The air in New Haven smelled sweet with just a touch of brine. Scully inhaled a healthy lung full as she stretched to the sky, creeping toward dusk. Driving through Connecticut in spring was like sitting through a Douglas Sirk melodrama. Wind bellowed through the trees, flipping the leaves back and forth as the landscape of the Northeast transformed in iridescent waves. They had parked on the southwestern portion of the Yale University campus. Mulder led the way toward a modern building of marble and granite devoid of windows that appeared to float on pedestal of dark grey marble. Scully felt its modernarity striking as it was juxtaposed against a backdrop of century old buildings that surrounded the Beinecke Library.

Mulder stopped several yards from the entrance. He looked the building up and down and turned around to examine, what would appear, their path. Scully shook her head in agreement. "No windows. Limited access in and out." She was encouraging Mulder to verbalize the internal monologue that played out behind his eyes. He nodded.

The wind picked up a bit and ruffled his brown hair that was cut close as per FBI protocol. Mulder was a prototypical FBI agent. A man in black: tall, caucasian, nondescript. His face was long and angular. Mulder's ethnicity was, well, put a map of Europe and Russia on a dart board and take your chances. He was handsome in a generic sort of way. He was a standard husband/boyfriend you'd find in a newly purchased picture frame. He was everyman, conveniently. And yet, the depth of his conviction and the breadth of his intelligence made him so much more. He was a brilliant investigator, Scully had to admit, trapped in a facade. It was, most likely, by design that he could blend in so seamlessly. If anything, Mulder was an uber-observer. He was a student of human behavior. The best profiler of violent criminals that had ever existed. And here Scully was, by his side, chasing the paranormal. Mulder opened the door to the library and said with a smile, "Ladies and germs first."

Scully and Mulder stood among the stacks as a woman in a crisp business suit made her way through to greet them. "Dr. Marilyn Detricht, Director of the Beinecke Library branch, how may I assist you?" She extended a delicate hand, impeccably manicured, at Scully. She was at least a foot taller, so her hand engulfed Scully's. After they shook, Dr. Detricht turned to Mulder, looked him square in the eyes, as they were of equal height, and shook his hand with confidence. "I assume," she said with a wry smile, "this has something to do with the stolen manuscript?"

Dr. Detricht walked them through the library and, after expounding on the importance of the special collections entrusted at her branch (ancient texts, rare first editions, so on and so on), she continued unprompted, "I'm not sure why the FBI would be involved. Afterall, the Voynich Manuscript, although ancient and fascinating, is one of the greatest hoaxes in modern civilization. It is a remarkable and elaborate work of fiction." Scully couldn't help noticing as Dr. Detricht nearly pirouetted her curvaceous figure in a pencil skirt to face Mulder at an empty glass cabinet lit from above. You could cut ceramic tiling on those high cheekbones. Scully raised an eyebrow.

Mulder examined the empty cabinet. He knelt to take in the structure. "Are you familiar with Zipf's law, doctor?" Marilyn wrinkled her nose. Mulder stood up. "It states that given some corpus of natural language utterances, the frequency of any word is inversely proportional to its rank in a frequency table. The Voynich Manuscript, if a hoax, would be the greatest in all of mankind. There is a language present in the manuscript and, despite its alien nature, it would appear to have an alphabet all its own."

Dr. Detricht touched her hair. "Frequency table?"

Scully tapped the glass case with her knuckle that startled Dr. Detricht. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, I was just… you mean the glass, yes." She lifted the entire glass off of the case with little effort.

Scully nodded. "Are all the cases like this one?"

Dr. Detricht hesitated. "Yes."

"I see." Scully said with finality. She looked over at Mulder, who shrugged.

Dr. Detricht explained that the artifact was taken during a reception that was hosted at the Beinecke Library. They were celebrating a collection of newly purchased first editions from a museum that had closed in Jerusalem. After reviewing the security footage, the perpetrator was easily located. Scully and Mulder thanked Dr. Detricht for her time. She handed Mulder her business card and emphasized that her speciality was library science, but she had a keen interest in ancient linguistics as well.

Back in the car, Scully buckled her seatbelt and said, "She didn't even lock the case."

Mulder turned over the engine. "Yeah, but she had confidence that appearance would illuminate perception."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Mulder sat a moment and then said, "It means she's grossly mistaken."

Scully shook her head. "Mulder, what is going on?"

They pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm not sure."

"Then why are we here wasting resources?"

"Because I have a thing for Amazonian librarians." Scully pegged him in the arm as he smiled broadly.

On assignment, there were strict protocols that govern the social interactions of partners in overnight stays. This was specific and aggressively monitored. Opposite sex, heterosexual partners were rarely paired. The X-Files, however, was a department that defied category and, therefore, bended the rules by the force of its existence and the nature of its mission. That being said, Scully respected Mulder more than any other associate at the bureau. He was a man whose conviction was absolute, pure, and well-defined. Mulder wanted the truth. He wanted to believe that evil existed. As grey and nuanced was life, Mulder saw the fractals in it, and this colored existence black and white. She feared a moment of naivete was inevitable. Scully needed to protect him. So, that night at a rundown motel in New Haven, Connecticut, Scully knocked on his door. Most assignments Scully had to accept with an open mind. This one was a stretch even by X-Files standards. She needed to know that Mulder hadn't lost his mind. Was this a rabbit hole too deep? There was no answer. She knocked again. Scully put her ear to the door. Nothing.

Dressed in slacks and a loosely fitted sweater, Scully stalked the perimeter of the motel. The complex was comprised of three buildings that sat U-shape around a dirty pool. It was evening leading into late night. She found Mulder still dressed in his suit, staring into the swimming pool that undulated with debris and was still lit despite the brisk weather. He was lost in the fractals. "Mulder?"

Without looking up, "I've been working up the nerve for a quick dip."

Scully smiled as the refracted pool light danced across her petite features. Her face drew a serious line. She flicked her dull grey-blue eyes at Mulder's dark frame.

"I think that it's time to go." He turned. Mulder's features drank up the darkness.

"Okay," Scully folded her arms. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. If we leave early enough, I'm sure Skinner won't notice."

Mulder nodded. He turned around. "You can take the car. I might have some work to send you at the bureau-"

"What?" Scully's hands dropped to her hips. "Why are you staying? This case is a dud!" She didn't mean to shout.

"It's too dangerous. And you're right, to substantiate this case as a bureau matter is spurious at best. But it is an X-File."

Scully could feel her blood pressure rising. "Mulder, what are you not telling me?"

"It's just-"

"And if it's dangerous you'll need back up, so what is it?"

"I don't know anything about Billy Newbold."

Scully tried to pierce the darkness to discern an expression.

Mulder's voice raised a decibel. "He's not in any database at the bureau. I couldn't find a driver's license, bank account, social security number. This guy's a ghost. And yet, somehow, this Billy Newbold has caught the attention of the highest ranking officials of the government. And he was caught stealing a mysterious ancient manuscript that is at the center of no known X-File." He seemed emotionally spent. Mulder wiped a hand across his bottom lip.

Scully pursed her lips. She ran a hand through her red hair. "OK. We both stay. See this through."

"What I'm trying to say is that I don't know what the fuck is going on." Mulder turned toward the night sky. It was a uniform charcoal color. A heavy blanket of clouds obscured the stars and moon. A breeze kicked up, ruffling the edges of Mulder's trench coat. The pool light cut across his profile. Scully made out the deep lines of concern that creased around his eyes. A chill ran down her spine as she realized that Mulder was scared. Scully made a sound to speak, but he muttered, "Duane Barry."

A flash of anger sharpened Scully's cheekbones. She let it pass before she replied, "I'm better now. He can't hurt me. And-"

"I'm… Sorry."

"You did everything you could. Do you understand?" Scully bit her lip. "Hey," she said like a jab.

"Ok." Mulder exhaled. "Let's go meet our mystery man first thing."

She shook her head and turned to leave. Scully felt a warmth touch her heart. She didn't understand it. Scully just let it spread through her body, and it did: to the edge of her scalp and the tips of her toes.