OFFICES OF THE CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER

BASEMENT LEVEL - MORGUE

KENWOOD

14.30PM

After getting himself a too strong, too sweet coffee from the too old vending machine, Mulder sat on a hard plastic chair, flicked through some old magazines, and completed a few crossword competitions that had expired while he was still in high school as he waited for the results of the autopsy. Mulder hated being present for them and avoided them wherever he could, especially when he had spoken to the victim just a few hours ago.

Inside the sterile autopsy suite, Scully pulled on a pair of thick latex gloves, green surgical gown, hat and booties. The room was cold and silent aside from the slow drip of a leaking tap in the sink. White tiles covered the walls and floor, all around were stainless steel workbenches and the focal point, if you could call it that, in the center of the room was the huge steel autopsy table. How many peoples' lives had ended with a journey to this table, Scully wondered. The table so often drew sideways glances from visitors as they formed mental images of the bodies they sometimes held. Whatever people might imagine, no-one could really know the horrors that were uncovered here, the remains of the evil things that human beings are capable of doing to each other. Now, the table held Reverend Cork, his body a mountain landscape draped in the snow white sheet. The mortuary assistants had already removed the body from its thick plastic bag and had performed the X-rays that now hung from the light box on the wall. Scully checked all the necessary medical equipment was on hand; she snapped a new blade onto the scalpel, checked the Stryker saw, retractors. She opened her notebook and sketch pad ready for her shorthand notes which she always took in case the recorder failed. She sighed, collected her thoughts, then pulled back the sheet and switched on her hand-held tape recorder. She took the body's internal and external temperate, then broke the rigor in the arms and legs. She carefully examined every inch of him checking for any bruising, lacerations, abrasions, and marks that could indicate the manner of death, all the while sketching the body and recording her findings. There was some bruising along the right side of his neck, but it was only just becoming visible, possibly a pressure mark sustained as a result of a ligature, although it seemed too thick for that - maybe a hand mark? Reverend Cork had been a tall, well-built man and it was quite an effort to turn him over, especially as rigor was well-established. Scully was rewarded with a small puncture mark on the back of his neck, encircled by another bruise just below the hairline. It looked like a needle mark, but Scully couldn't be sure until the full post-mortem was finished and a full tox screen was performed. For the next hour or so after turning the body back over, she collected tissue and blood samples, weighed and measured organs and finally closed the 'y' incision.

Relieved to have completed this difficult autopsy, she took off her gloves and spent a few minutes scrubbing her hands trying to rid them of the smell of latex. After informing the attendants that she had finished, she collected her notes, tape and sketches and went to put Mulder out of his misery. He had finally given up with the magazines, and having taken off his raincoat and suit jacket, was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, staring out the window at the cold and miserable April day. He turned as he heard her footsteps coming down the hall.

'I was beginning to wonder what happened to you, feels like I've been here for hours. If you ever see me looking at a crossword again please kill me quickly.'

'It did take a little longer than I'd anticipated, but that's because I found something I didn't expect, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything.' She pushed a hand tiredly through her disheveled hair.

'Like what?'

'I found a tiny mark at the top of his neck just here,' she demonstrated on her own neck, 'and another on the right side. The back one looked like a needle mark to me, but I can't be positive anything was actually administered until the tox reports come back, and that won't be for a day or two.'

'What about the side one?'

'I'm not sure. I don't think it was a ligature, the patterning wasn't right. Possibly it could be a pressure mark, if the Reverend was grabbed from behind and held while the injection was given. It wasn't anywhere near severe enough to caused death, it was barely visible. Unless the Reverend injured himself before.' Mulder raised an eyebrow in disbelief as Scully continued. 'I don't think so either. One thing is sure though, the Reverend didn't stab himself in the back of the neck, so there's definitely something not right about his death. There were no bruises, abrasions, nothing apart from a small shaving cut under the chin. However, I did find scarring in the cardiac tissue and atheroma in the coronary and pulmonary arteries, as well as in other areas of the body. There was some narrowing of the bronchioles, so it looks as though the Reverend used to be a smoker too. That combined with the fact that he was slightly overweight doesn't make me surprised that he had heart problems, the actual cause of death was a myocardial infarction.'

'You think it could have been induced by whatever was injected?'

'I can't confirm that,' she replied, always the diplomat, 'and I'm not putting that in my report until I get the lab results back but just between you and me, its possible. Even when I do get them, it's not going to look good for a prosecution case because it's almost impossible to prove that the heart attack was brought on by something else, especially when there is such a strong history of cardiac problems.'

Mulder slumped down into a chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache coming on. Scully pushed aside the magazines on the coffee table and sat on the edge facing him.

'Maybe we could start looking for someone who had the opportunity to administer that injection. With Officers Callahan and Pryce outside the room, I can't see how anyone could have gained access.'

'I'm just thinking aloud now… It was recently done, I mean he would probably have mentioned it if someone had stuck him with a needle, so it must have happened last night. What I'm thinking is that whoever it was, it must be someone the Reverend knew and trusted, because if you feel in danger, you wouldn't turn your back. Unless, of course, they've got a gun on you. But then, how the hell did they get in the room in the first place with two police officers standing outside?' He sighed and leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, as if the answer would magically appear if he looked long enough. They both sat in silence for a few seconds before Scully patted him on the knee and stood.

'Come on. It's pointless just sitting here and I'm starving. How about I buy you something to eat, then we can see how the SOCO's got on.'

'Sounds good to me.'

After returning from an early dinner, Mulder and Scully waited patiently for a further two hours. Eventually, just after 8:00pm, the initial toxicology reports came in. She read them while Mulder brought two coffees from the vending machine.

'I was right, Mulder. They found very high concentrations of morphine in the blood, as well as traces of the medication he was taking for his hypertension. The drugs he was prescribed have to be taken with food, so the Reverend must have taken them with the steak he ate. That's consistent with stomach contents and rate of absorption of the medication, putting time of death at around nine to ten o'clock. The tissue sample I took showed that the syringe entered the neck at a slight incline upwards, suggesting that the assailant was shorter than the victim, but as the Reverend was so tall, that doesn't exactly narrow it down. Thanks,' she said, looking over her glasses to accept the coffee that Mulder handed to her.

'There was slight subcutaneous hemorrhaging, which shows a degree of violence, as if the syringe was stabbed in. The bruising around the puncture mark I told you about would be consistent with the base of a hypodermic, too.'

Mulder set his coffee on the floor under his chair as Scully handed him the manila file.

'You recorded the time of death as about nine thirty. Callahan and Pryce were there from five when the Reverend arrived back, and no-one was recorded as entering or leaving the room after that time, so how could anyone have got in there?'

'Well, it's too high up to get at from the ground, even with a ladder because the flower beds around the hotel would have marks, not to mention the fact that someone walking around with a huge ladder would kind of stick out. There are no balconies. What about room service? Maids?'

'I don't know. There haven't been any formal statements from the officers yet. We'd better head over to the hotel, let the officer in charge know what's going on and have a look around. We can get statements tomorrow, unless they're there now.'

'It's late, Mulder. They've probably gone home.'

'Well, only one way to find out.'

It had started to rain again. Water ran down the car windows making the scenery look like a washed-out watercolor. The rain formed deep pools of quicksilver in the headlights that sprayed up around the car as Mulder drove through them. Clouds hung low and heavy in the sky, and grew steadily darker as the waning light leached the last of the color from the land. The rhythmic thump-thump of the windscreen wipers, the drumming of the rain on the roof and the ever present spray from the car in front was making Mulder wish he'd tried harder to get some sleep last night. His eyelids felt as though they were weighted down and he had to fight to stay awake. He glanced sideways at his partner, noticing how thin she was becoming and how the light no longer seemed to touch her hair as it used to. She looked so small, so weak…so mortal. He silently vowed that from now on he would treasure every moment with her as though it may be his last, to savor every precious second for however long she had left. For the millionth time since she'd told him, he asked himself if his fight for the truth was worth the price other people were paying for him. His feelings towards his partner were changing, deepening. Maybe they had been for some time, but only now when he was faced with losing her was he beginning to acknowledge them. He hadn't realized how much he needed her, depended on her, how much she meant to him. He was falling again, the pit pulling him down with the force of a black hole. He reached for the radio, hoping there would be something on there to distract him. Scully looked over disapprovingly.

'Do you have to have this on?' she complained over the intrusive noise of Will Smith's laughably appropriate Men in Black.

'Sorry,' he said, smiling, knowing this was one of the moments that he would miss most when… He turned it down. 'That better?'

'Much, thank you.'

They drove for a few moments longer while Mulder forced himself to think about the case at present and not the future as the windshield wipers and tapping rain continued their gentle rhythm.

'Scully, I've been thinking, what were the levels of morphine in the blood? Were they excessive?'

She looked over to him, 'Yes, actually they were high enough to have killed him three times over. Why?'

'Overkill, then?'

'Maybe, but it's more likely that the murderer just didn't know what he was doing and administered however much he could get hold of.'

'Could the Reverend have had a heart attack brought on by the shock of the injection itself, or the shock of just being attacked? Could you prove that?'

'Not really. That would be impossible, actually. All I can tell you is the morphine was present in sufficient quantity to kill. Given the Reverend's already weakened state, either shock or the morphine are both as likely to have killed him.'

'Whoever did this, they couldn't have known about the Reverend's heart condition, otherwise they would have realized that half a dose would have been sufficient. There are far easier ways of inducing someone to have a heart attack.'

Scully took a deep breath, absorbing what Mulder was saying. 'I don't think there is any need to be that accurate. If you want someone dead you wouldn't fuss around with exact quantities. I would think though that a certain amount of research would have gone into it.'

'Or maybe there was just such anger behind the act. I mean the evidence of violence. The bruising on the neck, where the hypodermic entered, the huge volume of morphine used. If it is the same person who sent the note, then this murder was well planned and executed, there seems to be a certain amount of passion behind it. The method chosen too was silent and clean, showing a desire for self-preservation after the fact.'

'I don't know, Mulder. But then I guess that's why I'm the doctor and you're the profiler.'

'I do believe that was a vote of confidence.'

'Do you?' she smiled mischievously. 'Anyway, it's more likely the murderer just didn't know what he was doing. You'd have to know at least a little about pathology to know exact amounts. Why go to the trouble? Why not just administer however much you can get hold of?'

'Because you'd be running the risk that it might not be enough. You'd have to do at least some research and in doing so you'd find out about overdoses, contra-indications, that kind of thing. You'd know that the level of morphine used would be way too much.' He flicked on the indicator as they arrived back at the hotel. The solitary cruiser still was still parked out front. He pulled in as close to the door as he could and said, 'You jump out here.'

'Why? Where you going?'

'I'm just going to park up.'

She eyed him suspiciously before jumping out and sprinting into the lobby. Smiling at the receptionist, she shook the rain from her coat. Mulder wasn't too long, but he was drenched when he arrived.

'Where the hell have you been?'

'Checking for footprints outside the Reverend's window. There weren't any after all.'

'And you had to choose the middle of a cloudburst to check that?'

'We needed to know, and now seemed as good a time as any.'

She shook her head in disbelief at yet another of Mulder's eccentricities and watched with amusement as he tried to squeeze the water from his hair and coat.

'Are you done?' she asked.

'Let's just get this over with so I can have a hot shower,' he said, pushing past her while she tried to stifle a giggle.

Surprisingly, Callahan was still outside the room reading a newspaper. He folded it and put it on the floor under his chair as he stood to greet the agents.

'Officer Callahan,' smiled Scully. 'You working a double shift?'

'Well, Agent Scully, got no-one to go home to, and besides, I could use the overtime. So what were the results of the autopsy?'

'Reverend Cork died of a heart attack, although that may have been precipitated by an injection of morphine. Do you know if the SOCO's found anything?'

'No, not as far as I know. Haven't had the report yet though,' he muttered. 'Shit…how? How did anyone get in there? I take it he didn't inject himself.'

'Not unless he's got bionic arms, no,' said Mulder. 'We need to know exactly who came and went last night.'

'Only myself, Pryce...some room service guy...I think he said his name was Conner. That's it, I guess.'

'You're sure?'

'I am, yeah.'

'Has SOCO released the scene yet?'

'Not officially, but I think they're pretty much done in there.'

'Okay. Well, we're just going to have a quick look around.'

'Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out.'

Mulder entered first and flicked on the light switch. There was a heavy, pervasive atmosphere, and the low moonlight only served to accentuate the shadows, sadness and sense of ending. He sighed as he put his coat on the chair and began looking around the bed. Scully lingered a while in the doorway chatting to Callahan before following him in.

'You two are very friendly all of a sudden,' he said, picking up the valance to look under the bed.

'Well, one of us has to make an effort. I don't see you nurturing multi-jurisdictional relationships.'

'Oh, so that's what they're calling it these days.'

'Actually, if you must know, we were discussing work. He said he'd find out about that Conner guy, see when he's working next. Do you think it could be him?'

'I don't know, but there's only three people who were here last night. One of them must know something,' said Mulder.

He continued checking the floor around the bed, whilst Scully started in the bathroom.

'Hey, Scully,' he called after a while, 'look at this.'

She joined him at the side of the bed to examine the small bloodstain just larger than a pinhead formed on the bottom of the otherwise clean, crisp white pillow.

'Probably from the neck wound, it would have bled a little because of the angle it went in.'

'It must be, there were no other injuries and the bedding is changed every day. Besides the stain doesn't appear to be that old,' said Mulder.

'The killer must have placed the body on the bed after the attack.'

'That would make sense. If the police checked on the Reverend later that night, they would think he was sleeping and wouldn't disturb him. They must have known the body wouldn't be discovered until morning. It would have given him time. It would also look more like a natural death.'

'Probably,' said Scully returning to the bathroom while Mulder continued to check the bed.

'There's absolutely nothing here,' said Scully. 'Callahan would have mentioned it if they'd found a hypodermic in here. I guess I wouldn't really have expected the killer to have been stupid enough to have left it here anyway. There are no other signs of a struggle, no other bloodstains. The killer was clever, I'll give him that.'

'You know, there could have been other people who weren't reported. The maid who turned down the bed, for example. Or someone could have entered without the officers knowing. Maybe they slipped away for a minute, to get a coffee, use the bathroom, anything.'

'Well, actually, Agent Mulder, we didn't,' said Callahan, from the door. 'Just because we don't deal with this kind of case very often down here, it doesn't mean we take our responsibilities any less seriously. I worked hard to get this job. They don't just give badges out like goddamned candy.'

Mulder, somewhat taken aback with Callahan's unexpected appearance was lost for words.

'He didn't mean it that way. Sorry if he offended you, but we have to explore all possibilities, Officer Callahan. Agent Mulder wasn't criticizing.'

'Yeah, I'll bet. Goddamn feds,' muttered Callahan. 'You're all the same, think you're so much better than us country hicks, don't you? Well, just for the record, Reverend Cork came up here at around eight-thirty, he ordered room service, ate most of his meal, then went to bed. All that time either Pryce or I was outside and no-one either entered or left that room other than that room service guy, okay? It's not our problem if you guys can't explain what's happened here, it not being our jurisdiction,' he finished, the final word being spoken as if it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Mulder ignored him. He wasn't a stranger to the irritation caused when the FBI took control over cases for small towns. He knew from his own experience as a new recruit how it felt to have a case taken from you, like a mother taking a dangerous toy from a child who is too immature and ignorant to be able to use it, but he had moved on from that kind of infantile reaction and sometimes he forgot that other people might not have reached that plateau yet. He was more disappointed and annoyed with Scully for feeling as though she had to apologize for him.

'Did you find Conner?' she was asking.

'Actually, no. The manager, Mr. Sipowitz, told me there was no record of an employee with that name. All we know of this guy is that he was young, maybe early twenties, deep blonde hair, about five ten.'

'That sounds promising. How did he get the uniform and know that the Reverend had ordered room service?' asked Scully.

'We don't know yet, but Sipowitz is pretty upset about the whole thing. He's checking into it now. He should have the rota in a few minutes, he's bringing it up.'

'Well, it's a good place to start,' she said.

'Maybe, but we still have to explain how anyone could have gotten in here carrying a hypodermic,' said Mulder.

Callahan threw him another icy glare. 'Before you say it, we did search him and the tray he brought up. Needless to say we found a huge goddamn syringe up his sleeve but decided to let him in anyway.'

'Hey, jackass, why don't you take your moronic sarcasm and shove it up your goddamned - '

'Mulder, for God's sake,' Scully said in disgust, stepping between them. 'Just go down and get that list, see if anyone in the kitchens saw anything, and I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour, alright?'

He stared at her, anger flashing in his eyes like she'd never seen before as he left, barely resisting the temptation to slam the door behind him.

Sipowitz's office was situated through a door at the back of the reservations desk. Mulder tapped gently before entering. 'Mr. Sipowitz?'

The older man rose from behind his desk. 'Ah, Agent Mulder, please come in.' He looked like a school principle in his dark pinstripe suit and bifocals perched on the end of his long, bird-like nose. A nervous smile played on his lips as he came toward Mulder with his hand outstretched. 'Would you like some coffee?'

'No, thank you. Have you got that list yet, sir?'

'Yes, it's just printing off for you.'

Mulder glanced around while he waited. The room was very sparsely furnished. Sipowitz sat in a creaking leather swivel chair behind the huge oak desk which was very cluttered, distracting attention from the wonderful ornate floral carvings on the legs. There were no pictures on the wall, no photographs of any family even though he wore a wedding band, but sitting on top of a small filing cabinet in the corner was a neglected spider plant.

'I'm very sorry about this, Agent Mulder. I can assure you that this hotel takes the security and privacy of its guests most seriously. I cannot imagine how anyone could have managed to get into the kitchens, let alone upstairs without being noticed.' He tore the list from the printer and handed it to Mulder.

'How many staff do you employ here?' he asked.

'Fifty-eight altogether, between kitchen and waiting staff, cleaners, security guards, receptionists, bar staff, groundskeepers, and so on.' He poured a coffee for himself from the machine on the windowsill and resumed his chair. 'That's the full list, but only a fraction handful of those were here last night. They have an asterisk by their name.'

'Would you say that most people here knew each other well?'

'Well, at least in passing, yes. Because of the shifts, I suppose it's impossible to know everyone really well, but faces should be familiar, I would think.'

'So how do you explain the fact that someone not on your payroll was able to get hold of a uniform, the room service request, and be able to get upstairs without anyone noticing?'

Sipowitz shifted awkwardly in his squeaking chair. 'I…I don't know. To be perfectly honest with you, there are spare uniforms kept in the staff changing room next to the kitchens, so that wouldn't have been too hard, I suppose. I can't explain how no-one noticed him in the kitchens though. He would have had to go in there to get the room-service requests which are kept pinned to a board next to the door. He must have been very quick. Plus they are supposed to wear hair protection nets and hats when in the kitchen, so his appearance may have been obscured somewhat, which could explain why no-one noticed him.'

'If I gave a description of this man to your staff, would they be able to identify him, do you think?'

'I'm sure they could,' he replied emphatically, glad to be able to do something positive to help. 'Those who were in last night would be on the morning shift tomorrow, and you're welcome to speak to them then.'

'Thank you, I will,' said Mulder, standing to leave. 'Will you be here tomorrow if we need to speak to you again?'

'I will, yes, but you can reach me anytime at this number,' he said, pulling a business card from a dispenser on his desk.

'Thanks,' replied Mulder.

'Can I just say how sorry I was to hear about what happened? I can't tell you how bad I feel about this lapse in security. The Reverend has stayed with us before, everyone liked him. He was such a nice man, such a terrible shame.'

'Yes, it was. We'll find out who did this, Mr. Sipowitz. Thank you again for your time.'

Mulder returned to the lobby and sat beneath the large parlor palm to wait for Scully. He glanced through the list of names, although he didn't really expect to find anything, they were all strangers to him. Sighing, he threw the list on the chair next to him and tilted his head back against the cold wall and closed his eyes.

The soft whirr of engines as the elevator was called upstairs drew his attention. After a few seconds, it returned with Scully and Callahan, who said goodnight to her then returned to his car without so much as a glance towards Mulder. She smiled as she approached him.

'That didn't take as long as we'd expected,' she said cheerfully. 'A preliminary report has been returned from the SOC team. They think they may have found a few fibers on the sheets and possibly a hair in the bathroom, so at least that's something to go on.'

'Great,' he muttered, standing to put on his still-soaking trench coat.

'You've got the list, then. Anything productive?'

'Not really,' he said as he folded the sheets and walked toward the door.

'Are you alright?'

'Fine.'

Scully shrugged her shoulders and followed.

Back in the car, Mulder's mood worsened as they hit a gridlock returning to their hotel. The rain was holding off, but the fog had obviously been too thick for someone who had managed to flip their car and cause a huge tailback. He fiddled with the radio, wound the window down, got too cold, wound it up and flicked on the heating, knocked it off again, revved the engine, sounded the horn.

'You seem a little distracted, Mulder. What's wrong?'

'Why has something got to be wrong? You know I hate jams, especially in this damn weather. Where the hell are the police?' he said, sounding the horn again. 'They could set up a contraflow to re-direct the traffic. People are trying to get home.'

'It's hardly peak time now.'

The car advanced about five feet, then stopped dead again, drawing another groan and press of the horn from Mulder.

'If we're stuck here for a while, I'll look at that list. What did you do with it?'

Mulder reached down into the box in the driver's door and tossed it into her lap.

'Thanks,' she muttered. She opened it out, paused, then folded it back up and let it fall back into her lap. 'Have I done something, Mulder?'

'Why would you think that?'

'I don't know… Maybe it's because you've barely managed a civil word to me since we left the hotel.'

'I'm tired. Frustrated. And sick of goddamned traffic.'

'I know you, and it's more than that.'

'You know me, huh? That's funny, because if you did know me all that well you'd know exactly what was bothering me.'

'Look, I'm tired too, and not in the mood for mind games. If you're going to be - '

'I don't like or need you apologizing for me. Especially to that dick, Callahan.' He pulled the car sharply into the outside lane, drawing blazing horns behind him.

'Excuse me?'

'"He didn't mean it that way. Sorry if he offended you," I believe were your exact words. Then practically telling me to leave.'

'Mulder, I'm… That was an innocent comment to diffuse the situation. I didn't mean to upset you. I thought it was the right thing to do. You were losing your temper.'

'And you don't think I'm capable of speaking for myself?'

'Oh come on, this is silly.'

'I don't like the way that made me feel, Scully. Like as if they were someone else's words coming from your mouth. Like the Bureau apologizing for me. I expected better from you. Above all people. It makes me wonder whether you really are on my side, or are you protecting yourself and the Bureau's interests?'

She stabbed angrily at the switch for the radio to turn it off.

'Where the hell has all this come from, Mulder? This has been blown out of all proportion. How dare you question my loyalty after all I've sacrificed for you! Of course I care about the Bureau, but I care about you, too. I was trying to save you from an assault charge, because that's where I felt you were heading. What the hell is wrong with you?'

Ahead, the cars began to pick up speed and gradually the gridlock cleared.

'There it is again. Something wrong with me. I'm not entitled to feel angry, am I?'

He hung a right sharply into their motel, sped through the car park and slammed the brakes on as he pulled into a space. Scully threw back her seat belt and almost fell out of the car in her efforts to get away from him as quickly as possible.

'You know something, Mulder,' she said, slamming the door, 'as a matter of fact, people did warn me about you. Spooky Mulder, the self-obsessed asshole who didn't give a damn about anything other than chasing Little Green Men and spouting paranoid conspiracy bullshit, but I didn't listen. I wanted to give you a chance. I defended you to those people, I told them how brilliant you were, how much you cared, how you had such intense passion and belief in your work and that the results were there if only they'd give you a chance. I love working with you, and every opportunity I was given to stand up for you, I did.'

Mulder turned his back to her, and stood with one arm against the car for support as he weathered Scully's storm.

'But, I'm beginning to think they were right. You are a narcissistic asshole sometimes. You have one major attitude problem, and if you want to keep your job and your friends, I suggest you take your head out of your ass once in a while and begin to appreciate the people who really believe in you.'

He slammed his palm on the car roof and stalked off.

'Mulder? Mulder!' she called after him. He didn't even turn around.

He closed his door and slumped back against it as sobs racked his body. All the tension of the last few weeks seemed to suddenly rise to the surface and begin to release themselves with the force of a dam burst through his soul. His grief over Scully's illness, the complete irrationality of his thoughts, his unforgivable attack on her - finally the feelings had found a vent and he couldn't stop them. He knew she hadn't meant anything, he had never doubted her loyalty, so why had he said it? Now, when she most needed him, he had let her down, and even worse, he'd hurt her. Everything of which he had accused her, he was guilty of himself.

Tears fell when he closed his eyes as he asked himself why, over and over, but he knew the answer. His feelings for her terrified him. He loved her, loved her so much that he couldn't bear it. Part of him always had, but he knew it now as surely as day follows night. Why had it taken him so long to realize it? Now, when it was too late to make any difference? He feared for himself, how he would cope without her, and now he hated himself for being so self-involved. It was easier to deny his feelings, to make her walk away because it was easier than losing her. He realized now that it was impossible. How could he forget her? Push her aside? He owed her more. A hell of a lot more. To start with, an apology.

He sat behind the door until the tears finally stopped, then stood shakily and, throwing off his damp clothes, stepped into a hot shower and let the water gently, comfortingly, massage his aching muscles.

Afterwards he made himself a mug of hot chocolate and, wearing only a towel, curled up on the bed to watch a little television and prepare himself for what he knew he had to do. Eventually, he picked up the phone and dialed Scully's room.

'Yes?' she answered dispassionately.

'Hi, Scully. It's me.'

'What do you want? And why do you always have to call in the middle of the night?' Her voice was strange. She was still angry, obviously, but there was something else – she sounded upset.

'I'm sorry. I just…I wanted, I…needed to call you. I owe you another apology.'
She remained silent, not making it easy for him.

'I know I hurt you. I didn't mean any of the things I said. I'm not thinking straight, I told you that and I…I can't justify it, Scully. Since you told me about your cancer… I don't know how to deal with it. My feelings, my…thoughts…they're confused. I would never question your loyalty to me or the work. I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I'm just so angry for you, and it's all being misdirected at the wrong people. You are the last person who should be taking it. I guess…I'm scared too. I'm so frightened of losing you, Scully, especially when I blame myself for getting you involved in all of this.'

Still silence.

'Are you still there? Look, I'm trying my best here. I don't know what else I can say. I'm not asking you to forgive me - hell, I wouldn't forgive me, just please, talk to me, Dana.'

More silence, then a deep sigh. Mulder hoped it was one of decision.

'We seem to be apologizing to each other a lot lately, don't we?'

'I guess so.' She wasn't ignoring him. At least that was hopeful. He waited, listening to her breathing.

'I think we need to talk, Mulder. Do you want to come over?'

'Right now?'

'Hey, you called me, remember?'

'I'll be right there.' He replaced the receiver, pulled on some pants, a clean T-shirt and his leather jacket and headed next door.

He didn't have to knock, Scully was already holding the door open for him. She remained expressionless as she stood aside for him. She still wore her skirt suit and didn't look as though she'd even attempted to sleep.

Mulder hovered by her desk, feeling very self-conscious, not really knowing what to do with himself until she told him to sit down on the bed next to hers.

'I don't know what to say.' He kept his eyes to the floor, afraid to even look at her or to acknowledge the fact that she had obviously been crying, too.

'You made a good start, Mulder.' He looked up. 'You apologized first. As I said on the phone, I think we need to talk. Or more specifically, you.'

He shook his head sadly. 'I guess I blame myself for what's happening to you. I look at you every day and see you getting on with your life, but I know how worried you are, and I wish I could do something to make things better for you. I feel so frustrated, angry… It's all my fault.'

'Mulder, that's so ridiculous. Why on earth would my cancer have anything to do with you? Why do you think it's your fault?'

He pushed up from the bed, wandered over to the window and pulled the net aside to stare at the sky. Clouds backlit by the half-moon skittered across the stars. Ornamental trees swayed gently in the light breeze.

'I don't think you'd believe me even if I told you, Scully.'

'Maybe that should be down to me to decide.'

He sighed, his breath fogging the frozen window. 'I have reason to believe that your cancer is related to your abduction. Was caused by it. I think you already knew that, but maybe you didn't know that I think the reason you were taken was because of me.'

She shivered, maybe from the draught under the door. 'I don't understand.'

'I don't think I understand it fully myself. It's complicated.'

'Try.'

He saw the hard set of her eyes and knew that she needed to know. He'd kept the truth from her for too long.

'When you were in hospital, just after Penny died, I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt so lost and alone. I needed to do something more constructive, I couldn't accept what the doctors were telling me. I knew there was more to your diagnosis, so I went looking. Your name was on file at a federal fertility clinic - '

'A fertility clinic?' she said incredulously. 'But, Mulder, I've never - '

'I know.' He paused, and sighed. 'That's why I knew it must be related to your abduction. When I looked into that file it contained a gene sequence, the same one that showed up in your blood work when you were returned. Your cancer is a result of your abduction, Scully. They took you away from me and gave you this disease because I was getting too close. They knew I couldn't continue without you.'

He turned to look at her when she remained silent for so long he wondered if she was even still there. She was still on the bed, staring at the floor, her face a mask of anger and shock.

'I don't believe that,' she whispered weakly. 'Mulder, you can't be that important, the work can't be so damaging to them that they would kill me to stop you. Why would they even think that would work?'

'I don't know how close I was, or even to what, but you know they've already killed to protect it. As harsh as it sounds, one more will make no difference to them. They originally assigned you to me to debunk my work, but instead you've given it a scientific credibility and respect I could never have achieved on my own. You are vital to the continuance of the work, and they know that. I think they feel threatened, which was why they chose you. They know we've both seen too much.'

Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting the light and making them seem like molten gold. She shook her head in denial, her auburn hair falling across her face.

'They…they can't do that. No, it just doesn't make sense. Mulder, why don't they just shoot me, or shut us down?'

He turned back to the window. 'They tried shutting us down before, and it didn't work. As for the other question, Scully, I don't know. I've gone over it hundreds of times - why they would want you to suffer, and me,' he added quietly, 'I don't know. But since you were diagnosed, nothing we could possibly work on interests me anymore. I just don't care…all I care about is what is happening to you. Maybe that's why.' He tried to stay focused, to stay rational but his voice was betraying his true feelings. He couldn't look at her anymore. He hoped he had said enough.

An empty silence fell, the realization of what was happening was too horrific to even think about. The extents these shadow men would go to in order to protect the truth was incredible. Scully couldn't even begin to deal with what he was trying to tell her, it was just too hard. But what was even harder was seeing the effects that holding these secrets was having on her partner. Mulder looked terrible, drawn, and years older than he actually was.

'Why haven't you talked to me before about this?' Scully whispered.

'Jesus, Dana…because you have enough to deal with without hearing about the issues and feelings I have about all this.' He let the net fall back down and rubbed the back of his neck as he walked over and sat next to her on the bed. 'The reason I'm telling you this now is because I want you to understand that the things I said…' He paused as his voice cracked again. He fought with his rising feelings to continue. 'I didn't mean any of them, you have to believe that. I care about you. You're so important to me, Scully, and thinking that this is my fault for involving you in all this…I can't… It's so hard for me to…' He couldn't help it. He closed his eyes, but the tears still fell. 'I'm sorry, Dana. I've let you down. I'm so sorry.'

She put her hands over his, curling her fingers around them tightly. 'I don't blame you. Do you hear me, Mulder? I'm the one this is happening to and I know it's not your fault. Whether they gave me this disease or not, I don't blame you. It's my choice that I stayed with the X-Files. They murdered my sister, abducted and abused me…this is my fight too. I want the truth just as much as you now.' She tilted his face to hers and wiped away a tear with her thumb as she smiled. 'I need you to stay strong for me. You keep me sane. You make me laugh. You keep me going during moments when I feel like giving up. You and my job give me what I need to fight what's inside me. I don't know what I'd do if you give up now.'

He shuddered as he sighed again. He knew there was more she needed to know, about how the tests or procedures she had gone through had made her infertile, how she could never have children, but she had been hurt enough already and he couldn't bring himself to tell her anymore. He would not allow himself to be used to hurt her.

'How can I live with myself, Scully, when I think about what I said to you…'

'Mulder, forget about it. It's not important. Please. There's been enough of this…pain.'

He nodded weakly as she slipped her arms around him. He returned her embrace, enjoying the sweet smell of her perfume and floral scent of her hair. She felt so good in his arms, so right. God, how he loved her. But until she showed some sign that his feelings would be returned, he could never tell her and spoil what they had right now. Even when she was so ill. Especially when she was so ill.

'Are you okay?' she asked, pulling away.

'Yeah,' he smiled, 'I am now.'

'I'm glad we talked.'

'So am I. I'm glad you understand. I can be an asshole sometimes.'

'All the time.'

He laughed as he grudgingly rose and headed for the door.

'Mulder?'

'Uh-huh?'

'Do you…would you mind staying here? On the sofa, I mean,' she felt the need to quickly add. 'I just…could…you know…use some company.'

'Sure,' he smiled. 'I could use a little company tonight myself.'

She tossed him a spare duvet from the closet and one of her pillows. 'I just hope you don't snore.'

Scully was woken by the high pitched chirping of her cell phone whilst it was still dark. Cursing, she fumbled around on the nightstand to find it and knocked over the lamp in the process. 'Shit,' she muttered, then found the glowing LCD display flashing in time with the ringing and hit receive.

Underneath the window on the far side of the room, she saw Mulder's arm reaching up to open the curtains as she spoke to Officer Callahan.

'Jeez, Scully, you give one hell of a wake-up call,' said Mulder when she'd finally thrown the phone across the bed, rolled over and pulled the duvet back up around her. 'Who was it?'

'Officer Callahan,' she replied, 'He wants us to meet him at the station later. There's a John Moorsfield down there working with a sketch artist. Seems he may have seen Conner in the kitchen the night the Reverend died.'

'That's good,' he yawned, throwing aside the covers and sitting up, 'I suppose I'd better take a shower then. I'll meet you at the car at…What time is it?'

'Too damn early. Six thirty.'

'Okay, at the car in about an hour.'

'Sure, okay.' Sighing, she pulled herself out of bed and switched the overhead light on. 'By the way, thanks for staying last night. It makes a nice change to have someone to talk to in the morning.'

'Don't you go getting any ideas, Agent Scully,' he smirked, pulling his shirt back on as he approached her and kissed her cheek. 'Thanks for forgiving. I like having someone to say Good Morning to as well. And you're so much prettier than my fish.'

'Well, gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special.'

'I try. Maybe we should do this more often,' he quipped as he left.

'In your dreams, Mulder,' she smiled after him.