Chapter Eight

St. Anthony's Mercy, Boston, Massachusetts

April 2nd, 1999, 2:17 a.m.

"Ohh...where am I?" Mulder groaned and began to shuffle about in his hospital bed when he realized that his head hurt. "Ow." Scully heard him from outside and quickly strode inside the room with a styrofoam cup of coffee in hand.

"Mulder, don't move."

"You might as well tell me not to breathe," he whispered. "Well, we just seem destined to keep our medical insurance companies happy. You're not going to tell me that I'm lucky to be alive, right?"

"Nope. Not this time." She set the coffee down onto his bedside table and pulled a chair up to his side.

The tranquility with her chores was at first not an issue with him. He knew that she was not a gregarious person; she did not suffer from the same pressure of speech that he did. But her reticence was now gnawing at his very core. He had to know what happened.

"She knocked me out, didn't she?" he finally inquired.

"I suppose. It could've been Ashcroft for all we know." More quiet. Something was very wrong.

"In what kind of state did you find me?" Mulder pressed.

"One fairly similar to an incident in Chaney, Texas that occurred one year ago. Except you had fewer clothes on this time, and you were humming the theme from The Love Boat when I woke you up."

"I guess I had a good excuse then, didn't I?" A juvenile grin crossed his face, but Scully did not pick up the humor. "What'd you find out about that frame?"

"A lot. In fact, the frame wasn't the only counterfeit evidence given to us." She lowered her head shamefully and made eye contact with the sheets.

"It wasn't?"

"No. The security tape was also a fake. The footage showed Dominic cutting the painting from the front. But in fact, the canvas 'stolen' from the frame was truncated from the back edges. So out of curiosity, I had the Boston FBI techs open the matting from the front, and we found the Renoir painting unscathed and untouched."

"Then what'd they steal?"

"The other three. I suspect they did it while I was occupied with obtaining the security disc upstairs. I was so upset with Ashcroft about his behavior and was so determined to get that frame, that I forgot all about the other three that were not there."

"When do you think they switched discs on you?"

"I was never given the original. Once we saw it was a fraud, Pendleton rushed over to the museum to arrest Stewart--but of course, he was gone."

"And Lloyd?"

"We checked with her employer for any travel arrangements she might have made to get out of town, but there were none. None of her personal credit cards were used or checks."

"What about Williams?"

"We had to release him about an hour after you left. His lawyer arrived and just about tore the office apart with his hurricane fury. He claimed we were treating him inhumanely and intimidated the FBI with a lawsuit so big that it would make the 1994 McDonald's coffee episode seem like cigar lighting money."Scully picked up the coffee and sipped it pensively. "But it didn't beat out the sum that Ronnie Strickland's family was originally aspiring for," she continued.

"Ugh, so what was it that did the clobbering?" Mulder's hand reached up to rub the gauze, but Scully grabbed his wrist before he came into contact with the bandage.

"Your gun. It's been confiscated for evidence. Those sutures are fresh. Don't pull them out." He turned his hand to glance at the back of his palm, and she began to loosen her grip. Mulder shook his head and tenderly clasped her fingers between his. Her eyes were full of question.

"I never realized this, before, Scully, but you're really meticulous about keeping your hands soft. A lot of doctors I know have very calloused and rough hands."

"Really? And how often do you go around caressing other doctors' hands?" He shrugged and was just about to bring their joined hands to his lips when she withdrew herself.

"What's the matter?" he asked. Scully went back to quaffing her beverage and crossed her legs prudently. Her body language spoke for itself. He had jumped over the invisible line of protocol between them, perhaps. Or was it something else that was causing her to be so vigilant?

"Scully, I'm not Dominic Williams. Would you mind telling me where I screwed up, please?" After what seemed like an eternity, she finally spoke. But it was not the response he was hoping to hear.

"Skinner's nonplussed, to say the least. But he understands our situation. Since you've been hospitalized, I'll finish up the report...with a recommendation for Katherine Lloyd, Bernard Stewart, Dominic Williams, and Lieutenant Ashcroft to go onto our 'most wanted' list."

"Are you angry with me, Scully?"

Anger was not even the half of it. It was just a starting point on her 'shit' list. From there, her emotions knew no boundaries, and she wanted very badly to tell him how he had hurt her deeply. How he had violated their sacred pact of trust and perhaps even, their friendship. But now was not the time for a tirade. It was not professional, in her mind's eye. Besides, he was still on drugs. Nothing would be remembered in the future that was said today.

She sighed and rested her forehead into her splayed fingertips. Rest. That was all she wanted right now. Lounging in a tub would be a bad idea; she'd probably become too relaxed in it and fall asleep. The last thing she needed to wake up in would be cold water.

"Hey, Scully...are you still here with me?"

"Mmph," she grunted, "yes, I'm awake, Mulder."

"When do I get out of here?"

"You'll probably get released within the next twelve hours or so. Depends on what your doc says."

"I'm looking at her."

"I need sleep, Mulder. I'll be back to check on you in the morning, and if you're in good enough shape, I'll drive us back to D.C. Goodnight." Mulder furiously tried to remember what on earth he could have done to make her so cold and stoic. She obviously was not in the mood to share his sin, so it was up to him this time. It must have been something really awful; in all of the past hospital visits, she'd never left his side. But that wall was there; he was determined to find out what had forced her to build it so thickly.

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

April 2nd, 1999, 10:13 p.m.

Scully unlocked the door and trudged into her empty home. She plodded first into her kitchen to turn on a kettle of water and then into her bedroom to deposit her overnight bag onto her bed. After she had changed into a comfortable set of lavender pajamas, she followed the loud cheer of the kettle's whistle back into the kitchen, and poured the water into a mug with a chamomile tea bag.

The drive back had been exhausting. A flight would have been more preferable to her, even though she hated flying. But the fog at Logan Airport was far too dense for any commercial flights to penetrate. And having to spend eight hours in a car with the incendiary device of her irritation was like having a thorn in her side. It was nice to finally be away from Mulder.

Unfortunately, now that she was separated from him, she could think of nothing else. His lustful desires had clouded his judgment, and once more, she had been there to pick up the pieces in the end. She normally would not have minded lying for him had he just left to go see the Gunmen or perhaps even harass Lieutenant Ashcroft. At times like this, she reminded herself that this was why she could and did not want to become romantically involved with her partner. It was too much of a heartache to be ditched.

An unfamiliar rapping came to her door, and as she went to look through the peephole, a husky man with Nordic blonde hair and blue eyes looked straight back at her. Her hand went suspiciously to the Walther .380 she kept in a nearby boudoir as she partially opened the door. "I'm here to see a Dana Scully," his Germanic accent stated.

"What do you want?" Instead of giving her a verbal reply, he pointed to a folded up padded table leaning against the wall, and she placed the hidden gun back into the boudoir. "Are you sure you're here to see me?" Scully asked with one of her genuine skeptical expressions.

"This was the address given to me by the gentleman on the phone. Can I come in, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please do." She was completely baffled but did open the door all the way, and he walked in with his equipment. "Gentleman?"

"Would you like me to use the table, or are you more comfortable on your bed?"

Scully was now a little less confused, but she was still in amazement as to this very powerful but good looking man's presence. She shuffled back into her kitchen to pull out the tea bag and as she came back, he was still there in her living room. "Could you please make your decision soon? I have another appointment after you, Miss Scully," he demanded politely.

"I'm sorry, what did you ask again?"

"Your massage. Would you like it in here on the table or on your bed?"

"Um...I guess in the bedroom. Uh...would you like a cup of tea?"

"I don't drink while on duty, but thank you just the same." He retrieved his duffel bag from the floor and stretched his arm out in front of himself. "Shall we?"

"This way. Do you need any help?" As she led him into her most private sanctuary, the man chuckled briefly in a low pitch.

"You relax and drink your tea. Let me do all the work." She sat on her bed to do just that and watched as he unzipped the bag to begin to pull out various bottles.

"What's your name?"

"Mark." He continued on throughout the one sided conversation to go about the room and dim the lights. Mark next removed four scented candles, lit them, and pulled out a large tupperware container. "I'm going to need for you to remove your nightclothes. Your top, at the very least, if all of it makes you uncomfortable."

The tea was making her very drowsy, and she of course felt a little reluctant but complied as he turned his back. When she was finished, she laid herself on the bed face down. "What type of scent are those candles?"

"Vanilla brown sugar and ginger. Would you like some mood music?"

"I'm not really big on New Age stuff."

"It's Dave Brubeck. Improvisational jazz."

"I like jazz," she nodded and her speech started to slur in her slightly euphoric state. Mark disappeared from the bedroom momentarily, and the CD's alluring quartet began to play softly as he came back.

"He paid for a full body," the man mumbled as he noticed that Scully left her bottoms on. "Well, I'll give you a little something extra on your back then." He cracked the tupperware case open, pulled out a fistful of freshly thawed and mature rose petals, and tossed them carelessly onto the bed.

"Who called you, anyway?" she yawned and realized her eyelids were commencing to feel very heavy.

"I'm not sure. My partner took the call, actually. His information will show up eventually on the credit card receipts at the end of the month."

"I hope you don't mind this, but I think I probably will fall asleep on you in a short amount of time."

"I don't mind at all, Miss Scully. I would hope you'd relax yourself." Mark pressed his hands together after oiling them up and began his magic. True to her word, within a few minutes, she was fast asleep. The music suddenly changed from the Dave Brubeck Quartet to a tender moderate rock ballad. He instantly knew that someone had touched the stereo, and just as he was about to stop his work, Mulder approached the doorjamb shoeless. He sneaked into the room wordlessly and poured his identity as well as his full intentions

out into the bulky masseur's ear.

"Miss Scully, I left my body cream in my car. I'll be back in a few minutes--don't be alarmed when I come back in," Mark announced and quietly started to pack up his things.

Scully then muttered a reply that sounded like "okay" with her face concealed in the pillow and went back to her previous state. Mulder followed him back out to her entrance and held the door open. "Just one question, though," Mark said.

"Ask away."

"If she means so much to you, why don't you do it while she's awake so that both of you can savor it?"

"I was kind of hoping for that. But now that I'm here, I can't very well leave her being unsatisfied, can I now?"

Mulder tiptoed back into her room and dug his hands into the body cream Mark had left opened for him. He smoothed them back and forth several times before venturing into previously forbidden territory. Oh, her skin felt so good.

A touch at the small of her back during their office hours was nothing in comparison with this. At first, he constantly roved all around her in concentric circles with his palms, but then he then substituted his fingers into the same pattern. Mulder then became so intoxicated with her that his fingers no longer made circles; instead they now made large figure eights. Scully groaned slightly and began to shift her head. For one horrible moment, Mulder thought that she was going to see him. But thankfully, she only moved it forward into the pillow and arched her neck so he could do the same ministrations to it.

Simplicity had been his first intentions, but now it seemed as if she wanted more. He picked up one of the petals and gently scraped it along her back while keeping his other fingers on the neck. One day, maybe just one day, she would let him do the same thing while being aware of his presence. More pressure was needed, he decided. Mulder placed both his index finger and middle finger onto the petal and pushed down a bit harder. If he had better ears, he would had sworn that he heard a "Mary, Mother of God" from the pillow.

The next morning...

Scully awoke to the sudden realization that she had fallen asleep on her masseur for the evening and had forgotten to tip him. As she robed herself and staggered into the kitchen to make herself a pot of coffee, she backed up and stared at the lanky figure dozing peacefully on her couch. He was snoring gently through his nose with his arms folded cozily on his chest.

After her second cup of coffee, it finally dawned on her why in the world she would have found a completely clothed Mulder snoozing on her couch. Scully reached into her cabinet, poured another cup, and scuffled back into the living room. She held the cup under his nose for a few seconds, and as his eyes opened, they became mortified with terror. He nearly jumped up off of the sofa, but when she proffered him the coffee and sidled herself next to him, he calmed down. "Morning, poopyhead," she gave him a large smirk.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," Mulder squeaked.

"Come on, wake up. I'll make you some breakfast."

THE END