Chapter Three

Holiday Inn, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 8:32 a.m.

Although the hotel's continental breakfast was immense and had a variety of choices, Scully settled upon a blueberry muffin and a cup of some extremely strong coffee. It was probably from Africa; South American coffees were far more gentle. Normally, she only added one or two teaspoons of half n'half to her morning java, but this blend made her feel like a heart that was receiving a defibrillator charge. So Scully found herself using quite a bit more cream this morning.

She avoided the crowded buffet room and headed straight into the lobby. A couple of those chairs looked too inviting, but then again, with another few sips from that coffee, she might just spring right out of the cushion from that caffeine high. The TV's distorted speakers blared out CNN's latest headline, but Scully paid it no mind. A storm was brewing here in Indianapolis; it was just a matter of time before she could prevent it.

Unfortunately, after she and Jarod had completed the autopsy, they still could not identify the woman. Their report was three pages long; she had been suffering from liver failure and extensive cerebrum damage. After a further investigation made by Jarod, they found high levels of methylenedioxymethamphetamine lingering in her blood stream as well as ethyl. The woman definitely had quite a nightlife, whoever she was. Jane Doe had unknowingly just given herself her last Ecstasy for the evening. Perhaps that was when she had been given the virus. In fact, that sounded like the perfect setup.

But how it entered her system was still a mystery. Scully was running out of ideas, and though Jarod had a brilliant scientific mind, he could be a little stubborn. Right now, she needed another investigator's brain. After she finished the last bite of her muffin, Scully pulled out her mobile phone from her sweater pocket. "Good morning, Sunshine!" Mulder's cheeriness welcomed her.

"Hello to you too, Poopyhead," she retorted.

"Oh, someone's had her second cup of coffee already. Been up early, have we?"

"This actually my first, Mulder. The hotel's coffee is some pretty potent stuff."

"Is it good?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I ought to have any more this morning. I might have trouble getting to sleep tonight. You're not getting bored there, are you, Mulder?"

"Well...maybe a little lonely, but..."

"I'd better not find any Empire yellow pencils stuck in my ceiling."

"Scully, I promise you, there are no yellow pencils protruding from your ceiling."

That's enough small talk. Get back to business.

"So, how did your autopsy go?"

Scully sighed. Here goes nothing.

"We're not sure what to make of it, actually, between the two of us," she answered him honestly.

"Between the two of you? What happened to the twenty-something mob you were telling me about yesterday?"

"I asked them to leave. The body was unidentified and carried a rather familiar virus that you and I have come to classify as the "oil". Mulder, I don't want to say too much more over this phone, but I need your help."

"Do you want me to bring William or leave him at your mom's?" Her mouth practically dropped to the floor. He was willing to leave at the drop of a hat for her. Ironically, the tables had turned completely around in their partnership. There was a time once, when she would rather eat lousy Chinese take-out than listen to his outrageous theories—or admit that she needed him.

"Take him to my mom's please," Scully replied graciously.

"Okay. He's been fantastic, Scully. I'm totally amazed; my experiences with babies haven't really been all that good in the past."

"You're meeting all of his needs. What more could a son want from his father?"

"So, you're in Indianapolis, right? Will you be busy early this afternoon?" He seemed to ignore her last comment or perhaps just dismissed it for contemplation at a different time.

"I was going to attend the morning session as of yesterday, but that was until Dr. Verne and I came across that body," she sighed. "I really don't want to begin a case without you, Mulder."

"You already did. Let's start at the morgue and go from there. Can you pick me up at the airport?"

Scully suddenly remembered that he would be paying for this trip out of his own pocket—renting a second car for the two of them was unnecessary.

"Yes. Just call me with the details when you can, please," she told him.

"Can't wait to see you; I've missed you."

Her throat immediately dried up as she tried to conjure up something cognizant to say. "Uh, me too," was all she could muster.

"I'll call you soon." Just as Scully pocketed her phone and became lost in her thoughts, a finger tapped her on the shoulder. "Ah! Oh, Jesus, you scared me," she said as she whirled around to face Verne.

"I seem to do that to a lot of people. So, did you call your friend?" He was dressed in street clothes complete with a leather jacket; it caught her off guard. Yesterday, he was clothed in a suave suit and tie.

"Yes. He'll be here in a few hours."

"My colleagues cross checked the Jane Doe's teeth with our local dental practices and found a match." Jarod handed her a manila file folder. "The victim was named Vanessa Walsh. I figured your federal ties could get us some more data, which is why I didn't press the police for more than her driver's license and criminal records."

"Is she clean?"

"Yes—it's hard to believe that, though, after examining all the damage done by that methylenedioxymethamphetamine. I ran an MRI on her cranium—she ruptured at least five different pathways. Her ability to learn and understand concepts must have been more difficult as the months went on. The alcohol wasn't helping her much either. I would have given her less than two years to live if she had kept those levels at a constant."

"When did you become a neurologist, too?"

"Only for two weeks; after I drove in the Indy 500."

It was such an outrageous statement; Scully couldn't stop herself from snickering. She set the coffee cup down onto the table next to her chair and motioned to the sofa beside her. He shook his head and frowned. "I'm sorry, Dana, I can't. I only stopped by to drop off the report and photos. Remember how I said that I'd arrange for an extra autopsy for the other pathologists we dismissed yesterday? Well, I'm due at the morgue in twenty minutes to scrub up for that."

"Oh, how many people are you expecting?"

"Probably about four more doctors. Why?"

"I was planning a clam bake," Scully quipped and gave him a half-smile.

"A clam bake? What does that involve?"

"Steaming clams and consuming nearly every morsel of them except the shells. Where'd you grow up?"

"Some place that didn't have them. It didn't have a lot of things, as a matter of fact." A shadow passed over his gait; she hadn't seen that kind of expression since she had told Mulder of his mother's suicide. Silence passed in between them for a few uncomfortable seconds. "So do we actually have the facilities for a clam bake?" his tone lifted.

"Not that I'm aware of. I was making a joke." This surprised Scully; for a medical examiner, he sure did have a naive sense of humor. "Would you care for another pair of hands, or is your plate full?"

"You'd be heartily welcome—the more minds, the merrier."

Mulder's Apartment, Alexandria, Washington, D.C.

April 23rd, 2001, 10:42 a.m.

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett, I really am," Mulder apologized as he dragged his suitcase from the closet and heaved it upon his bed.

"You do realize that this case is actually going to be sanctioned by Kersh, and that he'd probably condone any help given to the FBI, right?"

"Scully needs me. I can't say why, but, I promise you, she's not doing anything illegal. And neither am I."

"If we can't confide in one another, how deep is this relationship going to be?"

"Crimony, Doggett, you sound like The Parasitic Girlfriend From Venus."

"I'm talking about trust here, Mulder."

"We've discussed this before. I trust you implicitly, Doggett—just not over the phone.""Yeah, well, I'm not so sure the feeling's mutual."

"Hey, look, you were the one that asked for my help, right?" Mulder's voice immediately became prickly. "I just can't give it to you right now because Scully needs me. If it makes you feel any better, she wouldn't even confide in me over the phone, either."

"Really?"

"Yes," he sighed and shoved a few pairs of balled up socks next to his t-shirts. "You've got the Gunmen helping you out, too, you know. What's Skinner doing these days?"

"Oh, I think they transferred him into the Fraud Division...as an SAC."

"He got demoted? Why didn't I hear about this earlier?"

"Skinner's never been much of a talker, Mulder. I only heard the news when I was in the bullpen on Friday checking our mailbox," Doggett replied. "I keep on thinking to make a request for our mail to be transferred downstairs, but I forget. You know, that makes me wonder something. Why didn't you ever do it?"

"Well, Scully was the one who usually went up and got the mail. We joked between one another sometimes that it was just to remind all the other agents that although the X-Files' office is in the basement, we still had a right to our own pigeon hole in the bullpen."

"Yeah, we do. You know, Kersh practically accused me of involving you in this case.""What?" Mulder padded into his bathroom and tossed some toiletries into his shaving kit. "You didn't tell him...-"

"No, I didn't tell him anything! I trust Kersh about as far as I can throw a semi," Doggett barked. "But he said that before he signed off on anything, he wanted more evidence."

"Did you tell the Gunmen?"

"Yeah, I gave them a call just before I did you. They don't seem too excited to be sharing this stuff with me."

Well, let's face it, you're not exactly Mr. Stealth, Mulder thought to himself. Although I think if he had a face-off with Rambo, I'd put my money on Doggett.

"Next time you deal with them, do it physically, maybe with Reyes present. I think you scare them," Mulder offered.

"What!"

"They're nerds, Doggett. In a tense situation, expect their best defenses to be electronic gadgets or satirical wit. I think having a woman around kind of makes them feel at ease. Listen, I've got to get to the airport soon..."

"Do you need a ride?"

"Thank you, but no. One of my neighbors is giving me one; I fixed a leak under her sink the other day."

"Mulder the plumber, huh? I never would've figured you for being a handyman."

"Believe it or not, it's a helluva lot more relaxing than being an FBI agent."

"Have a good trip, Mulder. Would you mind giving me a call once you're in...where is it...Indianapolis?"

"Good grief, you really are a..." he stopped himself from putting his foot into his mouth and chuckled instead. "Yes, I will. Goodbye, Doggett." Mulder hung up and set his hygiene kit next to his jeans. "What did I do with that..."

He whirled around and spotted a solitaire jewelry box resting atop his chest of drawers. One of the things he'd finally been privileged to do now that he had the time was to go through his mother's estate. Mulder forgot how well his parents had lived, particularly his mother. Last week, he left William with Mrs. Scully for two days to travel up to Connecticut. There were some affairs to be settled with the lawyer, namely, to sign the deed to his mother's house and inspect the house for possible repairs.

A few times, as Mulder went through the empty house to rid it of old documents, he wondered vaguely if Scully would ever want to live there with him. He meandered through his mother's collection of jewelry. Several of the pieces were so exquisite, although he thought would look fantastic on Scully, she would probably never wear them. She was such a practical person, sometimes. A woman should never be too pragmatic for jewelry.

In the end after about an hour, he finally decided on giving her a silver ring embedded with sapphire cuts. He loved how the color blue looked on her; it really brought out her eyes. On certain women, he hated seeing jewelry—most wore too much, but when it came to Scully, he warmed right up from the thought. Although she wasn't his quite yet, he still wanted to give her something exotic and perhaps little by little, she'd let him in further.

A knock on his door interrupted his inner monologue, and out of an old habit, he still squinted through the peephole. There were still plenty of people that wanted him dead. But thankfully, only his neighbor Helen Xiarchos was there. "Mr. Mulder, are you ready to go?" she asked from outside, but he opened the door and let her in.

"Almost. Hi, Helen. How's the sink?" The Greek woman was in her late forties and was dressed in an olive business suit. "You look nice; where're you going today?"

"I just came from Mass. And the sink is just fine, thank you. Will you be gone for long?"

"I'm not sure. Why?" Mulder questioned her as he traveled back into the bedroom.
"I'll be making some moussaka soon, and I want you to try it."

"Well, I...uh...can you refrigerate it?"

"Of course," she laughed and followed him. "But it won't keep for weeks, mind you."

"I hope to say three days, but I can't promise anything."

"Hmm..."

"You sound disappointed."

"Do you know anything about ovens?"

"Uh...I know how to turn them on." He zipped up the case after tossing the ring inside.

"It just seems to get a little too hot. And then, yesterday, my ziti casserole almost got burned to a crisp because I left it in there for two more minutes! Now I know that's not normal," Helen told him.

"I'd take it up with our landlord, if I were you, Helen. I'm not an electrician."

"Okay," she soughed. "Ready?"

"Yes. Thanks, by the way."

"You refused dinner the last time. It's the least I can do."

"That's because I already ate!"

"You're skin and bones, Mr. Mulder. That's not my idea of a healthy man."

Mulder shrugged and locked his apartment door behind them as they left.

Western Marion County Morgue, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 12:31 p.m.

"This one's a man. Our killer doesn't discriminate between genders," Jarod signaled his head towards the autopsy bay in the next room as they washed their hands and arms. "What are you hoping to discover with this one?"

"A point of entry, perhaps, for this virus." Scully completed herself first and tied an apron round her waist.

"Didn't you say it could be airborne?"

"It's likely. But I think someone's doing experiments on these people and then disposing of the evidence after they failed."

"Failed to do what?"

"Excavate the virus or perhaps suspend the cells from animation."

"May I ask what happens if this virus commandeers the body?"

"I've only seen it occur once, and I arrived at the scene after the fact." As they affixed their latex gloves, safety glasses, and masks, they walked over to the table. "But basically, a completely separate organism evolves inside the human host, ingests all of the host's organs and fluids, and then it breaks free once the person's dead."

"Incredible." He went for the scalpel, but Scully stopped him first. "What's wrong?"

"Just...wait a minute." She forced the man's eye open, and the oil flowed freely across the iris. "Shit. Did your coroner refrigerate this body?"

"Well, I would assume so, but...-"

"We've got to get it back into cold storage."

"But, why? We were just about to start our-"

"Now," she raised her voice and ran to a compartment door about five feet from the gurney. The man's eye remained open, and the black death began to ooze out of it onto the sheet."Oh my...what the hell?" Jarod exclaimed.

Scully threw the door open and jerked the metal drawer out. "Hurry, Jarod! We can't let it be in room temperature for much longer!"

He abandoned all of his logic for the moment, kicked up the brakes, and quickly wheeled the cart over to her. "Should I get some help, or can you lift?" he asked.

"Let's just try it first," she grunted as she bunched the sheets that were under the body together.

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!" he yelled. The both of them heaved the corpse onto the slab, and Scully shut the door instantly after pushing him inside.

"Did you see it?"

"Did I see what?"

"The creature was moving around inside of the victim. That's when the virus can jump to the nearest body—at room temperature." She removed her gloves, dumped them into a wastebasket, took 2 new pairs out of a box sitting near the surgical instruments, and proffered him one of them.

"There's something that doesn't quite sit right with me. The virus inside this man wasn't dead, but the one we found inside the woman was. What kills this virus?" Jarod picked up the hard copy of his underling's report and scanned through it. "He was over the legal alcohol limit, that's for sure. Mmm...wait a minute. Wait a minute. Do you recognize this compound?" He flipped a piece of paper over and gave it to Scully.

"I do. Have you ever heard of digitalis? It's an alkaloid that causes paralysis and if given in a high enough dosage, death."

"So our murderer drugs his victims, gives them this virus, and then bleeds them to death? Why?"

"I can't answer that question alone. We'll need to do some old fashioned detective work on that one." Scully's eyes left his for the moment and quickly went to the clock. "We're in luck; he should be arriving in half an hour or so."

"He?"

"My partner Spec...-" she stopped herself and finished simply with, "Fox Mulder."

"That's not a nickname, is it? His first name is really Fox?" Although Jarod was asking his question with the deepest sincerity, Scully almost became defensive with her response.

"He prefers to go by his last name, Mulder. If he feels so inclined, I'm sure you'll find out his real nickname in no time."

Jarod's face became a question mark.

"I've got to get to the airport and pick him up. Will you still be here in a couple of hours, or should I go to the other morgue?" Scully inquired.

"Oh, I'm not leaving. I'd like to take a look at that black specimen more closely, if that's all right." She licked her lips and shook her head as she stripped herself of her equipment. "Oh, that's right. What if I examined a frozen sample?"

"I wouldn't take the chance if I were you. I remember how to get to the east side. That virus is dead."

"Hmm..." He seemed dissatisfied as he searched around in his pockets but then lightened when he recovered a Spiderman Pez dispenser. "Want some, Agent Scully?"

"Oh my word. I haven't seen one of those—probably not since my childhood. Is that how you get through your days? A sugar rush?"

"They've helped me through some of my most difficult times," Jarod admitted and held the candy out towards her.

"I'm not hungry, thanks." Scully waived him off, tapped her pockets to make sure she had all of her belongings, and exited the building.

A short voice mail message on her cell phone from Mulder told her his flight details, and after she finished listening to it, she brought the Chrysler's engine to life. She was quite thankful that the airport was forty minutes away; there were some issues to think about now that she had shelved in the past. The first one being that since she officially was not on a case, how could she get jurisdiction to deal with the police?

Deputy Director Kersh was as difficult of a man to please as it was to train a cat. He practically vetoed every single 302 in the last month that Doggett had brought up to him, and the cases were completely legitimate. There were no Bigfoot sightings, no monkey babies being born, or attacks of Fiji mermaids! All Kersh wanted the X-Files Division to do was atrophy or collect all the rest of the FBI's dust in the basement. He did, quite frequently, loan the three agents to all the other departments, though.

Reyes was put to work with VCS, Doggett was hired for muscle in Narcotics, and Scully seemed to be doing absolutely nothing except autopsies nowadays. There was not a day that went by recently when she wished to be in that tiny office discussing the paranormal. Occasionally, Kersh would let her come into his office and do so. But then he would usually dismiss the case and ask for the last one's expense report.

Secondly, these deaths were her fault. Seven months ago, Scully made a foolish decision and followed the indiscretions of her heart instead of her head to betray the FBI. She found an obstetrician by the name of Dr. Anne Gossamer, who happened to be the last remaining Eve of the 1954 Litchfield projects, and delivered her to the new Consortium in hopes of getting Mulder back. They had promised her that they would definitely be able to make a trade with the aliens for Mulder's life, but she never really believed that they were responsible for the trade when Mulder did get back, especially since he was dead upon discovery. For all Scully knew, Marita Covarrubias might have been showing her a forged alien cadaver.

So thanks to her foolish decision, the Litchfield projects had commenced to fall into place again. Killer children were now being born to some very loving, well-deserving, and unaware parents. In Arizona, the kids murdered their parents at the precisely same moment in time just like the girls in Connecticut and California had done eight years before. But unlike the case eight years ago, the dead parents had the virus living inside of them. The MO was different, but the method was the same. Scully pondered a nagging thought in her head. Could the adult Adams have been released from captivity?

The Eves had a genetic flaw; once the women reached the age of fifty, they committed suicide. But she never heard if there were any problems with the males. Statistically speaking, males are more prone to murder; hence the release of the females onto an unsuspecting population.

Thirdly, now that she had asked him to come to Indianapolis, she would have to confess her sin to Mulder. Would he ever forgive her for such a reckless choice? She did it, she thought, at the time, because she wanted to have him back so badly. These were the very people that had wreaked so much havoc upon him and his family for the majority of his life. Since Scully was a party to their new crimes, he could never forgive her.

What angered her the most was that they fed off of others' desperation. Marita Covarrubias and the Well-Manicured Man had the craft of manipulation so perfected, for a few seconds, she had almost felt the ghostly presence of Spender at the time. He would have made a fantastic magician. The illusions he perpetuated to Mulder and me were so real, so tangible at times. He was a ringmaster of his time in the DOD.

But every performer has his Achilles' heel. Spender's downfall was Mulder. At times, it did seem like he had spared Mulder's life and hers. But why? Was he truly Mulder's father as he dared to suggest all those years ago? Honestly, Scully hoped not. Although Bill Mulder was not the ideal father and male role model for all of Mulder's childhood, he did finally object to Spender's monstrous conspiracy against the American people. He was tired of trying to protect his family from the hideous second life he led. In the end, he paid for his crimes ultimately through his own murder.

Scully couldn't help but wish that out of all the family members Mulder lost, that his father had been the last to perish instead of his mother. She never seemed to want to develop a deeper relationship with her son. Bill Mulder had tried near his end to do so. His mother, however, pushed Mulder away at one of the most vulnerable times in his boyhood life and created a rift between the two of them. A rift that made him despair when he had to visit her later on in his life. And then Teena Mulder had the audacity and selfishness to kill herself! Ugh, how that woman made her blood boil!

Facing a bloodthirsty criminal or mutant with half a clip in her SIG Sauer was nothing compared to her fears now. She had to tell Mulder how she had violated not only Skinner, but Doggett, the Gunmen, and his life's work. Scully was never good at expressing her feelings; years of watching her father and absorbing his behavior helped her perfect her professional mask. The emotionally stronger one between the two of them was Mulder, and not only did she fear his reaction, but the lack of hers as well. Just how in the world could she convince him that she was truly sorry for her mistake?

Scully turned off of the interstate onto the airport exit. Indianapolis International Airport was relatively slow for a Sunday—maybe the real weekend traffic would start to pile up after she picked him up. Great. She did not need a traffic jam right now—today was going to be long enough. God knows how long she would be stuck in that damn morgue again after Mulder drew his own conclusions and left her alone with Jarod. But then again, maybe not. She was the FBI agent—all he could do was to offer his conjectures and theories.

She parked the car in the short term garage and headed down to the baggage claim in an elevator. Her heart was pounding away a mile a minute. I've got to tell him this before we get back to the morgue. I doubt we'll get a decent dinner.

In spite of the grave circumstances, she smiled to herself briefly. Just like the old days.

Scully stepped off of the lift once it reached its destination and found Mulder rushing towards her with his garment bag and carry-on. "Hold that elevator!" he yelled. It dawned on her that he didn't even notice that she'd come from it, but she held the doors open with the button. He shuffled inside and sighed gladly.

"Hello to you, too, Mulder," she rolled her eyes and scooted inside as the doors closed.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Mulder's face wrinkled.

"Ha ha. You're funny."

"No, I'm serious. I used to work with a really gorgeous red-haired woman just like you, and you remind me of her so much..." He slung the garment bag over his shoulder and inched into her personal space. "That perfume...ahh..."

"Mulder-" He was too busy inhaling her to notice her warning.

"She only wore it to drive me crazy."

"I did not!"

"And she argued with me like there was no tomorrow just like that. I'll be damned if I don't find that sexy," Mulder's voice went to a husky whisper.

"Mulder, what if someone-"

"Walked in on us? Believe you me, Scully, if this were a skyscraper lift, I'd take you right here and now." She swallowed a lump about the size of a Wonka gobstopper down her throat, and thankfully, the doors opened to the short term parking garage. "Jesus, Scully, your cheeks are almost as crimson as your hair."

Scully glanced downward at his pants as they journeyed over to the rental and smirked. "Is that your gun, Mulder, or are you just happy to see me?"

This time, it was his turn to turn beet red. She popped the trunk for him, opened the car door, and unlocked the rest of them. "So how was your flight?"

"Uneventful but good. I got a whole row of seats to stretch out across, too," Mulder remarked blissfully.

Oh, I can't ruin the good mood he's in. I'll tell him...later.

"I wish I could've told you more over the phone, Mulder, I'm sorry," Scully repented.

"Oh, that's all right. You, of all people know how great of an imagination I've got." He entered the car and buckled himself in.

"Right now, I've got no jurisdiction with the police, but I managed to finagle my way in with the Marion County Chief ME."

"We want the facts, ma'am. Just nothin' but the plain facts, ma'am." Scully backed the car out and headed for the parking garage exit.

"2 people are dead; one man and one woman. Both were found naked and without a wallet or purse. They were both exsanguinated. The woman was identified only by her dental x-rays, and the man was recognized by his hysterical wife early this morning. Ms. Vanessa Walsh had been abusing MDMA, aka, Ecstasy as well as alcohol, and Mr. Theodore O'Shaungnessy simply drank too much in one night. The virus Dr. Verne and I found in Walsh was dead, but the one inside O'Shaungnessy was still alive. We also found traces of digitalis in O'Shaungnessy's blood, but none in Walsh's." She stopped at the toll booth and paid the fee.

"There were no points of entry that I could see; I don't believe that the victims were injected with the oil. The carrier must still be out there. What upsets me the most, Mulder, is that there's no MO for these exsanguinations, unless it's the most obvious one I've overlooked...did I lose you somewhere?" Scully asked and eyed him through her peripheral vision as he seemed to be staring out into space.

"I'm listening, Scully. Go on," he returned.

"The most obvious conclusion would be that the Adams of the Litchfield projects have resurfaced."

"Hmm..."

"All right, who the hell are you, and what have you done with Mulder?"

"What?"

"You haven't interrupted me once in the last two minutes. Something's not right."

"I was listening to the beauty of it all. And a thought just struck me."

"Finally," she sighed. "What is it?" Scully turned at an intersection and started up a ramp to the interstate.

"Nine years ago, I was given a piece of bronze, a hammer, and a chisel. I was just admiring the finished work."

"Can we just stick to the case for now, Mulder?"

"Scully, you have everything to do with the case." How did he know? Did Skinner tell him? Scully wondered.

"You were here only for a pathologists' seminar, and these 2 people showed up dead. You knew precisely what to do; you're a finely tuned instrument now. I'm not sure what it is you need me for, except perhaps for moral support," Mulder shrugged. "I'll give you everything I've got, Scully, which isn't much, but-"

"That's not true. I'm pretty sure how they died, but I'm only a scientist. I need an investigator—someone that can get inside of these people's minds and tell me why they died."

"Okay. Well, I'd like to meet this Dr. Verne before we get entangled in anything here. He might have some friendly links in the police department, and to impress you, he must be phenomenally brilliant," he beamed and stole a glimpse at her.

"He's got an odd sense of humor for a pathologist, that's for sure."

"Morbid?"

"No, just the opposite, as a matter of fact. He's quite child-like. I think you'll get along with him just fine." She returned his smile but then glued her eyes back to the road. "Then what you want to do?"

"Oh, the possibilities, oh the joy. Have you checked out of your hotel yet?"

"No, why?"

"When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before."

"And those would be...?"

"An angry FBI woman and a wild Irish rose. Oh wait a minute, I haven't tried either."

"Mulder, I'm here on business."

"But I'm not," his voice grew smoky and his hand traced her cheekbone lightly.

"I didn't ask you to come up here for that." She said the statement in a matter-of-fact tone, but part of her was pining for what he could offer her. Or better yet, what he would do for her. Scully brushed the fantasy away as if it were a pile of leaves. There would be a time for that. It was not now, especially since she hadn't told him the entire truth yet.

"You know the farther you run, the faster I'm going to chase you. Men are natural hunters."

"Go fish."

Mulder bit his lip and withdrew his hand; he knew better. The last terse remark was a caution sign that read 'Warning: Watch For Ice on Bridge', and after nine years, he had learned to play chess with her fairly well. Scully was not in the mood for any more innuendos, and soon, she would be sniping at him no matter what he said. He leaned back in his seat and silently watched the city go by.