hunched over the counter behind his desk, sorting through some
slides. No doubt preparing for his testimony at the hearing on Monday. He made
no indication that he even heard Scully enter the room.
"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" she asked, her tone a mixture of
amusement and irritation. When there came no reply, and another sneezing fit
overwhelmed her, the latter emotion began to quickly win out. Scully had spent
the better part of a day trekking over to Quantico, enduring the worst storm she
could remember in years. She put up with snail-paced, snippety lab techs,
navigated past a seven-car pile up and more rubber-neckers then she ever dreamed
could exist--likely catching a cold in the process, if her sneezing were any
indication--and now he did not even have the decency to acknowledge her
presence, let alone her actions?
*Why the hell do I put up with him?* she wondered. She knew she had a right to
be angry. He often became so immersed in the work that solving a case was all
that mattered. During such times, proper procedure became a foreign term. She
would never deny the fact that he was a brilliant investigator, solving cases
with only a few seemingly unconnecting pieces of the puzzle. Despite his
incredible intellect, however, in other areas he could be terribly thoughtless.
Even though they were partners, and she knew that he respected her opinions and
her skill as both a scientist and an agent, there were times when she had felt
as though he were ordering her around, *telling* her to work on some aspect of a
case while he went off on his own to follow up some longshot lead.
Today, in fact, was no exception. She had been working on polishing her autopsy
report when he asked her to go to Quantico and see how the culture analyses were
progressing and to try to hurry the lab techs along for the results if at all
possible. Not that she minded helping out in this case however she could--and,
quite frankly, this aspect of the investigation *was* more in her line of
expertise--it was just that she would prefer if for once it did not sound like a
requisition coming from a superior agent.
More often than not, there was a method to Mulder's madness, and their combined
efforts proved fruitful. But there had been many times when the potential costs
did not seem worth it. He frequently behaved in a manner she could only describe
as foolish or dangerous, risking his life and career--not to mention hers on
occasion. She had lost count of how many times these acts had landed him in the
hospital. She always wanted to admonish him for his reckless behavior. But then
all he had to do was flash her one of those pitiful puppy dog looks--it often
was not a conscious act, she knew--and her anger would dissipate. Usually, she
was just thankful he had made it through his ordeal more or less in one piece.
Watching him working at his task so intently, a memory suddenly flashed before
her mind's eye. She was reminded of the day she was assigned to the X-Files. She
had entered this office for the first time over six years earlier, greeted by a
bespectacled Mulder who sported a guarded smile as he gazed up at her and shook
her hand, declaring "Isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded?" in his
customary sardonic manner. Ever since that moment, she was lost. There was a
physical attraction, yes, but they had also connected on an intellectual and
emotional level as well. No matter how much he tried to live up to his "Spooky"
reputation, no matter how many times he attempted to scare her away--all the
while spewing wild theories regarding the paranormal--she refused to give up so
easily. She was able to look past that spooky facade and the sarcastic jokes to
see how much more there was to Mulder.
In this man was an enthusiasm and a drive she had found equaled in no other.
*I have never met anyone as passionate and dedicated to a belief as you.* She
admired the incredible faith he held--in his beliefs, the work they did, the
answers they sought. His loyalty and devotion, not only to the X-Files, but also
to their partnership, made her cherish their friendship even more. He had been
there for her through some of the most difficult times in her life--her father's
death, the loss of her sister, her own recovery following her abduction, her
battle with cancer--standing beside her, providing strength when she was weak,
an ear when she needed to talk, a shoulder when she needed to cry. Yes, he had
his faults like any other--his desire to learn the truth often giving him
tunnel-vision and a reckless disregard for his own personal safety immediately
coming to mind--but the fact of the matter was, whenever she had truly needed
him, he had been there for her, unconditionally. *That's why you put up with
him,* she thought.
Over these past several years, they had come to know one another with the
familiarity of lifelong friends. Though they did not always agree--on theories,
or even methods of investigation--they both sought justice and the answers to
their questions, and as partners, they complemented one another perfectly. At
times, they were in such sync that Scully felt it were as though they could read
one another's thoughts. Two halves of the same whole, she often found herself
thinking. Soulmates, Melissa would have called it.
Scully smiled. She had come to know, to trust, and to care about Mulder as she
had no other. She loved him--as partner, best friend, confidant--and she knew
that he loved her as well. But ever since her fight with cancer and her
resulting near brush with death, she had come to realize the depth of her
feelings for her partner: She was in love with him. Whether he returned those
feelings she was uncertain. These past few months, she had found herself toeing
a fine line between friendship and something more, especially during this last
case--which Mulder had been pursuing with an urgency he usually reserved for
those times when his missing sister was somehow involved.
They had been functioning with an incredible efficiency, playing off of one
another's theories, solving the investigation in record time; the fact that they
were able to arrest their suspect with what they hoped would be sufficient
evidence to go to trial was a feat in and of itself where the X-Files were
concerned. During this case, they had been at an all-time best, functioning like
a well-oiled machine, partners working as one. Mulder sensed it too, his
satisfaction at their performance evident not only in his words, but also his
actions. Though now, as always, he never crossed the line of impropriety--always
treating her with the utmost respect--the number and duration of the little
touches he had given her during the course of their interactions had increased
as of late, a fact that Scully secretly relished.
She had been giving their relationship a great deal of thought recently,
considering the consequences if it were to suddenly become more intimate. Now,
as they prepared to give their testimony for the indictment on Monday--Mulder
preparing with his usual degree of energy--she realized that if she wanted their
relationship to change, to proceed to the next level, now was the time to make a
move. They had never been closer; Scully knew it would conceivably take very
little to push them across the fine line they had unofficially drawn all those
years ago--that is, provided Mulder was as willing to cross it as she was.
*And that, dear Dana,* she mused, *seems to be the sixty-four thousand dollar
question.* Ever the one for subtlety and precaution, she had decided that the
best way to pursue the matter was to first test the waters; she had been
conservative thus far where Mulder was concerned, so she might as well take her
time before rushing in. She sure as hell did not want to risk negatively
affecting the relationship they already had. After six years of a strictly
platonic partnership, what was a little more time?
At the moment, however, she had other more pressing matters with which to
attend. During her ponderings, Mulder had still not noticed her presence. With a
sigh, she got up and walked over to his desk, noticing case notes and reports
strewn across its surface. Crossing her arms across her chest, she was just
about to clear her throat to get his attention when he spun around in his chair
to retrieve something from his desk.
He looked up at her and smiled. "Hey, Scully. When'd you get back?"
She sighed. "Several minutes ago. Geez, Mulder, you've been at it non-stop since
I left for Quantic--" she looked at her watch-- "over five hours ago."
"Not true. I got up to get a cup of coffee, and then again about an hour later
when my bladder decided it was time to give it back," he replied with a weary
smirk.
Now that she was able, she took a good look at his face. The stray locks of hair
falling onto his forehead gave his features a boyish charm, and she had to fight
back the urge to rumple his hair and brush back those curls. But then she
noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and what had to be at least two days
worth of stubble. *He looks even more exhausted than I feel,* Scully realized,
concern replacing any remnants of annoyance. They had both been putting in a lot
of extra hours on this case, trying to ensure that they had enough evidence to
bring Andraven to trial. But Mulder had been staying late every night this past
week, and coming in earlybesides. It looked like he had been sleeping even less
than usual. And she would bet that he had not had a decent meal in days. . . .
Realizing that he was speaking to her, Scully cut her musings short.
". . . get the lab reports?" Mulder was asking her.
"Yes," she replied. Retrieving the file from her desk, she handed it to him. "As
with the samples recovered from Blair's lab, nearly all of the cultures we found
in Tim's lab proved negative for any sort of potentially hazardous materials.
Just various anaerobic bacteria found living in rumen of cattle. They live there
symbiotically, helping the animals to digest cellulose for energy in return for
the oxygen-free environment they need in order to survive."
"*Nearly* all? Meaning one came up positive?"
Scully nodded, pleased that Mulder picked up on on the subtle implication of her
statement. She still found it ironic that he was able to read her so well in the
context of work, and yet be totally clueless about how she felt about him on a
more personal level.
"So, what've we got?" Mulder inquired, leaning back in his chair.
"_Bacillus anthracis_, just as Tim said," Scully replied. "The lab techs
injected some mice with the sample, and it killed them in less than six hours.
They sacrificed some other mice about an hour after injection. I took a look at
the blood smears myself--they were riddled with bacteria. This is an extremely
virulent strain, Mulder, with an accelerated cell cycle. Normally, anthrax takes
a minimum of forty-eight hours to cause death.
"It will require more testing to verify, but the strain we found does appear to
be genetically engineered. As we discussed with Tim, the research Andraven's
labs are supposedly doing on rumen microorganisms is likely just a cover-up.
This adds credence to the theory that their real goal is to develop an
especially virulent strain of anthrax for use as a biological weapon. As we
assumed, they apparently knew we were coming, and managed to remove virtually
all of the anthrax samples."
"Why, Scully, you're beginning to sound as paranoid as me," Mulder remarked with
a smirk. "Don't tell me that after all these years I'm finally beginning to rub
off on you?"
"Don't get your hopes up, Mulder," she answered. "We were lucky to have found
those culture tubes in one of the biohazard disposal containers, because it was
one of those discarded samples that contained the anthrax."
"If I remember correctly, Scully, you were the one who spotted the tubes and
suggested we have them tested along with the others," he pointed out. "Great
work. This is probably the vital piece of evidence we need to link Andraven to
the engineered disease and make the charges stick."
Scully found herself smiling in spite of herself at his words of praise. *Get a
grip, Dana. It's not as though you need his approval. . . .* "I still don't see
why you insisted that I go pick up the lab report in person," she remarked, her
tone cool, though not completely hostile. "They could just as easily have faxed
or messengered it over this afternoon." As soon as the words escaped her lips,
she wondered why she had uttered them. It were as though she could not accept
his praise. Whenever a situation presented itself for them to draw closer, to
admit that they appreciated the other's presence, that they cared for one
another, she always seemed to pull away or erect a barrier between them. *Why is
that, Dana? Do you fear the thought of his praise creating increased intimacy?
And you consider _Mulder_ to be emotionally repressed. . . .*
"I just wanted to make sure we have all of the evidence in our hands as we
prepare our testimony," Mulder said, his voice and expression indicating he took
no offense at her questioning his decision. "Same reason I'm going over these
records and setting up some slides. Everything's got to be in place if we're
gonna put Andraven behind bars."
"Mulder, we have done everything by the book on this one. Skinner even seemed
pleasantly surprised with our handling of the case. With Tim's testimony, there
should be sufficient evidence for the judge to rule that Andraven goes to
trial."
Mulder nodded. A moment of silence passed, but then it was as though a page had
turned inside his mind, and she could see just by looking at him that his
thoughts had moved on to another matter. "I remember reading something about the
type of anthrax that killed Blair in the autopsy results you gave me," Mulder
said, sifting through the piles of papers on his desk. "You said she died of--"
Finding the report, he quickly scanned down the page. ". . . fulminant anthrax."
He looked up at her expectantly.
"That merely means a form of anthrax characterized by sudden onset," Scully
explained. "The course of the disease is extremely rapid, and is typically
fatal."
"Quite a coincidence that both the disease that killed Blair and the strain that
was found in Liles' lab can both kill so quickly, isn't it?" he asked.
"Even so, we still have no way to directly link Blair's death to Andraven," she
replied, once again crossing her arms. "He's still claiming that she was
accidentally infected from a contaminated sample she handled."
Mulder was quiet for several moments, sitting back in his chair and chewing
thoughtfully on his thumbnail. "Too bad we can't detect if this strain is
genetically engineered," he remarked offhandedly.
Her eyes widened as a thought arose. "That's it! I don't know why it didn't
occur to me sooner. Mulder, if this strain is genetically engineered, then there
would be some mutations in the usual genetic code that would increase its
virulence, as well as accelerate its reproduction."
"And these changes are detectable?"
She nodded. "If we sequence the DNA of the sample isolated from the culture
found in Andraven's lab, as well as that of the strain Tim managed to sneak out
to us, and compare them to the genetic code of the strain that killed Blair--"
". . . and it matches--" Mulder, too, was growing excited as the last piece of
the puzzle suddenly began to fall into place.
". . . then we can link the work being done in Andraven's lab to the infection
and subsequent death of Blair!" Scully finished. "I'll call the lab at Quantico
and have a PCR performed stat," she said, reaching for her cell-phone and
dialing the lab. She quickly ordered the test. "They're going to rush it," she
told Mulder once she hung up the phone, "but, even assuming no unforeseen
problems, they won't have any results until Monday morning at the earliest."
"Cutting it awfully close, aren't we?"
"It's the best they can do, Mulder. Don't worry, we'll get him."
"I hope you're right, Scully. Andraven *has* to be part of the bigger picture,"
Mulder replied, opening up the file she had handed him earlier. "This case had
brought us closer to the Truth. I can feel it." He stifled a yawn.
"What you're feeling, Mulder, is no doubt exhaustion after going at it for
nearly six hours straight. You need to take a break."
"I'm okay, Scully. This needs to get done. The hearing's on Monday."
"Mulder, that leaves plenty of time to prepare over the weekend."
"I want to go over our reports and my notes, to prepare for my testimony. I want
to make sure we've covered all the bases. We can't afford to let this one get
away. You go on home, if you want. I'm gonna stay a while." He began to sort
through some of the files on his desk.
Shaking her head, Scully headed back to her desk. "I might as well type up some
notes for my own testimony." Hearing Mulder muttering something about missing
photos, she sat down and booted up her computer. She was rummaging through a
drawer when she heard a loud popping sound, followed almost immediately by a
yelp of pain from her partner.
"Mulder, are you okay?" she asked, looking over at his desk. He was nowhere to
be seen. Guided by the colorful phrases he was muttering, she quickly located
him kneeling on the floor behind his desk, grasping his shoulder.
"What happened?"
"I bent down to pick up a file that fell, and must have wrenched my shoulder in
the process," he replied through clenched teeth as Scully helped him to his feet
and he sat down heavily in his chair.
"Let me take a look," she said, reaching for his shoulder.
"It's no big deal, Scully."
"I'm the doctor. Let me be the judge of that," she insisted. She placed her hand
over his--keeping it there perhaps a moment or two longer than she should. She
slowly moved his hand aside before carefully examining his shoulder. She
gingerly rotated his arm in the joint in different directions. Judging from his
reaction, she determined that it was not seriously injured; it was likely not
even sprained. During her probing, however, she discovered a far different
ailment. "Mulder, your muscles are one big knot. Didn't anyone ever tell you
that sitting in one position for several hours is not good for you?" she
chastised, even as she began to rub his shoulders.
"This coming from a woman who spends hours hunched over tables, hacking away at
dead bodi--eeyowch!"
Satisfied at the reaction she got from squeezing his tender shoulder a little
too hard, she let go and prepared to return to her desk. *Two can play at that
game, Mulder.*
"Hey, Scully. . . ." she heard him call.
*Gotcha.* She stopped and turned to face him, feigning surprise.
He looked up at her sheepishly. "My back . . . it's still a little stiff. Think
you could rub it some more?" he asked, his bottom lip coming out in a child-like
pout.
The game was lost. One of those looks, and she was done for. Of course, there
was no reason for him to know that he had already won. "Will you promise to take
a break for a while?" Scully asked, mock sternness in her voice.
"Well, I *am* getting hungry," he admitted. "Coffee's not very filling, you
know."
"If you're willing to step back from this for a little while, then we can go get
some dinner--my treat," she offered as she resumed the massage.
"Mmm. . . ." He lowered his head. She could feel his muscles relax as the
tension began to leave his shoulders. "Do I get to pick the place?"
"Depends. What are you in the mood for?"
"Italian."
"Mulder, if your idea of Italian is an anchovy and pineapple pizza--"
"No, actually, I was thinking of Tufano's."
This time, her surprise was not false. Tufano's? That small, cozy restaurant
with the soft candlelight and violinists? Scully had heard one of the lab techs
raving about the place. And she thought one of the secretaries once said that
was where her husband proposed to her. Mulder wanted to go there? "Well, sure,
Mulder, if you want to. . . ."
"I hear their pasta's outstanding, served in huge portions, with all the garlic
bread you can eat. And their pastries are to die for."
*All the garlic bread you can eat? Cozy indeed. Just like a man to be thinking
of his stomach. . . .*
Mulder sighed. "Scully, did anyone ever tell you that you've got magic fingers?"
She smiled. "Good for more than just hacking up dead bodies, huh, Mulder?"
His reply was merely another sigh of contentment. "If I knew you could do this,
I'd've hurt my shoulder more often."
"Who says my talents are limited to shoulders?"
For a moment, she felt him stiffen beneath her fingers. *Lord, Dana, where the
hell did that come from?* Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she let go of his
shoulders and walked back toward her desk. "So, we on for Tufano's?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, pulling off his glasses and tossing them onto his desk. Was
that a hint of disappointment she heard in his voice? "Just let me get these
files together." He glanced over at Scully even as she gave him one of her
looks. "For this weekend," he explained. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take a break
for a while."
"Good. Because after the week we've had, I can use a few drinks to unwind," she
remarked with a mischievous grin. *Be a little more subtle, why don't you, Dana?
Damn, you're out of practice. . . .* She quickly averted her gaze as she
gathered her own paperwork into her briefcase.
Suddenly, she felt his breath on the back of her neck even as he whispered in
her ear, "Red or white?"
"What?" she asked, quickly spinning around to face him. *Is it getting warmer in
here?*
"Do you prefer red or white wine?" he asked, holding out her
coat.
"Red," she replied, slipping her arms into her coat and buttoning it. "You?"
He stood across from her, merely a foot or two away, gazing into her eyes.
Before she realized what was happening, he took a step closer and his hand moved
toward her, his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as he reached past
her neck to gently release several locks of hair that were tucked in the lapel
of her coat. "Definitely red."
With a smile, she reached for her briefcase. "Ready?"
"Yeah, let's go." Gently placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided
Scully toward the door and out of the office.
End Chapter 2
*****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language
Spoilers: Through Season Five
Keywords: M/S UST
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
"Not the Doctor"
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 2
"I'm sorry I'm so late," Scully gasped as she entered the office. She was out of
breath from the stairs, too impatient to have waited for the elevator. Drenched
from the storm that raged outside, she placed down her briefcase and umbrella,
and carefully removed her coat to hang on the rack, sneezing in the process.
"The weather made the roads horrible, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper on the
highway," she informed her partner as she walked over to her desk and sat down,
opening her briefcase and removing a folder. "Before that, though, I had to wait
over two hours for the lab at Quantico to finish their analysis of those
cultures. I've only perused the lab report, but I think we've got the evidence
we need. I tried to call, but for some reason the machine kept on picking up,
and because of the storm, my cell-phone was on the fritz." Her statement
punctuated by another sneeze, she reached for a tissue. "Mulder?" she called out
as she blew her nose. There came no reply. In fact, she realized then that he
has been unusually quiet since she returned. Looking over at him, she now
understood the reason.
Mulder sat hunched over the counter behind his desk, sorting through some
slides. No doubt preparing for his testimony at the hearing on Monday. He made
no indication that he even heard Scully enter the room.
"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" she asked, her tone a mixture of
amusement and irritation. When there came no reply, and another sneezing fit
overwhelmed her, the latter emotion began to quickly win out. Scully had spent
the better part of a day trekking over to Quantico, enduring the worst storm she
could remember in years. She put up with snail-paced, snippety lab techs,
navigated past a seven-car pile up and more rubber-neckers then she ever dreamed
could exist--likely catching a cold in the process, if her sneezing were any
indication--and now he did not even have the decency to acknowledge her
presence, let alone her actions?
*Why the hell do I put up with him?* she wondered. She knew she had a right to
be angry. He often became so immersed in the work that solving a case was all
that mattered. During such times, proper procedure became a foreign term. She
would never deny the fact that he was a brilliant investigator, solving cases
with only a few seemingly unconnecting pieces of the puzzle. Despite his
incredible intellect, however, in other areas he could be terribly thoughtless.
Even though they were partners, and she knew that he respected her opinions and
her skill as both a scientist and an agent, there were times when she had felt
as though he were ordering her around, *telling* her to work on some aspect of a
case while he went off on his own to follow up some longshot lead.
Today, in fact, was no exception. She had been working on polishing her autopsy
report when he asked her to go to Quantico and see how the culture analyses were
progressing and to try to hurry the lab techs along for the results if at all
possible. Not that she minded helping out in this case however she could--and,
quite frankly, this aspect of the investigation *was* more in her line of
expertise--it was just that she would prefer if for once it did not sound like a
requisition coming from a superior agent.
More often than not, there was a method to Mulder's madness, and their combined
efforts proved fruitful. But there had been many times when the potential costs
did not seem worth it. He frequently behaved in a manner she could only describe
as foolish or dangerous, risking his life and career--not to mention hers on
occasion. She had lost count of how many times these acts had landed him in the
hospital. She always wanted to admonish him for his reckless behavior. But then
all he had to do was flash her one of those pitiful puppy dog looks--it often
was not a conscious act, she knew--and her anger would dissipate. Usually, she
was just thankful he had made it through his ordeal more or less in one piece.
Watching him working at his task so intently, a memory suddenly flashed before
her mind's eye. She was reminded of the day she was assigned to the X-Files. She
had entered this office for the first time over six years earlier, greeted by a
bespectacled Mulder who sported a guarded smile as he gazed up at her and shook
her hand, declaring "Isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded?" in his
customary sardonic manner. Ever since that moment, she was lost. There was a
physical attraction, yes, but they had also connected on an intellectual and
emotional level as well. No matter how much he tried to live up to his "Spooky"
reputation, no matter how many times he attempted to scare her away--all the
while spewing wild theories regarding the paranormal--she refused to give up so
easily. She was able to look past that spooky facade and the sarcastic jokes to
see how much more there was to Mulder.
In this man was an enthusiasm and a drive she had found equaled in no other.
*I have never met anyone as passionate and dedicated to a belief as you.* She
admired the incredible faith he held--in his beliefs, the work they did, the
answers they sought. His loyalty and devotion, not only to the X-Files, but also
to their partnership, made her cherish their friendship even more. He had been
there for her through some of the most difficult times in her life--her father's
death, the loss of her sister, her own recovery following her abduction, her
battle with cancer--standing beside her, providing strength when she was weak,
an ear when she needed to talk, a shoulder when she needed to cry. Yes, he had
his faults like any other--his desire to learn the truth often giving him
tunnel-vision and a reckless disregard for his own personal safety immediately
coming to mind--but the fact of the matter was, whenever she had truly needed
him, he had been there for her, unconditionally. *That's why you put up with
him,* she thought.
Over these past several years, they had come to know one another with the
familiarity of lifelong friends. Though they did not always agree--on theories,
or even methods of investigation--they both sought justice and the answers to
their questions, and as partners, they complemented one another perfectly. At
times, they were in such sync that Scully felt it were as though they could read
one another's thoughts. Two halves of the same whole, she often found herself
thinking. Soulmates, Melissa would have called it.
Scully smiled. She had come to know, to trust, and to care about Mulder as she
had no other. She loved him--as partner, best friend, confidant--and she knew
that he loved her as well. But ever since her fight with cancer and her
resulting near brush with death, she had come to realize the depth of her
feelings for her partner: She was in love with him. Whether he returned those
feelings she was uncertain. These past few months, she had found herself toeing
a fine line between friendship and something more, especially during this last
case--which Mulder had been pursuing with an urgency he usually reserved for
those times when his missing sister was somehow involved.
They had been functioning with an incredible efficiency, playing off of one
another's theories, solving the investigation in record time; the fact that they
were able to arrest their suspect with what they hoped would be sufficient
evidence to go to trial was a feat in and of itself where the X-Files were
concerned. During this case, they had been at an all-time best, functioning like
a well-oiled machine, partners working as one. Mulder sensed it too, his
satisfaction at their performance evident not only in his words, but also his
actions. Though now, as always, he never crossed the line of impropriety--always
treating her with the utmost respect--the number and duration of the little
touches he had given her during the course of their interactions had increased
as of late, a fact that Scully secretly relished.
She had been giving their relationship a great deal of thought recently,
considering the consequences if it were to suddenly become more intimate. Now,
as they prepared to give their testimony for the indictment on Monday--Mulder
preparing with his usual degree of energy--she realized that if she wanted their
relationship to change, to proceed to the next level, now was the time to make a
move. They had never been closer; Scully knew it would conceivably take very
little to push them across the fine line they had unofficially drawn all those
years ago--that is, provided Mulder was as willing to cross it as she was.
*And that, dear Dana,* she mused, *seems to be the sixty-four thousand dollar
question.* Ever the one for subtlety and precaution, she had decided that the
best way to pursue the matter was to first test the waters; she had been
conservative thus far where Mulder was concerned, so she might as well take her
time before rushing in. She sure as hell did not want to risk negatively
affecting the relationship they already had. After six years of a strictly
platonic partnership, what was a little more time?
At the moment, however, she had other more pressing matters with which to
attend. During her ponderings, Mulder had still not noticed her presence. With a
sigh, she got up and walked over to his desk, noticing case notes and reports
strewn across its surface. Crossing her arms across her chest, she was just
about to clear her throat to get his attention when he spun around in his chair
to retrieve something from his desk.
He looked up at her and smiled. "Hey, Scully. When'd you get back?"
She sighed. "Several minutes ago. Geez, Mulder, you've been at it non-stop since
I left for Quantic--" she looked at her watch-- "over five hours ago."
"Not true. I got up to get a cup of coffee, and then again about an hour later
when my bladder decided it was time to give it back," he replied with a weary
smirk.
Now that she was able, she took a good look at his face. The stray locks of hair
falling onto his forehead gave his features a boyish charm, and she had to fight
back the urge to rumple his hair and brush back those curls. But then she
noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and what had to be at least two days
worth of stubble. *He looks even more exhausted than I feel,* Scully realized,
concern replacing any remnants of annoyance. They had both been putting in a lot
of extra hours on this case, trying to ensure that they had enough evidence to
bring Andraven to trial. But Mulder had been staying late every night this past
week, and coming in earlybesides. It looked like he had been sleeping even less
than usual. And she would bet that he had not had a decent meal in days. . . .
Realizing that he was speaking to her, Scully cut her musings short.
". . . get the lab reports?" Mulder was asking her.
"Yes," she replied. Retrieving the file from her desk, she handed it to him. "As
with the samples recovered from Blair's lab, nearly all of the cultures we found
in Tim's lab proved negative for any sort of potentially hazardous materials.
Just various anaerobic bacteria found living in rumen of cattle. They live there
symbiotically, helping the animals to digest cellulose for energy in return for
the oxygen-free environment they need in order to survive."
"*Nearly* all? Meaning one came up positive?"
Scully nodded, pleased that Mulder picked up on on the subtle implication of her
statement. She still found it ironic that he was able to read her so well in the
context of work, and yet be totally clueless about how she felt about him on a
more personal level.
"So, what've we got?" Mulder inquired, leaning back in his chair.
"_Bacillus anthracis_, just as Tim said," Scully replied. "The lab techs
injected some mice with the sample, and it killed them in less than six hours.
They sacrificed some other mice about an hour after injection. I took a look at
the blood smears myself--they were riddled with bacteria. This is an extremely
virulent strain, Mulder, with an accelerated cell cycle. Normally, anthrax takes
a minimum of forty-eight hours to cause death.
"It will require more testing to verify, but the strain we found does appear to
be genetically engineered. As we discussed with Tim, the research Andraven's
labs are supposedly doing on rumen microorganisms is likely just a cover-up.
This adds credence to the theory that their real goal is to develop an
especially virulent strain of anthrax for use as a biological weapon. As we
assumed, they apparently knew we were coming, and managed to remove virtually
all of the anthrax samples."
"Why, Scully, you're beginning to sound as paranoid as me," Mulder remarked with
a smirk. "Don't tell me that after all these years I'm finally beginning to rub
off on you?"
"Don't get your hopes up, Mulder," she answered. "We were lucky to have found
those culture tubes in one of the biohazard disposal containers, because it was
one of those discarded samples that contained the anthrax."
"If I remember correctly, Scully, you were the one who spotted the tubes and
suggested we have them tested along with the others," he pointed out. "Great
work. This is probably the vital piece of evidence we need to link Andraven to
the engineered disease and make the charges stick."
Scully found herself smiling in spite of herself at his words of praise. *Get a
grip, Dana. It's not as though you need his approval. . . .* "I still don't see
why you insisted that I go pick up the lab report in person," she remarked, her
tone cool, though not completely hostile. "They could just as easily have faxed
or messengered it over this afternoon." As soon as the words escaped her lips,
she wondered why she had uttered them. It were as though she could not accept
his praise. Whenever a situation presented itself for them to draw closer, to
admit that they appreciated the other's presence, that they cared for one
another, she always seemed to pull away or erect a barrier between them. *Why is
that, Dana? Do you fear the thought of his praise creating increased intimacy?
And you consider _Mulder_ to be emotionally repressed. . . .*
"I just wanted to make sure we have all of the evidence in our hands as we
prepare our testimony," Mulder said, his voice and expression indicating he took
no offense at her questioning his decision. "Same reason I'm going over these
records and setting up some slides. Everything's got to be in place if we're
gonna put Andraven behind bars."
"Mulder, we have done everything by the book on this one. Skinner even seemed
pleasantly surprised with our handling of the case. With Tim's testimony, there
should be sufficient evidence for the judge to rule that Andraven goes to
trial."
Mulder nodded. A moment of silence passed, but then it was as though a page had
turned inside his mind, and she could see just by looking at him that his
thoughts had moved on to another matter. "I remember reading something about the
type of anthrax that killed Blair in the autopsy results you gave me," Mulder
said, sifting through the piles of papers on his desk. "You said she died of--"
Finding the report, he quickly scanned down the page. ". . . fulminant anthrax."
He looked up at her expectantly.
"That merely means a form of anthrax characterized by sudden onset," Scully
explained. "The course of the disease is extremely rapid, and is typically
fatal."
"Quite a coincidence that both the disease that killed Blair and the strain that
was found in Liles' lab can both kill so quickly, isn't it?" he asked.
"Even so, we still have no way to directly link Blair's death to Andraven," she
replied, once again crossing her arms. "He's still claiming that she was
accidentally infected from a contaminated sample she handled."
Mulder was quiet for several moments, sitting back in his chair and chewing
thoughtfully on his thumbnail. "Too bad we can't detect if this strain is
genetically engineered," he remarked offhandedly.
Her eyes widened as a thought arose. "That's it! I don't know why it didn't
occur to me sooner. Mulder, if this strain is genetically engineered, then there
would be some mutations in the usual genetic code that would increase its
virulence, as well as accelerate its reproduction."
"And these changes are detectable?"
She nodded. "If we sequence the DNA of the sample isolated from the culture
found in Andraven's lab, as well as that of the strain Tim managed to sneak out
to us, and compare them to the genetic code of the strain that killed Blair--"
". . . and it matches--" Mulder, too, was growing excited as the last piece of
the puzzle suddenly began to fall into place.
". . . then we can link the work being done in Andraven's lab to the infection
and subsequent death of Blair!" Scully finished. "I'll call the lab at Quantico
and have a PCR performed stat," she said, reaching for her cell-phone and
dialing the lab. She quickly ordered the test. "They're going to rush it," she
told Mulder once she hung up the phone, "but, even assuming no unforeseen
problems, they won't have any results until Monday morning at the earliest."
"Cutting it awfully close, aren't we?"
"It's the best they can do, Mulder. Don't worry, we'll get him."
"I hope you're right, Scully. Andraven *has* to be part of the bigger picture,"
Mulder replied, opening up the file she had handed him earlier. "This case had
brought us closer to the Truth. I can feel it." He stifled a yawn.
"What you're feeling, Mulder, is no doubt exhaustion after going at it for
nearly six hours straight. You need to take a break."
"I'm okay, Scully. This needs to get done. The hearing's on Monday."
"Mulder, that leaves plenty of time to prepare over the weekend."
"I want to go over our reports and my notes, to prepare for my testimony. I want
to make sure we've covered all the bases. We can't afford to let this one get
away. You go on home, if you want. I'm gonna stay a while." He began to sort
through some of the files on his desk.
Shaking her head, Scully headed back to her desk. "I might as well type up some
notes for my own testimony." Hearing Mulder muttering something about missing
photos, she sat down and booted up her computer. She was rummaging through a
drawer when she heard a loud popping sound, followed almost immediately by a
yelp of pain from her partner.
"Mulder, are you okay?" she asked, looking over at his desk. He was nowhere to
be seen. Guided by the colorful phrases he was muttering, she quickly located
him kneeling on the floor behind his desk, grasping his shoulder.
"What happened?"
"I bent down to pick up a file that fell, and must have wrenched my shoulder in
the process," he replied through clenched teeth as Scully helped him to his feet
and he sat down heavily in his chair.
"Let me take a look," she said, reaching for his shoulder.
"It's no big deal, Scully."
"I'm the doctor. Let me be the judge of that," she insisted. She placed her hand
over his--keeping it there perhaps a moment or two longer than she should. She
slowly moved his hand aside before carefully examining his shoulder. She
gingerly rotated his arm in the joint in different directions. Judging from his
reaction, she determined that it was not seriously injured; it was likely not
even sprained. During her probing, however, she discovered a far different
ailment. "Mulder, your muscles are one big knot. Didn't anyone ever tell you
that sitting in one position for several hours is not good for you?" she
chastised, even as she began to rub his shoulders.
"This coming from a woman who spends hours hunched over tables, hacking away at
dead bodi--eeyowch!"
Satisfied at the reaction she got from squeezing his tender shoulder a little
too hard, she let go and prepared to return to her desk. *Two can play at that
game, Mulder.*
"Hey, Scully. . . ." she heard him call.
*Gotcha.* She stopped and turned to face him, feigning surprise.
He looked up at her sheepishly. "My back . . . it's still a little stiff. Think
you could rub it some more?" he asked, his bottom lip coming out in a child-like
pout.
The game was lost. One of those looks, and she was done for. Of course, there
was no reason for him to know that he had already won. "Will you promise to take
a break for a while?" Scully asked, mock sternness in her voice.
"Well, I *am* getting hungry," he admitted. "Coffee's not very filling, you
know."
"If you're willing to step back from this for a little while, then we can go get
some dinner--my treat," she offered as she resumed the massage.
"Mmm. . . ." He lowered his head. She could feel his muscles relax as the
tension began to leave his shoulders. "Do I get to pick the place?"
"Depends. What are you in the mood for?"
"Italian."
"Mulder, if your idea of Italian is an anchovy and pineapple pizza--"
"No, actually, I was thinking of Tufano's."
This time, her surprise was not false. Tufano's? That small, cozy restaurant
with the soft candlelight and violinists? Scully had heard one of the lab techs
raving about the place. And she thought one of the secretaries once said that
was where her husband proposed to her. Mulder wanted to go there? "Well, sure,
Mulder, if you want to. . . ."
"I hear their pasta's outstanding, served in huge portions, with all the garlic
bread you can eat. And their pastries are to die for."
*All the garlic bread you can eat? Cozy indeed. Just like a man to be thinking
of his stomach. . . .*
Mulder sighed. "Scully, did anyone ever tell you that you've got magic fingers?"
She smiled. "Good for more than just hacking up dead bodies, huh, Mulder?"
His reply was merely another sigh of contentment. "If I knew you could do this,
I'd've hurt my shoulder more often."
"Who says my talents are limited to shoulders?"
For a moment, she felt him stiffen beneath her fingers. *Lord, Dana, where the
hell did that come from?* Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she let go of his
shoulders and walked back toward her desk. "So, we on for Tufano's?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, pulling off his glasses and tossing them onto his desk. Was
that a hint of disappointment she heard in his voice? "Just let me get these
files together." He glanced over at Scully even as she gave him one of her
looks. "For this weekend," he explained. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take a break
for a while."
"Good. Because after the week we've had, I can use a few drinks to unwind," she
remarked with a mischievous grin. *Be a little more subtle, why don't you, Dana?
Damn, you're out of practice. . . .* She quickly averted her gaze as she
gathered her own paperwork into her briefcase.
Suddenly, she felt his breath on the back of her neck even as he whispered in
her ear, "Red or white?"
"What?" she asked, quickly spinning around to face him. *Is it getting warmer in
here?*
"Do you prefer red or white wine?" he asked, holding out her
coat.
"Red," she replied, slipping her arms into her coat and buttoning it. "You?"
He stood across from her, merely a foot or two away, gazing into her eyes.
Before she realized what was happening, he took a step closer and his hand moved
toward her, his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as he reached past
her neck to gently release several locks of hair that were tucked in the lapel
of her coat. "Definitely red."
With a smile, she reached for her briefcase. "Ready?"
"Yeah, let's go." Gently placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided
Scully toward the door and out of the office.
End Chapter 2
*****