Chapter 14

Byers settled in a chair, the files of his latest case spread out on the table in front of him. He'd just opened the first folder and begun to read when someone started pounding on his door. He glanced toward it before shifting his gaze to the clock on the wall.

"Who can that be?" he wondered, "It's nearly 8 o'clock."

The pounding continued. Figuring that it must be important for someone to disturb him at home at that hour, Byers hurried to the door, unlocked it and opened it. He was surprised to find Melvin Frohike on his front step looking bruised, bloodied and generally disheveled.

"Beating up another suspect?" Even as he heard himself say it, Byers knew it was uncalled for. The man just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Shut up, Byers," Frohike snapped shocking Byers further. "Just shut up and listen to me for a moment. I'm too tired and I hurt too much to put up with your petty and bitter attacks on me tonight." He rubbed his face with his hands and said quietly, "I need your help."

John nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of that statement but the man's physical state stopped him. He couldn't believe himself when he stepped aside. "Come in."

He led Frohike to his living room. Their progress was slow as Frohike was limping badly on his right leg. Byers waited for him to sit in a chair near the fire. "Tell me what happened?"

Frohike sighed, settling farther into the chair. "It's a long story. I just ask that you refrain from commenting until I finish." Frohike waited until Byers sat down in a chair opposite him before launching into his story, leaving nothing out.

As he told it, Frohike knew to someone who had not been involved in it from the beginning, that his tale must sound like something out of a dime store novel: missing scientists, beautiful mysterious women, spies, FBI moles, and a secret decoding machine. Not to mention explosions, car chases and gun battles.

He watched Byers reactions as he talked, hoping for some sign that the District Attorney believed him but Byers showed no emotion. For part of the story, Byers didn't look at Frohike but sat staring into the fire. Frohike wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't stand the sight of him or he was just listening intently and visualizing the events as they were related.

When Frohike finished, Byers sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful.

"What do you need from me?" Byers asked finally.

"You have connections in the F.B.I. You've worked closely with them in the past. There must be people there you trust. That's what I need now. Someone who will help these two, keep them safe."

Byers' eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. "And you want me to help you with this? After everything that's happened the last couple of years, you think I'm the one to come to?"

Frohike's ire rose; it tasted like vinegar in the back of his throat. "Look, yes or no. I know what you think of me but it's not my neck on the line here. It's theirs. Can you help them?"

Shaking his head, Byers said, "It's not that. I just can't believe you'd trust me."

"Trust, yes. Want to be chums with…" Frohike left that last statement hanging. He felt he'd already gone too far and he really did need the man's help.

Unfazed by the implied insult, Byers nodded, obviously deep in thought. "I know someone. He's a straight arrow."

Byers couldn't help but notice the look of immense relief on the private investigator's face. "Thank you," said Frohike. "Can you get in touch with him tonight?

"I think so."

"There's one other thing of a more personal nature," said Frohike, "and I wouldn't ask it but …"

"Go ahead and ask."

"As I said, the professor was the closest to the explosion. His clothes got pretty torn up. The doctor cut off what was left of them. He's about your height and weight. Do you have an old pair of pants and a shirt he can use?"

Without saying a word, the DA got up and left the room. In a couple of minutes, he returned with some neatly folded clothes in his hands. "These should work," he said, setting them on a table near Frohike's elbow.

Frohike stood up leaning heavily on the arms of the chair to push himself upright. "Where are you going?" Byers asked.

"I've got to get back. Harlow is jittery enough that, if the doctor gives the professor a clean bill of health, she might take off with him. As exhausted as she is…" Frohike looked away, "one mistake and they're both dead." He picked up the clothes. "Thanks for these."

"She isn't the only one exhausted," Byers pointed out. "You look like you're ready to fall over."

"I'll catch some sleep while I wait for the slow wheels of justice to turn. " Frohike said with a half-hearted grin. "I should be well rested by then."

"Where can I find you?" Byers asked as they made their way to the door.

"I've got them stashed at the morgue for the time being but we can't stay there for long without bringing attention to ourselves."

Byers nodded.

Byers locked up after the detective then returned to the library. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out an address book. He knew exactly who he needed to call.

"….get some rest. It'll help your recovery and besides you're clearly exhausted."

Yves faced Dana Scully meeting the doctor's perturbed expression with her own steely resolve. Ever since Melvin Frohike had left to meet someone he claimed could help them, Scully had been making persistent suggestions that she should get some sleep.

It should have raised her suspicions of a possible trap but Yves sensed nothing of the kind from the woman. Or maybe she was just too damn tired to see clearly. Her eyes felt grainy, her lids heavy and the exhaustion Dana Scully spoke of fitted Yves like a cloak on a damp London night.

"Someone needs to keep guard," Yves replied stubbornly.

Jimmy, who had been messing with his camera yet obviously listening to the conversation, spoke up then. "I could stand guard."

Yves flicked her gaze at Jimmy, assessing him. "Oh? And what happens if Morris Fletcher and his thugs show up? How will you defend yourself or the Professor? Shoot them with your camera," she asked with harsh sarcasm.

Once again, Yves sensed she handled him the wrong way. His face flushed pink as much from embarrassment as anger. He set his camera on the table and got a bullish look in his face. Before he could reply, Yves cut him off.

"That was out of line," she said in way of apology. "But if you want to help, by all means; stand guard." She took her gun from her pocket and held it out butt first to Jimmy. "Just be prepared to shoot to kill," she continued, stressing the point. "Can you do that?" Not surprisingly he stared at it warily as if it was a venomous viper but from the look on his face, he was seriously contemplating her question.

He flinched slightly at her words. "I think…" he worried his bottom lip then said uncomfortably, quietly. "Maybe." A second later he said, guiltily. "No."

"Great," Langly groaned from the chair where he sat with notebooks spread out on his lap. "I'm a dead man."

"No one needs to handle your gun but you," Scully announced coolly. "Jimmy told me that you and Mel shot out your assailants' tire. There's no way they can know you are here."

Yves shot Jimmy a furious glare before replying just as coolly. "Fletcher is an intelligent man. I'm sure he suspects one or more of us had been hurt in the explosion. All he needs to do is check Frohike's known associates. It's only a matter of time before he learns the local M.E. is a personal friend."

Scully's lips curled in an 'aha' smile. "Mel and I met only three days ago in connection with another of his cases. No one would link us to anything beyond a fleeting, professional relationship." She could see the younger woman assimilating that information, trying to organize an objection.

Dana wondered when Yves had last slept. From the dark circles under the other woman's eyes she judged maybe 48 hours, possibly longer. While she had no doubt of Yves' abilities with a gun, sleep deprivation could hinder her mental and physical responses.

"I need to know the Professor is safe," Yves finally said as if answering some internal argument. "I'll sleep when he sleeps."

"So, I'll sleep," Langly said, "I'm pretty tired myself."

"You will not," Scully said. "Not with a concussion. Not for another twelve hours minimum." She needed to convince Yves to sleep and keep the Professor awake. It was a daunting task, one she would normally be up to but she had never been in a situation like this before. She glanced at Jimmy, hoping he could help but he returned her gaze, his own concern in his eyes.

"I'll stand guard."

Dana whirled around, startled to see Frohike standing at the door. Jimmy and Langly were equally surprised while to Scully's chagrin, Yves merely looked at him. She had obviously noted his return earlier.

Scully's surprise swiftly turned to relief at knowing he was okay. Or was he, she wondered, studying him. His face was drawn and gray with the same dark circles under his eyes that Yves had. And he was still favoring his wounded leg. He had to be in a great deal of pain.

"You're just as exhausted as she is," Dana protested. "I'm sure Jimmy and I can look out for the professor. If there are any problems, we'll wake you both."

"And what if you're not given that chance?" Yves demanded. "We would never know anything is happening."

"Then we take turns," Frohike decided. "I'll take the first watch and wake you up in a few hours."

"There's a couch in my office," Scully supplied, using her soothing doctor's voice. "It's comfortable and, as you know, not far from the autopsy room."

"Come on, Yves." Langly's voice piped up. Concern for his protector was evident on his face. "With all these people here, it's safe. I'm safe. And besides Doohike –"

"Frohike," growled the private investigator.

"– Frohike's got a gun and Jimbo says he's a good shot."

Yves rubbed the side of her temple as if trying to remember something. "What about your friend? Will he help us?"

"Yes," Frohike said. "He'll come straight here as soon as he gets in touch with his contact in the F.B.I. Right now there's nothing to do but wait. You might as well get some sleep."

She studied Frohike's face. "I have your word you'll wake me if anything happens?"

Frohike met her gaze. "It's your game, Sugar. I'm just riding shotgun."

Yves grimaced. Scully thought she was going to argue but then her shoulders sagged. "Fine," she acquiesced, "but only a few hours."

One down and one to go, Dana thought as Yves strode out of the room.

"She's one tough cookie." Frohike muttered.

Dana regarded him a moment, feeling a momentary kinship with the younger woman. "You have to be to survive in a male dominated profession." She turned her attention to Langly. "Professor, give Mel the chair."

"What?" Langly looked stunned. "Why?"

"Because," Dana said, sensing a fight ahead, "Mel needs to get off his bad leg and the chair won't agitate it."

"But I almost died! I have a concussion and have to stay awake," he whined.

"Don't worry," Jimmy said cheerfully to the scientist. "I'll make sure you stay awake."

"Good thinking," Dana said, "Why don't you boys make some coffee and perhaps raid the vending machines in the employee lounge for something to eat?" She figured it would give her enough time for what she needed to do.

"What am I? An errand boy? I'm a highly regarded scientist – "

"Sure thing Dr. Scully," Jimmy interrupted Langly's tirade. "Come on, Professor."

"Jimmy, wait," commanded Frohike. "I got Caesar there some clothes." He inclined his head toward the professor who was still wrapped in a blanket. "I left them in the trunk of my car."

"No problem." Holding out his hand, Jimmy caught Frohike's keys. He then grabbed Langly by the arm to drag him out of the morgue.

"Awww man, why do we have to be the ones to leave? They just want to be alone to…wait. Did he say clothes? It's about damn time. This blanket isn't the warmest and there is this draft…"

Langly's voice faded, leaving Dana and Mel in blessed quiet.

"I want you to sit down and relax," she said, "Doctor's orders." She slid her arm around his waist. He didn't protest but allowed her guide him to the chair. She noted his limp was more pronounced even though he tried to hide it: Mr. Tough Guy. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at the thought. "The Professor was right, you know," she murmured in his ear. She helped him sit then said, "I do want to be alone with you."

He gazed up at her. "Why Dr. Scully," he said in mock surprise, "how devious of you. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

"My sleeves?" She raised one eyebrow as if perplexed by his comment. She slipped off her lab coat to reveal a white silk, sleeveless shell underneath. "As you can see I have no sleeves." She dropped her lab coat on the desk then perched on the edge and crossed her legs, giving him an excellent view of well-toned and shapely calves.

"I just thought we could talk, get to know each other better." She paused for a couple of seconds then added. "It will be less awkward when I kiss you later."

He ripped his appreciative gaze from her legs to her face so fast Dana worried he might have strained his neck. His smile made her glad she was holding onto the desk with both hands for support. "Tell me all about yourself, Red," he drawled, "because I don't want anything to be awkward between us."

Dana could feel her heartbeat accelerate and she had to remind herself this little conversation wasn't for pleasure.

At least not entirely.

"Tell me more about your time in medical school," Frohike said after a moment's thought, "I bet a lot of idiots must have been threatened by your decision to become a doctor. They couldn't have made it easy for you."

Dana could see he was genuinely interested and it warmed her. "They didn't," she said then clarified, "My professors as well as other students did everything they could to make life hell for me. And in between, they would suggest I find a career more fitting my gender.

"After a few months their harassment was wearing me down but I refused to quit. I think it was partly stubbornness and partly because being a doctor was all I all I ever wanted to be. Then I met Sally McKenzie."

As he listened, Mel asked a few questions or commented on other men's intelligence but after a while, he simply settled back to listen. Scully continued her story speaking in dulcet tones and watching him closely.

It was ten minutes later when Dana was sure he was fast asleep. With a satisfied smile, she stood up and gently placed her lab coat over him. She touched his face lightly, letting her hand drift down his cheek. He was so careworn but in sleep, most of the lines in his face eased and while he didn't exactly look young or untroubled, he did at least for the moment look content.

The sound of Jimmy and Professor Langly's voices in the hallway made her spin around and hurry out to meet them. "Shhh," she told the boys, whose arms were full of coffee cups and sandwiches. "Mel is asleep." Jimmy, towering over her, had no trouble seeing over her head to note that she was correct. "Let's go to the admittance bay until he and Yves wake up," said Dr. Scully pointing out the way she wanted them to go.

"But my notes are in there," Langly protested. "I need my notes."

He started to go around her but Dana moved to block him. "I'll get them. Stay here," she ordered.

"And the Enigma," he added, "It's those two brown box with the straps."

"And my camera," Jimmy threw in.

With an exasperated sigh, Dana went in, scooped up the notebooks and tucking them under one arm, she put the camera strap over her head. She took one box in each hand, discovering that they were heavier than they looked. She glanced one last time at Mel. Thankfully, he was sleeping soundly, gentle snores emanating from him.

As quietly as possible, she left the morgue then guided both men down the hall.

"Look, it's not that difficult a concept to grasp," Langly said, frustration evident in his voice. He should give up attempting to explain the Enigma to Jimmy. Even Yves, whom Langly grudgingly considered pretty smart, got a glazed look in her eyes the few times he tried to instruct her on the intricacies of code breaking. So why the hell should he expect Bond to grasp the concept?

Because it kept him from dwelling on his pounding headache, which he had vocally complained about earlier and gotten no sympathy. It felt as if someone had dropped a damn anvil on him. Well, that and the fact people were trying to kill him and had nearly succeeded in doing so.

He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the scorching heat of the blast before everything had gone dark. Don't think about it, he commanded himself. Think about your work. It was safe, comforting. It made him forget all the other stuff for a bit and if in order to do that he had to find a way to simplify his explanation so Jimmy could understand…so be it.

"Come on," he snapped. He led Jimmy to the admissions desk where Dr. Scully sat reading a copy of 'Life' magazine while the Tommy Dorsey Band played on the radio.

She looked up from the magazine. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, resisting the urge to utter the truly smart-ass remark that sprang to mind.

It wasn't the Doc's fault he was in this mess and besides she was indirectly responsible for the one good thing to happen to him tonight. He nearly cracked a smile at the memory of Sally McKenzie standing over him like an angel, the sharp morgue lights glinting off her vibrant red hair.

She had the surest, lightest touch. It had almost made his agonizing pain bearable. And she smelled heavenly of apples and spice.

He knew his reaction to Sally McKenzie was illogical. After all the stress and pain of the past few weeks, it was natural to be attracted to her because she had fixed him up. And she hadn't dismissed his complaints. But he remembered her cool touch on his forehead, how good it felt and he couldn't dismiss his feelings as a knee jerk reaction to stress.

But what did it matter anyway? If he survived the next couple of days he was heading to England for who knows how long? He'd probably never see her again and, if he did, chances are, she wouldn't remember him anyway.

The Doc went back to her LIFE magazine, and the irony of that not being lost on Langly, he grabbed the Enigma off the desk and returned to his corner so he wouldn't have to listen to Tommy Dorsey.

He set the wooden case on the counter and opened the top to reveal the machine. Jimmy stepped up to see inside, an expression of resigned patience on his face.

"See, it only weighs 26 pounds, battery included, and goes anywhere. The Germans have thousands of them." Langly spun one of the dials. "It turns plain-text messages into gobbledygook. Then the gobbledygook is translated into Morse code. At the receiving end, there's another Enigma machine to turn it back into the original message. Press the same key any number of times –" Langly proceeded to do so, "…it will always come out different."

"How?" Jimmy asked, puzzled.

Langly glanced at the machine with admiration, wondering how anyone wouldn't find this fascinating. He flipped down the front plate of the wooden case to reveal rows of plug receptacles with a letter printed above each one.

"The machine has 150 million million million ways of doing it according to how you set these three rotors and how you connect these plugs." As Langly spoke, he pointed to various parts of the machine. "The current passes from the keyboard to the lights by way of the rotors and plugs. Every time you press a key, it changes the path of the current. Press the same key ten times it comes out ten different ways on the light board. You never know which letters will light up." He grinned. "It's brilliant…really brilliant."

Langly looked at Jimmy expectantly. The man just stared at the rotors for a few more seconds before saying in a tone that told Langly he had actually been listening and not off in dreamland. "So, even if the Allies figure out the code being used, the Germans just change the positions of the rotors and the Allies have to start all over?"

"You got it. And the only way to figure out the encryption is to listen to coded messages and to try to find letters in common and cross reference them with other messages like weather reports which contain known information."

"I keep wondering how long before the United States wakes up and realizes we can't continue doing nothing in the name of neutrality," Langly continued angrily. He stood up and started pacing. "It's not our war? Yet the government is going behind our backs to help the Allies thinking no one will figure it out. It scares me to think what will take before the U.S. becomes officially involved. It's why I was going to England in the first place. I want to help the Allies decipher the code so they can stop the Germans before something catastrophic happens to drag the United States into the war."

He was ranting and knew it but he couldn't help it. It had been bottled up inside of him for so long. "I think I was close," he muttered.

"Close to what?" Jimmy eyed him anxiously. "Professor?"

"To finding a formula that could help break the encryption," he said. He slammed his fist against the wall. It wasn't very hard and it barely even made a sound but it hurt all the same. He swept a hand through his long blonde hair fighting the ache in his chest. "Three months of work gone," he muttered, "destroyed in seconds."

"God, I wish I was at Bletchley Park already," he continued. "Then I'd have some of the greatest minds in cryptography to work with, to bounce ideas off of. Instead I'm reduced to hiding out in warehouses and morgues, scratching out equations in borrowed notebooks and on chalkboards."

"Chalkboards?" Jimmy's brow furrowed. "I saw a bunch of equations and stuff on the chalkboard in your lab. Is that the stuff you lost?"

"Yeah," Langly sighed, resigned. "I thought for sure when I got to England I'd have something solid we could use."

"Professor!" Jimmy said, getting excited. "The chalkboard wasn't erased really well."

"So? Yves had it destroyed. It can't help me now."

"I took pictures of the chalkboard!"

Langly stared at Jimmy, understanding why he was practically bursting with excitement. "You…have…pictures," he said slowly, "of my equations."

"Yes!"

"Jimmy? Professor? Everything okay?" Dr. Scully asked, rising from the admission desk.

"I'll say!" Langly grinned, feeling as if he had been given a reprieve. "He has pictures of my equations." He turned to look at Jimmy. "Where are they?"

"My apartment."

"We have to go there right now!"

"Wait one minute," Scully ordered, looking confused and worried. "Why do you need to go to Jimmy's apartment?"

"All my notes were destroyed in the explosion," Langly said impatiently. "But he," he jerked a thumb at Jimmy, "took pictures of them. They're in his apartment. We have to go and get them."

"How does Jimmy have pictures of your work," Dana asked, "I thought Mel and Jimmy found you and Yves at the beach house?"

"We did," Jimmy said.

Langly barely listened as Jimmy explained how he had gone to the lab only to find it deserted, except for the poorly erased chalkboard. He was exuberant with the possibility he wouldn't have to start from scratch.

"We have to get those pictures," Langly inserted when Jimmy finished.

The doctor held up a hand, palm outward. Judging from her expression she was going to say something he was not going to like.

"I agree it's plausible the photos might be helpful," Dana said, "but you are not leaving the morgue…."

"Why the hell not," Langly demanded. He was sick of people telling him what he could and couldn't do.

"…without talking to Mel or Yves first," she finished.

"So, let's go talk to them, already."

"They need their rest and I have no intention of waking them prematurely." Dana said. She gazed at him. "And neither will you nor Jimmy. These pictures can wait until they awaken on their own."

Jimmy nodded. "Doctor Scully is right, Professor," he said. "We shouldn't go anywhere without Yves or Frohike. We can wait a little while longer and that way you'll be safe."

Langly uttered a heavy sigh knowing he couldn't win this argument. "Fine. We'll wait but if Yves isn't awake in an hour…"

A disturbance at the outer admittance bay doors kept him from finishing his thought. The low rumble of a vehicle's engine could be heard in the driveway.

Fear tangled inside the professor like a fly caught in a spider's web. "Oh God!" he managed. He looked at Jimmy and Scully and saw his fear in their faces. Suddenly he wanted Yves there snapping orders at him and standing between him and danger.

Hell, right now he'd even take that abrasive P.I.

Dr. Scully took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as if calming herself. "It's probably just a delivery," she said in a crisp, take charge voice, "but until I'm sure I want both of you to hide."

"I'll stay with you," Jimmy objected.

"No," Scully said. "Your job is to keep an eye on the Professor. Now go!"

Langly's heart felt like it was about to crash through his chest. "Where?"

"The employee lounge," Scully said automatically. "There's a phone in there. I'll call when it's all clear."

The buzz of the doorbell sounded ominous in the room.

"What if it's them," Jimmy asked, upset. He didn't want to leave Scully to face these people alone.

Scully glanced at the door for a moment then returned her gaze to Jimmy. "If I don't call you within five minutes get to either Mel or Yves. But not until those five minutes are up. Understand?"

"Yeah, sure," Langly said, already backing toward the hallway. He waited until Jimmy reluctantly agreed then the two of them hurried out.

Once they reached the employee lunch room, Jimmy took a position by the door while Langly stood next to the phone willing it to ring.

Langly counted two minutes fifty seconds, anxiety building in his guts, filling him.

This was insane. They should have gone straight to Yves and told her someone was at the door. Instead they deferred to the Doc. Yeah…they could all be killed any second but at least Yves and Frohike would get a couple extra minutes of sleep.

He knew he could become so overly engrossed in his work that he tuned everything out but he had seen how exhausted Yves had become: the dark shadows under her eyes, always having to be alert to possible danger. The only time she had remotely relaxed since Jimmy and that reporter, Spender, had come to the warehouse was that first night in the beach house.

And it was his fault the two newspapermen had come in the first place. So he was going to wait and count off the seconds.

The sound of the phone shattered the silence. He nearly jumped out of his skin before snatching the receiver off the cradle.

"It's clear," Dr. Scully said. He nearly went weak with relief and gripped the receiver tighter. "I would have called earlier but the police need a work up done as soon as possible. Could you make a pot if strong coffee, please?"

Langly hung up. "She has to do an autopsy," he said to Jimmy who was watching him, "and wants you to make some coffee."

The tension drained from Jimmy's body and he nodded as if happy for something constructive to do. "There might coffee left in the pot," he said, walking over to the coffee maker. He lifted the lid to look inside. "There is and it's still hot. I'll bring her that and then make some fresh."

"Good idea," Langly said.

Once Jimmy finished making the coffee the way the Doc apparently liked it, strong enough to peal paint, he glanced at Langly. "You coming?"

"She's doing an autopsy," Langly said, feeling his stomach clench at the mere thought of dead bodies. "No way I'm gonna see that. I'm staying here."

"You could wait in the hallway," Jimmy suggested.

"Nope." Langly shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere near that." He sat down obstinately in one of the black metal chairs making his intentions clear.

Jimmy stood at the entrance, the doctor's coffee in hand, and looking like he didn't relish the idea of leaving the man alone.

Langly would have felt bad for the kid but he refused to be dragged all over Washington D.C. like some little girl's rag doll. "Look," he said impatiently, "Just take the Doc her coffee. I'm not going anywhere."

Jimmy considered this then nodded. "I'll be right back."

Langly rolled his eyes. "I feel safer already," he muttered sarcastically.

Once he left, Langly stood up, unable to remain still. He needed to pace, to move. Not surprisingly his thoughts returned to Jimmy's admission that he had pictures of the destroyed equations.

He wanted those equations, no… he needed those equations but he had promised the Doc he would wait until Yves woke up. He had also promised to let Yves wake on her own.

Oh God, she would kill him if she knew what he wanted to do. He was pretty sure Yves would not consider those pictures an acceptable risk, especially not this close to the rendezvous time. This meant that if he was going to get those photos, he had to do it before she woke up, before the Doc realized that something was amiss.

He could only see two problems with his plan. One, he didn't know where Jimmy Bond lived, and two, he had to convince the guy to take him there.

By the way, where was he? How long did it take to deliver a cup of coffee? Langly just couldn't see the man hanging around the autopsy room, watching the doc work. A little nervous but not unduly concerned, he stepped out of the break room. Jimmy had probably just talked a bit with the Doc and was now heading back.

He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks when he saw Jimmy Bond. What the hell was he doing skulking outside the door to Dr. Scully's office?

Oh God. Had the Doc ordered him to wake Yves?

But why the hesitancy if she had? Why not just knock?

Langly grew suspicious, feeling just a bit protective of his protector. He really didn't know Jimmy Bond. The guy could be some crazy who preyed on defenseless women. Just the other day there was an article in the paper about some guy who had sexually abused and murdered a little girl. Although Yves wasn't a little girl and nowhere near defenseless – he picked up his pace.

"Hey," Langly whispered as loudly as he dared. "What are you doing?"

Jimmy whirled around, guilt written all over his face. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just…looking for you."

"In the Doc's office? Sure you were." Langly stressed the disbelief and sarcasm in his voice, letting the guy know he wasn't fooled. His heart pounding crazily in his chest he realized he just might've made a mistake especially if the guy was a psycho.

While he was only a few inches taller, Jimmy was about fifty pounds heavier and one of those athletic types that could probably bench press him without breaking a sweat.

If it was possible, Jimmy looked even guiltier, a faint scarlet flush crawling up his face.

"What were you doing?" Langly asked, crossing his arms. His bravado growing at Jimmy's obvious discomfort.

"I..." Jimmy looked at the door then back at him. "I was just going to..." The rest was lost in incoherent mumbling.

"Going to what…?" Langly demanded.

"Check on her!" Jimmy exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "I was going to check on Yves." He glanced quickly at the door as if afraid she might have heard him.

Langly shook his head, confused by this admission. "Why?"

The scarlet that had started to fade from Jimmy's face, returned and suddenly Langly understood.

Jimmy was sweet on Yves.

Langly smiled, feeling incredibly pleased. He mentally rubbed his hands together like a villain in the movies. He knew exactly how to convince Jimmy Bond to go along with his plan.