From: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com (Paige Caldwell)
Date: 1999/05/07
Subject: [xfcreative] New  "An Ordinary Life" MSR/NC-17


From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>

Title:              An Ordinary Life
Author:             Paige Caldwell
Feedback:           paigecaldwell@hotmail.com
Classification:     MSR, X, Angst
Rating:             NC 17
Keywords:           M, S
Disclaimer:         These characters do not belong to me.  No
                    infringement is intended.
Archive:            Just let me know where.
Spoilers:           Through "One Son"
Summary:            Scully leaves the Bureau for what Mulder
                    believes is an ordinary life.  A year later,
                    fate brings them back to together, but her
                    "ordinary life" threatens to tear them apart.
(Part 1)

Dana Scully was leaving Baltimore General when she saw the
ambulance pull up to the entrance to the emergency room. Under
normal circumstances, she would not have stopped. She had just
finished a sixteen hour shift in the emergency room. The intense
pace of her job was more than challenging. It was grueling. In
this venue, her only partner was fatigue. It shadowed her daily,
reminding her that at thirty-six, she no longer had the energy or
exuberance which had once fueled her ambition. Her years with
the Bureau had seen to that.

As she wearily drew out the keys to her car, her attention
was drawn to the dark, four door sedans that sped up behind the
ambulance. She recognized them instantly as government cars.
When she saw the familiar jackets with the FBI insignias, she put
her keys back into her pocket. Old habits were hard to break.
Her career with the FBI was over, but her loyalty was still
intact. If an agent was down, she wanted to be there. But, as
she drew closer to the ambulance, a sudden apprehension seized
her. She stopped in her steps.

The sun had gone dark. Her eyes lifted to the sky. For a
moment, she stared at the clouds which were drifting in from the
west, obscuring the fading light of late afternoon. A strange,
tingling sensation coursed down her spine. A premonition. A
feeling of dread. As the paramedics shifted the stretcher down
to the pavement, she held her breath.

It was him.

Mulder.

"Oh my God...no." she cried out. Pushing past the agents
which swarmed around the back of the ambulance, she grasped the
side of the stretcher. His jacket laid open to his bloodied
shirt. Underneath the oxygen mask, his face was streaked with
sweat and contorted with pain.

He had been shot.


"Hey, lady," one of the agents grabbed her arm and tried to
usher her aside. "Get out of the way."

She was in her street clothes. Her identification badge had
been left behind in her locker. She opened her mouth to protest,
but one of the paramedics who recognized her, spoke up quickly.

"She works here. Let her do her job."

"Sorry..." The agent released her arm.

Scully held on to the stretcher and helped the paramedics
crashed it through the emergency room doors. In triage, she was
met by the physician in charge. He gave Mulder a quick
assessment before glancing at her.

"Are you on my shift, Dana?"

"I am now." her voice was shaky. She tried to steady it. "I
know him."

Suddenly, Mulder's gaze lifted up to hers. Despite the
agony that distorted his hazel eyes, there was a look of surprise
and recognition. Instinctively, she reached down to touch him,
to peel away the bloodied shirt so she could inspect the extent
of his wound. She saw that the bullet had pierced through
through his skin just over his right rib cage. Blood seeped
through the packing onto her hands. She gave his face a closer
inspection. She saw that he was having a difficult time catching
his breath.

Her fingers probed the side of his chest.

"He's got a right hemothorax," she cried out sharply.

"Okay, Dana, relax." the doctor reassured her.

"He's bleeding into his pleural cavity." she told the
doctor, clinging to the side of the stretcher. "His lung's
collapsing."

The doctor ran his gloved fingers along the outer edge of
Mulder's rib cage. He gave Scully a debating look. She was one
of his best residents. She was rarely wrong in her assessments.
This time was to be no exception.

"Alright, I want a chest tube." he turned to a nurse.

"Not here," Scully grabbed his arm frantically. "Get him
into OR. Now."

He glanced down and frowned. Her hand, ungloved, was
smearing him with the man's blood. Even under the most extreme
circumstances, this woman never lost her composure, never forgot
protocol and never challenged his authority. That she did so now
suggested that this man was no mere acquaintance.

It also reminded him that she was no ordinary resident.

"Okay, people." He turned to his staff. "Let's send him
up."

"Thank you," she whispered, giving Mulder a tense glance
before leaving the triage.


Scully raced to her locker on the second floor. Tearing off
her slacks, she stood in her underwear while her trembling
fingers unbuttoned her blouse. Shit, she was pathetic. She
always had been pitiful when it came to this man. Ineffective
and useless. She stopped a moment and glanced at the blood that
was smeared on her fingertips.

Mulder's blood.

Stark, cold realization coursed through her. Her mind
snapped back into control. Reaching for her blue scrubs, she
pulled them on, tying the drawstring securely around her slender
waist. She laced up her sneakers with steady hands. She
prepared herself with a renewed certainty.

She was a doctor now. Not his partner. A doctor who was
going to be there with him every step of the way even if they
were to be his last.

She sprinted up the stairwell to the fourth floor. She
swung open the door and stopped one of the surgical nurses in the
hallway.

"The man that was just sent up here from OR. Where is he?"

"OR 3."

"Who's the surgeon?" she cried over her shoulder as she
began up the hall.

"Myers, I think." the woman responded.

Good, good, Scully repeated to herself. Myers was one of the
best trauma surgeons in the hospital. She liked him. At one
point, she had even considered accepting his invitation to
dinner. How ironic that the reason she had declined was because
of the man that Myers was about to operate on.

Mulder. Always Mulder. Even a year later, his name was
still poised on her lips.

She punched the button to open the automatic doors to the
operating suites. She slowed her pace. It would not look good if
she burst into the operating room like a wild woman. She reached
into a box that held latex gloves and snapped them on with a
expertise developed long ago. Tucking her hair into a surgical
cap, she flinched slightly as the tight knot caught several
strands of it. She was more careful when she tied on her mask.
It caved in slightly with each rapid intake of breath.

Inside the operating room, Myers looked up from the table
where Mulder was being prepped. Over his mask, his eyes
brightened with anticipation.

"The elusive Dr. Scully." he addressed her.

"Dr. Myers." She willed her voice to remain calm.

"Finally taking me up on my offer to observe in the OR?" he
asked.

She didn't respond.

"Got a good one today," Myers told her. "Right hemothorax.
The bullet just missed his lung, but the blood is collapsing it."

She gave him a brief glance before her eyes darted back to
the operating table. Mulder had been draped. She couldn't see
his face. She had to see his face. She slowly edged away from
Myers to where the anesthesiologist stood at the head of the
table.

"Hey, Fred, how are you?" she was to be solicitous in an
effort to get closer.

"Good, Dana. How's the ER these days?"

"Fine. Fine," she said hesitantly. Her eyes slid down to
Mulder's face. His eyes were still open. Looking at her.
Seeing her. His mouth began to move as if he wanted to say
something to her.

God, she wanted to wanted to reach down and caress his face.
She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to tell him that she
loved him. Had always loved him. Would never stopped loving
him. But, time had become her enemy. Over a year had already
passed between them. It was slipping away from her now, leaving
her floundering in her own inability to speak.

"Okay, big guy, sleepy time." The anesthesiologist placed
the mask over his mouth and nose. Mulder gave her one last look.
A look so sad, so poignant that it stabbed through her heart.
She felt tears creep into her eyes. Underneath her mask, her
lips pressed tightly together.

"You okay, Dana?" Myers asked as he studied her closely.

"Something in my eye," she lied, turning away and pressing
her gloved hand to her eyelid.


Hours later, Scully stood outside the intensive care unit,
watching him through the window. She had been there for a long
time. Waiting. Watching. Studying the rhythm of his heart.
Willing his blood pressure to rise. He was still on mechanical
ventilation to expand his collapsed lung. She pressed her
fingers against her quivering lips in an effort to still them.
It devastated her to see him like this.

She was not an advocate of fate. Glancing at him now, she
understood why. Fate could be so cruel and taunting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" came a voice from behind her. She
turned to see Dr. Myers shake his head in exasperation as he
studied Mulder's chart. "Special Agent Fox Mulder. Your former
partner."

"You wouldn't have let me stay," she answered simply.

"You're right, former Special Agent Dana Scully." replied
the surgeon. "Sometimes I forget that your little stint with the
FBI is the reason that brought you to us in the first place.
And, to think it was my expertise that you drew you to my OR."

"It was your expertise that saved his life," Scully
asserted. "For that I'm grateful."

"From what I've learned, you made the call down in ER. Good
work."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," she
responded. "What do you think, Jason? How is he doing?"

The man raised his arm to the glass window and leaned his
forehead against it. For a moment he studied his patient,
weighing his words carefully.

"He's still critical. A couple of hours from now do another
CT scan and wean him off ventilation to see how he does on his
own. He's seems in fairly decent shape from the standpoint of
those of us hitting our forties."

"He's strong," commented Scully. "He's beaten death before."

"So, Dana, if my brilliant skills have saved his life, maybe
you'll finally take me up on the offer to have dinner with me."

"I'll do more than that..." Scully promised. Myers leaned
forward expectantly.

"I'll buy you dinner," she finished, arching an eyebrow at
his disappointed expression.

"Dinner without dessert I'm sure," he snickered.

"Jason, how did you find out?"

"You're listed as his emergency contact. The Bureau in D.C.
faxed it over."

"Oh God," she sighed aloud. "I guess he forgot to change
it."

"Does he know?"

The question hung between them for a moment. She felt his
black eyes narrowing in on her. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Then we better get him out of here, Dana. The last thing
we need is a federal agent in a facility that hosts the program."
cautioned Myers as he gave Mulder another look. "As soon as he's
stabilized, we can transfer him to another hospital."

"If he goes, I go with him." warned Scully.

"He means that much too you?" the doctor asked in surprise.

Scully didn't respond. She met his gaze with cool,
uncompromising eyes.

"I don't think the Center would be pleased to hear that
you're prepared to abandon the program over a former flame."
pressed the doctor.

"I don't give a damn." Scully snapped suddenly. "I've given
this program a year of my life. I have suffered all the strain
and indignities that a resident experiences just to bring this
program here."

"Do I detect a threat?"

"Just a simple fact. The program goes where I go. The
Center knows that."

"Point taken." Myers shifted his tactics and began to tease
her. "Hey, Special Agent Girl, did you use to carry a big gun?"

"And used it, Dr. Myers. You may want to remember that the
next time you call this man my former flame."

"Ooh," he held up his hands in feigned fear.


She was near. Mulder sensed it.

He remembered a glimpse of her when he arrived at the
hospital. As he felt his life draining away with each slowing
beat of his heart, he had seen her. At first, he thought she was
an illusion created out his desperate need to see her one last
time. When he blinked she was gone. He strained against hands
that pushed him back down onto the examining table. He tried to
call out her name, but he couldn't catch his breath. His head
fell back in defeat. He gave in to the tingling sensation that
coursed through his veins, numbing the pain and silencing the
agony that exploded from his soul.

He was taken somewhere where the light was so bright that it
almost blinded him. He heard voices, but could not understand
what they were saying. He then saw her again. She leaned over
him, her pale blue eyes meeting his. The light surrounded her
like an aura. His Scully. Ethereal and bright, she had become
his angel, guiding him through the last moments of his life. He
tried to speak, to articulate her name, to express how much she
meant to him. But, his voice had been forever stilled. He gave
her one last look, hoping that his eyes might convey all that he
felt. Regret. Love. A final acknowledgment of what she had
meant to him.

When darkness consumed him his last thought was of her.

But now the darkness was fading. His senses were slowly
awakening. She was near now. He felt her presence. He
recognized her touch. Certain and steady, it was her hands which
had reassured him so many times in the past. They were drawing
him back now. He struggled against the mist that obscured his
vision. He would see those beautiful, expressive eyes once
again. He knew he would find comfort there. He hoped to also
find redemption.

"Mulder."

He could see her now. Her face was poised over his. Her
eyes were scanning him, seeking confirmation that he could hear
her. A stethoscope draped from her neck. He remembered then
what she had become. A doctor.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, pressing closer. His hand
rose to touch the crimson hair that fanned across shoulders. It
was so much longer now, he thought. He tried to speak. His
throat was dry and stung from being intubated. His voice sounded
gritty.

"Have I ever told you that red is my favorite color?"

Scully smiled. He saw her. He could hear her. He was
speaking to her. Reaching for her stethoscope, she placed the
ends in her ears and warmed the metal plate with her breath.
"Red, huh?" she murmured as she pressed it against his
chest. The strong beat was reassuring. "I thought you were red-
green color blind, Mulder."

"There are some truths that defy logic." His voice a mere
whisper. God, he sounded awful. He wondered if he looked as bad
as he sounded. He couldn't tell by the look in her eyes. They
reflected only relief.

"Imagine that," she teased him. "Truth and logic all in the
same sentence. Now, that's what I call improvement."

She settled back on the bed and removed the stethoscope from
her ears. He reached for her hand. Her fingers curled around
his.

"I thought I was dying, Scully," Mulder said. "Then I saw
you and knew I must be."

"Angel of Death, Mulder?" She reached for a cup of water
and placed the straw between his lips. "Just a little, bit."

He took a small sip. The cool water swirled against his
tongue and glided down his throat. His head settled back onto
the pillows.

"No," he cleared his throat. "I thought fate was finally
cutting me a break. Giving me a last chance to see you.."

"Ssh." she comforted him. "Don't talk Mulder. You've had a
rough time. Rest."

"There's so much left unsaid," he groaned. "So much time
has passed."

"Over a year..." her voice trailed off. She turned away a
moment, her eyes focusing on the window. The sun was beginning
to set again. Two days had passed. The first night had been a
long one. She had not left his side. By morning he had
improved. His pressure had stabilized. Throughout the next day
and night he had been gradually weaned off the ventilator, first
with a nasal canula and then finally breathing on his own.

"Three hundred and eighty four days." he murmured.

Her eyes slid back to his.

"You counted them?" she asked in a tight voice.

"Nah, I just made the number up." His attempt at a grin fell
flat as pain gripped him.

"Well, Mulder," she said softly. "Perhaps fate has dealt
you a better hand than you thought."

He nodded slowly before he closed his eyes. The effort to
speak had drained him. He allowed himself to drift, consoled by
the fact that she was there.

(End of Part 1)

***************


"How's the patient tonight?" Jason Myers asked when he
arrived to make his evening rounds.

"Much improved." Scully handed him Mulder's chart. He
studied it for a moment before turning his attention to the man.

"So, Agent Mulder, how are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck." replied Mulder in a droll
tone.

"Judging by the size of the slug we pulled out of you I
would call that an accurate response." Myers said as he placed
the chart down on the tray table and began his examination of the
man.

As he leaned over the man, he felt Scully draw closer. He
gave her a scrutinizing look. She was intently watching his
every move, prepared to second guess him if necessary. It
intrigued him. He already realized how deeply attached she was
to her former partner, yet now her body language revealed more
than her words. It suggested a fierce protectiveness.

"You look tired, Dana," he commented, noting the shadows
under her eyes and the ashen color of her skin. "How long has it
been since you've had more than a couple hours sleep?"

The tone he used caught Mulder's attention. He studied the
doctor closely. Myers looked to be around forty. He had dark,
swarthy features. His eyes were almost black. He reminded
Mulder of a pirate, not a doctor. A pirate capable of plundering
gold, if only the gold highlights in a certain resident's auburn
hair.

"I'm fine, Dr. Myers," responded Scully curtly. She didn't
like the way he addressed her so casually in front of Mulder. It
was unprofessional. It was too personal.

"She says that all the time," Myers lifted his eyebrow,
giving Mulder a knowing look. "She doesn't mean it."

"Some things never change, do they Dana...." Mulder drew out
the syllables in her name.

Scully's eyes slid over to his. She was not amused.

"Mulder," she switched the subject. "Is there anyone you
want me to call? Your mother?"

"No," he answered quickly.

"I think I should," she insisted. "She should know that her
son's in the hospital."

"I said no." His tone was sharp.

Myers opened the chart on the tray table and reached for a
pen. He noticed how the their eyes locked and waged a silent
battle. He knew nothing of this man, but he knew plenty about
this woman. She could be stubborn. Shit, she could be ice when
she wanted to be. Grinning, he made a few notes in the chart
before snapping it shut.

"Okay," he said in an enthusiastic voice. "It seems my work
here is done."

Scully turned her scowling look on him. Myers held up a
placating hand.

"He's stable. We'll remove the drain in another day. I'm
going to order some pulmonary tests and labs, but your partner's
looking good."

"Former partner," reminded the woman.

"That's right," Myers clicked his pen and tucked it back
into his pocket. He gave Mulder an apologetic look. "She's in a
different business now, my friend. The one that involves saving
lives, not taking them."



Mulder watched the man leave the room.

"She's in a different business now, my friend," he mimicked
the doctor.

He shifted uncomfortably against his pillow. His whole
body ached. He felt as if layers of muscle and flesh had been
stripped away then sown back together.

"What the hell did he mean, Scully? The one that involves
saving lives, not taking them? Where did he get such a sordid
impression of the Bureau? You?"

"You know better than that."

"Yeah, right, whatever," he closed his eyes.

"You should be grateful. He saved your life."

"He's a pompous ass, Scully."

"He can be at that." Her lips twitched in amusement over
his astute assessment.

"And he's definitely interested in getting a piece of
yours."

"Mulder," she exclaimed.

"It's the truth." Mulder folded her arms. His eyes opened
and narrowed with agitation.

"Former partner," he remonstrated. "How easily that rolls
from your lips."

"It's the truth," she retaliated. "Mulder, why won't you
let me call your mother?"

"I don't want her to know, Scully. Her health is fragile.
She suffered another stroke about six months ago."

Scully reached for his hand and held it tightly. Her voice
dropped to a whisper,

"I'm so sorry."

"She lives in Florida now. The warm weather seems to appeal
to her." Mulder nodded to himself. It was if he was affirming
that he had made the right decision.

She sighed and gazed at him sorrowfully.

"Scully..." He hesitated over a question which had been
tormenting him. "Why are you in Baltimore? You told me you were
moving to San Diego with your mother."

She tried to appear non-chalant.

"Plans change," she answered cautiously.

"I wish I had known," he remarked.

"Why?" How would that have made any difference?" There was
a hint of sarcasm to her voice.

"To have known that you were so close..."

"Coming from a man who traveled to Antarctica to find me,
you're now going to quote distances?" she chided him.

"You're right," he clarified. "Distance really had nothing
to do with miles."

Scully dropped her head and stared at the floor. He noticed
how her hands clenched the railing of his bed. The skin across
her knuckles grew white. He reached out suddenly and clasped his
hand over hers.

"I'm sorry, Scully. That wasn't fair."

"No, Mulder," she sighed. "I'm the one who is not fair.
It's just that I'm really tired."

"You should take Dr. Pomp Asses suggestion and go home."

"I can't." She watched her foot which shifted restlessly
across the floor. "I gone on duty in the next few hours."

"You can't work without sleep."

"I'm used to it by now. Residents don't sleep, Mulder. We
nap. All of those nightly stakeouts with you prepared me for
this job. I'm a professional napper now."

"A professional napper who used to snores with her mouth
open, drooling on my shoulder," he reminded her.

She couldn't help the smile.

"I really have missed you," she stated softly.

"Enough to stop yet?"

The smile died on her lips. She pushed away from the
railing. Not now, she thought. Neither one of them were ready
to continue the confrontation.

"I got to run," she announced crisply.

That's right, he thought bitterly as he watched her leave.
Running was what she did best.




Later that night, in the middle of her shift, she heard the
voice of one of the nurses.

"Dr. Scully."

"Yeah," She was seated at the nurses station making notes in
a patient's chart.

"There's a man waiting to see you."

"A patient?"

"No, he says it's personal."

Scully rubbed her neck and squinted out through the glass
window that separated the lounge from the nurses station. It was
Skinner. Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Her former boss.
He paced back and forth outside the room, stopping short to place
his hands on his hips and glare at her through the glass. He
looked agitated.

She rose from the chair and followed the nurse outside.

"How are you, sir?" she extended her hand.

"Scully," he clasped it gratefully. "I can't tell you how
good it is to see you. How is he?"

"He's fine. Bit of a rough time for the first twenty-four
hours, but he's good now." she advised him.

"I got here as soon as I could. I was attending a
conference in L.A." Skinner remarked. "I went right up to see
Mulder, but he was asleep. The nurses directed me to you. I
can't believe the coincidence to find you here."

"Mulder calls it fate."

"He's a very lucky man," Skinner was hinting at something
that she didn't know. She sensed it. His face was grave.

She ushered him into one of the private treatment rooms and
closed the door.

"What happened, sir? Why was Mulder in Baltimore?"

"He was profiling a serial killer. He's been working on the
case for months. They tracked the man here."

"That's not an X-File. That's the Behavioral Crimes Unit."
she noted.

"There are no X-Files anymore, Scully."

She was stunned. Skinner could see it. Her hand flew to
her mouth as if she was trying to suppress a cry of surprise or
indignation, or both. Her fingers began to tap her lips. She
was thinking, processing the news he had just given her.

"After you left, there was another reorganization at the
Bureau. New players, Scully. New rules."

"Which one did he refuse to follow this time?"

"The one that involved taking Agent Fowley on as his new
partner."

Scully felt the wall behind her back. She slumped against
it and leaned over to grip her knees. Her blood pounded through
her veins.

That woman...that insidious, manipulative woman.

Agent Diana Fowley had been the catalyst to the end of her
relationship with Mulder. Because of Fowley, she had lost her
partner's trust. He had refused to see that his former lover was
an integral part of the dark conspiracy. When she had offered
him proof, he had thrown it back in her face. It began a slow,
downward spiral of their relationship. She had been too
emotionally embroiled to salvage it and he had been too
emotionally damaged to save it. Instead, he retreated from her,
shutting her out, pursuing leads on his own until she was left
with the feeling of being dead weight around his neck.

"He refused the reassignment," Skinner's words broke into
her thoughts. "He accused her openly of betraying him."

Scully's eyes glistened with tears. The woman who never
cried seemed poised to do so now.

It had taken Skinner some time to understand the unique bond
between the two agents. Two highly intelligent people. One
eccentric and compulsive, the other too reserved, almost
strangled by an acute need for rationalism in a world gone
chaotic and disorderly. He had come to the conclusion that
Mulder and Scully had been the perfect pairing because of their
opposite natures. They drew from each other those qualities
missing in themselves. While she had grounded him, he had
emancipated her.

They had parted under circumstances that were as mysterious
and elusive as any X-file. Skinner had never understood how two
people so dependent upon each other could go their separate ways.
With Mulder the result had been dramatic. He had lost the
classic charm that made his compulsive nature tolerable. He
floundered for months. Only when he transferred back to Behavior
Crimes did the dark curtain lift. He excelled quickly in a field
he had mastered years ago.

"You know, Scully," Skinner pursued an idea. "Mulder has
found distinction again in the Bureau. He is one of the best
profiler in the Behavioral Crimes."

"What are you saying, sir?"

"He can write his own ticket. The Baltimore SAC is quite
captivated by him. He took a bullet because one of the field
agents panicked. Mulder not only saved that man's life, he took
that serial killer down as he fell."

"Are you saying he could transfer?" Scully rose to her full
height. She leaned forward, listening intently to his next words.

"He could operate out of any field office of his choice."
conveyed Skinner. "Given the proper motivation, I think he might
leave D.C."

She instantly forgave Skinner's lack of subtlety. He was
offering her hope and she intended to take him up on that offer.



A week later, Scully appeared in Mulder's room while he was
finishing his lunch. With one hand he stabbed at the food on his
plate. The other held the remote control. He flipped through the
channels, bored and restless.

"Another classic Mulder moment," she remarked, setting down
his tote bag onto the nightstand.

"No scrubs?" he asked, immediately noticing her attire. He
couldn't help it. For days he had seen her only in scrubs. They
gave her a shapeless look. Today she was dressed in jeans and a
scooped necked sweater which revealed the mounds of her breasts.
He couldn't stop his eyes from roving.

"Nope," she reached for the remote and clicked off the
television.

"No work today?" he asked.

"Not for the next few days."

"How did you manage that?"

"I've got friends in high places," she quipped as she
unzipped the bag. "How would you like to get out of here?"

She retrieved a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt and boxers
from the bag. His clothes. He stared at them in disbelief.

"I'm being discharged?"

"With one little condition," she paused.

His eyes slid over to hers.

Taking a deep breath, she continued.

"You come and stay with me for those next few days. I won't
have you going back to D.C. to recuperate in that rat hole you
call your apartment."

"It's not a rat hole," he smirked at her description.

"No work, only rest. And, I'll be right there to make sure
of it." She countered.

"It's not a rat hole," he repeated, pulling the clothes
towards him.

"What's it going to be, Mulder?" she asked. She folded her
arms and shifted her weight to one leg. He knew the pose. The
unflinching, no compromising Scully mode.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Like I said, Mulder, I have friends in high places. One of
them happens to be your attending doctor. It's his signature
that shall set you free."

Mulder reached behind his neck to untie the ribbon of his
hospital gown. He stripped it off and reached for the shirt.
There was a slight pause. Scully turned around so that he might
dress with privacy. His voice was caustic as he reminded her.

"You are aware that your friend, Dr. Myers, expects a return
on his investment."

Her head jerked back around. The hospital gown laid on the
floor. Mulder was naked, having swung his legs to the side of
the bed to tug up the boxer shorts. His eyes met hers. An
unspoken challenged surfaced from the hazel depths. For a moment
she was paralyzed. She blinked and turned away.

"Caught you looking," he goaded her.

"Nothing I haven't seen before." Her response was
deceptively bland.

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I don't blush."



Scully lived in a townhouse by the harbor. She opened the
white wrought iron gate to a walkway lined with yellow day
lilies. He could smell the fresh, wet mulch mixing in with the
salty air. She unlocked the front door and beckoned him inside.

He followed her through a dimly lit hallway that opened to
the bright expanse of the enormous great room. The mid-afternoon
sun flooded through two sets of french doors that faced the
harbor. The floors were polished wood. Area rugs were scattered
under cozy, overstuffed furniture. In the corner, a pine armoir
opened to a television and stereo system.

The diningroom and kitchen were divided by a long l-shaped
counter that was lined with more books, a few potted plants and
fat ivory candles. It was immaculate and comfortable. Mulder
circled it with approval.

He crossed over to the french doors and peered out to the
harbor. A wood deck lined the back of the townhouse. It held a
table and chairs covered in seafoam green cushions. A umbrella
of the same color rose over the table. Terra cotta planters were
filled with salmon hued geraniums and ivy. His eyes traveled
past the deck to the grass that sloped down to the dock. Boats
lined the harbor which glistened against the pale blue sky.

"Now I know why you call my place a rat trap," he remarked,
holding the tranquil view with appreciation.

An open staircase led to the second floor. She stood on the
first step.

"Come on up, Mulder. I'll show you your room."

As he followed he joked with her.

"My room? You mean I don't get to share yours?"

Suddenly she stopped dead on the stairs. He collided with
her. Her head turned suddenly. Her eyes reflected surprise, a
tinge of uneasiness and something else he wasn't able to discern.
He feared that he had overstepped his bounds.

"I'm teasing, Scully," he covered quickly. "God, you think
I'm that presumptuous?"

"Maybe you should be," she said. "Maybe after all this time
we both should be."

Mulder froze on the steps, stunned by the transformation in
her eyes and her voice. It was seductive. This wasn't the Dana
Scully he remembered. Their flirtation had always been subtle.
An exercise of wit and innuendo. Always teetering on the edge of
something more, but never fully realized. His own voice faltered
as he answered,

"Maybe you had better show me the guest room before I fall
down the stairs."

The provocative look disappeared behind an amused smile.
She led him to landing where a narrow hall separated the two
bedrooms. The master was to the left. She ushered him into the
room opposite it. It held a double bed covered with a comforter
patterned with a cornflower blue and yellow design. His
attention shifted to the exercise bike and the desk which held
her computer. More books and medical journals line shelves above
it.

"Combination guest room, workout room and office," she
offered apologetically.

"It's great, Scully. I can sleep, workout and check my e-
mail without missing a beat."

"I don't have visitors often," she admitted.

"What about your Mom? Doesn't she come to visit?" he asked,
walking over to the bed and sitting down on it. "Ooh, soft, just
the way I like it."

"Sometimes. She's pretty wrapped up with her new grandson."

There was no sorrow or regret. Time had erased it. She had
wanted her mother to be happy. She had caused her family enough
heartache to last a lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Scully." There was a note of sadness in his
voice.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Mulder."

"Are you lonely?" he asked. She caught her breath. For a
moment she almost admitted it, then changed her mind.

"I am way too busy to be lonely," she lied.

"Your work in the ER." Mulder nodded.

That's why she chose such a demanding job, he thought to
himself. She had immersed herself into a field that allowed
little time for a personal life. For a moment he felt
disillusioned. She had left him for an ordinary life. He had
imagined it quite differently. He had envisioned something
quieter and less stressful. Research, perhaps, not emergency
medicine. A life filled with family and friends. Not a
cloistered existence where she exhausted herself by day only to
retreat to this idyllic, but solitary, setting at night.

"You know, Scully," he said. "If it was a grueling, empty
lifestyle you wanted, you could have stayed on at the Bureau."

She gave him a perplexed look.

"What are you talking about?"

He rose from the bed. Towering over her, with an expression
that hinged between anger and disappointment, he stated,

"You didn't have to leave me."

"I didn't leave you," Scully responded defensively. "There
was nothing left to leave. You were already long gone, pursing
your own path, forgetting that I even existed."

"You are so wrong, Scully." He spoke through gritted teeth.
His eyes flashed with fierceness. "You were my existence."

"Then you had a twisted way of showing it."

"I wanted you to have that ordinary life that you kept
hinting at. I wanted you to be happy."

"For the FBI's most prized profiler, how could you be so
damn obtuse?" she cried out angrily.

He didn't know, she thought. He had no idea why she had
left.

Mulder was floored. He staggered back from her in shock.

Oh my God, my God, he agonized. She had told him that she
wanted an ordinary life. She had wanted out. He didn't stop her
because she deserved better than a life which had turned
precarious and filled with danger. He had sacrificed his
feelings for her, refusing to stop her with the belief that he
was finally doing the right thing by her.

Suddenly, he grew dizzy. His sank down onto the bed and
buried his face into his hands.

She stared at him. She saw that his hands were trembling.
She suddenly felt ashamed. He was still recovering from a
serious injury. She had promised herself to take things slow.
Instead, she was lashing out of heartache and frustration.

"Mulder, I'm sorry," she whispered apologetically. She
knelt before him and tugged his hands from his face. She saw it
then. Despair so deep and genuine that it brought tears to her
eyes. She cupped his face tenderly, rising up on her knees to
brush her lips against him. A delicate kiss. A peace offering.
A promise renewed to him and to herself.

Mulder gripped the side of the bed. Her kiss was
affectionate. A gesture between good friends. He wanted more.
He had to have more. As she began to pull away, he grasped her
arms tightly and jerked her back to him. His mouth captured hers
greedily, opening it with a hunger that had gone crazed from
denial. He wanted to drink her in ... to savor the sweet taste
of mouth.

God help me, Scully thought, as desire pierced through her.
Her lips parted wider. She was gifted the tantalizing motion of
his tongue against hers. She wanted him. Absence had not
curtailed the longing, but accentuated it. She should stop. She
needed to stop. She had to stop.

"Stop." She flung herself away.

"Stop?" he groaned.

"It's too soon. You're not ready for this."

"Trust me, Scully. I've been ready for years."

She struggled to come up with an acceptable excuse.

"I mean you're still recovering, Mulder," she offered
finally.

"What if I promised to use only my lower half?" There was a
mischievous glint to his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What if it's me? What if I want to take things a little
slower? Get a little reacquainted first."

"Where do you want to begin?" He teased her.

"Right now? Probably with a cold shower for me and a nice
nap for you." she grinned.

"You expect me to sleep?" He was incredulous.

"I'll sing to you if you'd like," she offered as she lifted
herself up to her feet.

"That's not necessary," he said quickly. He held up his
hands in resignation. She went to the bottom of the bed and
tugged off his Reeboks. He eased back down against the pillows.

"You gonna take off my jeans too, Scully?"

"You're bad," she replied, drawing the comforter over him.

****************


Mulder couldn't sleep. He shifted restlessly under the
comforter, trying to will away an urge so primal and acute that
he was engorged. He unzipped the fly to his jeans to ease the
painful pressure that was constricting him. He stared at the
shut door to the guest room. How easy it would be to find his
release. He could just close his eyes and pretend that it was
her hand. The scent of her perfume still lingered. The taste of
her was still in his mouth.

Fuck it, he thought, throwing the comforter off of him. He
was no longer willing to find satisfaction in conjured images of
her. She had just shown him how inept his fantasies had been.
His phantom lover was dissipating like a fine mist, replaced by
the woman herself.

He rose from the bed and crossed over to her computer. He
needed distraction. He would access check his e-mail, surf the
net, anything to still the want that coursed through his body.
He flipped on the monitor and started the hard drive. Sitting
down in the chair, he stretched his long legs underneath the desk
and waited as the computer booted.

His hand steered the mouse to her e-mail program and made
the connection. The window opened directly to her in box. She
had mail.

Shit, did she have mail. From the CDC. What the hell was
she getting mail from the Center for Disease Control? He clicked
on the first, hoping to retrieving it. Encrypted. All of her e-
mail from the CDC was encrypted.

Why?

He studied the e-mail address. scottd@cdcagency.com. The
same man was corresponding to Scully almost on a daily basis.
Why? Who was this man that she was receiving encrypted message
from him.

A colleague? A lover? Whoever he was, Mulder wanted to
know.

He reached for his glasses from his duffle bag as the data
coursed across the screen. His eyes had grown weaker lately.
Too many late nights peering at a screen such as this, searching
for a way to ease his boredom, visiting chat rooms to assuage the
loneliness she had created...

He went back to the most recent message and studied the
peculiar algorhythms. What ever program she utilized was foreign
to him. He was no hacker, but knew enough to realize
sophistication when he saw it. He toyed with guessing her
password, but decided against it. Most programs would destroy
the data with one false entry. That would make him more than
just a discourteous houseguest.

And he was beginning to believe that this was what he was.

A houseguest.




When Mulder came downstairs later, he saw that one of the
french doors was opened. She was outside on the deck, grilling
what he hoped was dinner. It smelled delicious. Steaks
marinated in something tangy and sweet. He paused at the door to
study her. There was a bead of sweat glistening above her upper
lip. Her cheeks were tinged from the heat of the grill. She
closed the cover and moved to the railing where a glass of wine
waited. She took a sip and fastened her eyes on the horizon. A
sailboat was passing by. Her mouth moved slightly, as if she
were relishing the taste of the wine and the view. Her finger
toyed with the stem of the wine glass. It began to tap the glass
with a steady, contemplative beat.

She was debating something, he concluded, stepping out onto
the deck. Maybe the reacquainting ritual would not be a long
one.

She turned to greet him, smiling brightly,

"Mulder, come here. You've got to see this sailboat."

He leaned over her shoulder so that she could direct his
gaze to the sailboat. The smell of her hair was fresh. It felt
like silk against his face.

"Hungry?" she squirmed away from him and returned to the
grill.

"That's an understatement," he responded.

While they ate dinner, she examined him closely. Freshly
showered and shaved, he had changed into another pair of jeans
and a hunter green shirt. She noted with appreciation the long,
lean look to his body. Her eyes traveled down to his forearms
and hands. They were so strong and capable. He wasn't handsome
by standard definition. He had a long face, too high of a
forehead, and his nose... well... she wouldn't even try to come
up with a satisfactory description. Yet, she was incredibly
attracted to him.

Physical attraction had been almost immediate, but loving
him had taken time. While it had been easy to admire his
tenacity and develop a strong, loyal friendship, falling in love
with him had been a gradual process. She was not the type to feel
infatuation, nor was she the type to give in to emotions that
didn't justify with her mind. For years, she had been satisfied
with the intellectual stimulation of the relationship, the
loyalty and the loose, casual affection. She had not look for
more because she had not been willing to chance what she already
had.

The magnitude of her feelings crashed down upon her the day
Diana Fowley entered her life. Jealousy and possessiveness
flared out with an intensity that astounded her. It manipulated
her. It came to rule her. It forced her to recognize her need
for more, but soured her from speaking or doing anything about
it.

And now, over a year later, there was yet another
obstruction. A decision she had made based on misperceptions and
lost trust. A revelation that would not be easily accepted by
him.

"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, noticing how she
intently studied him.

"About you," she answered calmly.

He toyed with his fork a moment. "Scully?"

"Hmm?" she lifted her glass of wine.

"Who's Scott with the CDC?"

"Jesus, Mulder," she choked and reached for a napkin,
pressing it against the lips. "I thought you were sleeping this
afternoon."

"After you practically shoved your tongue down my throat you
expected me to sleep?" he rebutted.

"I didn't expect you to access my e-mail," she accused.

"I didn't." He paused to correct himself. "I couldn't. It
was encrypted. What's this guy sending you that's for your eyes
only? Achy, breaky heart love letters?"

She gave him a withering look. "You were always such a
snoop," she responded.

"If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck..." he
bantered.

"Yeah, but duck isn't the word that comes to mind right
now," Scully retorted.

"I'm sorry," Mulder apologized. "I was planning on
retrieving my e-mail but the window opened up to your in-box.
Your Scott must be getting impatient. He sent you two messages
today."

"He's not mine. I've never even met him." She shook her
head. This was not how she had planned her admission. Yet, now
there was no stopping it.

"Scully, Scully..." There was a flicker of amusement in his
voice. "Have we crossed a threshold here? If I give you my e-
mail address will you send me dirty, little encrypted messages?"

"Mulder, it's not what you think," she sighed. Reaching for
the wine bottle she poured some into his glass.

"No, thanks. I don't drink anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since the three day binge I went on after you left me."

"Oh Mulder," she murmured. She handed him the glass and
said solemnly,

"You may reconsider sobriety after you hear what I have to
tell you."

Leaning back in his chair he listened. He could tell by the
expression on her face that it was important.

Drawing a deep breath, she began.

"I didn't leave the FBI to pursue a career in medicine. I
left to go to work for the CDC."

"You what?" he asked.

"I am an operative for a new division of the CDC. A
division formed specifically to distribute the vaccine for the
alien virus."

"You what?" Mulder repeated again in an incredulous voice.

"After the Consortium fell, the scientists who assisted in
the development of the vaccine suddenly discovered how self-
serving their patrons were. They sought out a new alliance and
found it with our government. The formula has been perfected,
Mulder. Not only can it stop the virus, it immunizes one against
it."

Mulder stared at her for a moment, silent and unmoving.
When he spoke his voice was low and combative.

"The plans for colonization died with the Consortium,
Scully."

"Surely you don't believe that."

"Trust me, I would have known about it. There's been
nothing. No leads, no hint of activity, not even a scrap of
information. Believe me, Scully, I've been watching."

"You've been watching in vain, Mulder. The Bureau has been
cut out. Just like FEMA. There were too many infiltrators."

Mulder exhaled sharply. This wasn't happening. The woman,
who had never believed, sat across a candlelit table trying to
convince him that she had become a participant in a government
program designed to battle an alien plague. A threat gone
dormant over the past year. The key players had vanish
overnight. Those who escaped incineration from the Resistance
had disappeared without a trace. And, so had the Resistance.

His eyes glinted with agitation. He turned them on her
composed face and asked in a scathing voice.

"Why you?"

"Because of my history and background, I was enlisted to
help implement the pilot program," she explained. "I am Patient
X, the first fully immunized test subject. You, yourself,
injected me with the vaccine."

She paused and took a deep breath. Continuing, she related,

"I am also a scientist, one who had first hand knowledge of
the tests that the Consortium conducted. Finally, I am a doctor,
one who has been trained to supervise the administration of the
vaccine to the public. Under the cover of a resident, of course.
My lack of clinical experience could not be ignored."

"How is it done?"

"The vaccine is manufactured in West Virginia. The CDC
distributes the vaccine and monitors its dissemination among
several hospitals and military bases throughout the country.
That's why I'm in emergency medicine, not pathology or research
as you suspected, Mulder. A slip of a needle goes easily
unnoticed in the emergency room. The same opportunity is found
in surgery or intensive care. Even in pediatrics, under the
guise of routine vaccinations. In any given day, hundreds of
people are immunized without their knowledge. In the next five
years, hundreds of thousands will be immune to the virus."

"Five years..." he picked up on the words.

"That is the time table. Or so believed, no one is really
certain at this point," she pressed her lips together.
"Colonization is imminent, Mulder. But, with this program we
have a fighting chance."

It was a bizarre twist of fate. The one who had always
refuted the idea of colonization had been one chosen to defend
against it. Even when the magnitude of the conspiracy stared in
her face, she had contradicted it. Babbling on with her
infuriating logic and science. It was a parody, a cruel mockery
of the illusion he had created for her. She had left him for an
ordinary life. Now, she was telling him that she had left him to
pursue the extraordinary.

She leaned across the table and gripped his hand in both of
hers. Her forehead creased with desperation. Her eyes were wide
and imploring.

"You have got to believe me, Mulder. In know this is hard,
but please believe me."

"Oh, I believe you Scully." He withdrew his hand. "I just
don't believe in you anymore."

For a long time he stared out to the horizon. The sun had
almost completed its gradual descent behind them. The harbor was
growing dark. The water was a soft, muted grey. It gently
swayed the boats along the dock. It was so still, so silent that
he could hear her breathe. Her breath was rapid. It was
contorted.

She was crying. He steeled himself against the sound of
her, refusing to look at her. Damn her. Out of all the lies,
her deception was the cruelest.

"Your not the Dana Scully I knew," he renounced her
severely. "She would have never agreed to a program which
inoculates people without their knowledge or consent, treating
them no better than lab rats."

"Not lab rats," Scully interjected. "There are no risks and
no side effects."

"Yeah? Tell me that in five years." He said sarcastically.
"How could you have done this, Scully? The woman I knew had
integrity. She would have chosen truth over deceit."

"The truth can be dangerous thing, Mulder," she choked out.
"If it became known, it would result in mass panic."

"Would I have panicked? Is that why you chose not to tell
me?" Mulder condemned her. "Christ, Scully, I was your partner.
I was as involved, as invested as you. I had a right to know."

"I tried, Mulder. You wouldn't believe me. You no longer
trusted me." She stopped, as a sob threatened to tear from her
throat. She swallowed hesitantly, before continuing. "You went
to her, Mulder. Fowley. You believed her. You were prepared to
go with her to that hanger where the Consortium waited for the
Colonists. You were more than willing to face your destiny by
her side."

"I asked you to come too."

"An after thought. That's what I had become to you."
accused Scully. "Fowley was a part of the Consortium, Mulder. I
couldn't take that chance. If you couldn't see past her lies, I
couldn't trust you with the truth."

"Was is your definition of truth these days, Scully? I'm
curious. Little white lies?"

"Truth begins and ends with one basic concept these days,"
Scully insisted. "Survival."

"God, you even sound like one of them." He said with
disgust. He shoved his chair back and sprung to his feet.
"Lady, you are as misled as you are misleading. If colonization
is imminent, then there's not a chance in hell that anyone will
survive. Technology will win this war and we aren't the ones who
have it."

"Mulder..."

He flung open the french door and went inside.

He was leaving.

He was leaving her.

He stormed up the stairs to the guest bedroom to retrieve
his duffel bag. She followed, tears coursing down her face so
hard and fast that they dropped onto her blouse. Her mind was
racing, trying to find the right words to stop him. Once again
she was reminded of how ineffective and useless she had become.
She had crossed over into dangerous, unpredictable territory. A
realm where his perception had gone dark with jealousy and
misunderstanding.

She stood in the doorway to the room watching him stuff his
clothes into the bag.

"Mulder, please." she begged. "Please listen to me."

"I think I've heard enough." He straightened up and turned
to face her. "Get out of my way, Scully."

"Where will you go?"

"Back to D.C." He lifted the bag from the bed and advanced
on her. She held up a restraining hand and said,

"Don't stay there long, Mulder. It's Ground Zero. When it
begins, it will begin there."

"Thanks for the tip," Mulder sneered.

"One more," she insisted. "When you came into the Emergency
Room you were injected with the vaccine. Standard protocol. I'm
sorry."

She was sorry. She had lied to him. Betrayed him.
Surpassed him on what had begun as his personal quest. He
dropped his bag as he felt his control snap. Enraged, he seized
her by the shoulders and pushed her roughly up against the wall.
As his eyes simmered with fury, hers grew wide with fear.

Scully sensed the threat and felt it as his body crushed
hers. His breath was distorted and hot against her ear. For a
moment, she cringed. He was so much larger, easily capable of
harming her. She could fight back. She could attempt to talk
him down from his frenzy. She decided against both. This was
Mulder. The man she loved. He would not hurt her. She had
learned the cruel result of lost trust. She would not make the
same mistake again.

She closed her eyes in resignation. The hammering of her
heart was deafening. She barely heard his voice. It was low and
broken against her ear.

"How could you have done this, Scully? I loved you. I would
have done anything for you."

Her sobs exploded so heavy that she gasped for air. She was
drowning in his pain and hers. Suffocating. Her fingers
stretched up to touch his waist, to cling to his shirt that had
gone damp with sweat and tears. Her tears. His tears. He was
crying. He was shaking with such anguish that she wanted to die
that moment. Her legs began to collapse. They were fluid,
unable to support her any longer.

"I loved you too, Mulder," she cried brokenly. "I still
do."

Mulder stumbled backwards, releasing her. She slid down the
wall to the floor. He bent over to clutch his knees, panting,
choking, trying to quench the agony that tore from his chest.
Her words seared through his mind, obliterating his anger,
propelling him to a truth that surpassed all others.

She had loved him. She had followed him on his obsessive
path for years. She had battled by his side. She had suffered
more losses than could be counted, and yet still managed to
keeping him sane in an insane world. He remembered the moment
where it had all changed. He had berated her in front of others,
accusing her of using personal animosity towards Fowley rather
than professional judgment. He had wounded her in the worst
possible way. It was he who had caused the alienation of trust.
Yet, despite his betrayal, she still loved him. And,
despite hers, he still loved her.

"Mulder," she whimpered.

His eyes focused on her. She clutched her sides as if she
was having a difficult time breathing. Her eyes were swollen and
bloodshot.

Had he hurt her? His anger had been explosive. Had he
injured her without realizing it? Panic overtook his despair.
He moved over and knelt by her side.

"Scully." he reached out to touch her arm. Her skin was
cold. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. More tears fell onto her ashen face.

He was going to leave her, Scully thought. He would never
forgive her. The choice she had made was going to haunt her for
a lifetime.

"Maybe next time fate will deal us a better hand," she
sobbed.

"Maybe we won't have to wait." He responded gently. "Maybe
it's still poised in the corner, watching and waiting to see how
well we play this one."

Mulder tugged her arms away from her waist. He ran his
hands across her rib cage, her arms, her shoulders, trying to
ascertain if he had hurt her. He had forgotten how tiny she was.
Her petite frame had grown so thin that her shoulder blades
protruded over the top of her shirt. He could see the beginning
of bruises there. Angry red marks left by his fingers.

"And, I don't know about you, Scully, but I'm sure as hell
tired of playing solitaire," he murmured. He lowered his lips to
press gentle kisses to her skin as if to soothe away the pain he
had inflicted.

Scully felt herself being borne up by the touch of his lips
and the comfort of his arms that cradled her to him. She
breathed in deeply. Air filled her lungs, renewing her, allowing
her to participate in what she hoped would be their final act of
contrition.

When his mouth reached hers, she responded with a vitality
of one no longer drowning, but resuscitated. Her lips opened to
his. The feel of her tongue, the pressure of her breasts heaving
against his chest, ignited his desire like a flash fire. It
sizzled through him, incinerating the last of his regret and his
restraint.

It was not to be poetry in motion. Overwhelming sexual
tension had robbed them of what should have a gradual descent to
lovemaking. Tenderness was forgotten. Exploration would come
later. For now, they grappled and clutched for each other.
Trying to claw their way to the top of the wall between them.
Both knew that the moment had come. A moment where words were
useless. Commitment meant consummation. They either scaled the
wall or would be forever obstructed by it.

With one possessive thrust, Mulder claimed the woman he
thought he would never have. He froze when she tensed. He began
to withdraw, but she shook her head fiercely. Her hands gripped
the front of his shirt as she inhaled slowly and relaxed. As he
carefully glide back and forth into her, her eyes blinked as if
she was startled. Suddenly, the depth of her increased. Her
legs opened wider. A slick wetness followed, enveloping him with
sensations both sweet and torturing.

Scully began to quiver as her hips lifted from the floor to
meet his. Every nerve, every fiber of her being was poised on a
threshold that had never been so easily or quickly attained. She
wasn't inexperienced, but her attempts with others had been
mediocre. Foreplay had been the only way she had achieved
gratification. Never like this. Never so fast. She should have
known...

She should have known that it would be like this with him.

"Oh my God, Mulder," she whispered.

"I know," Mulder murmured back. "We should have done this a
long time ago."

"Do it now," she pleaded.

Mulder caught her hips in stilled them. He began to plunge
deeply into her, offering his full length. Her first, he thought
desperately. It had to be her first.

She felt her nipples harden against her damp blouse. She
was coming. God, she was coming. She was climaxing so hard and
fast that she was erupting like molten lava around him. Her back
arched up from the floor. She couldn't take it. It was too
much. It was splitting her apart. She began to struggle against
him, pushing him away.

He caught her hands and pinned them to the floor.

"Give in to it." he said through clenched teeth as he felt
his own control slip away.

Her fingers gripped his. Crying out in a voice that sounded
foreign and delirious, she discovered that fate was no longer
cruel, but bright with rapture. No longer taunting, but
fulfilling. And, within seconds, fate joined him with her. The
sound of him moaning her name, the feel of him shuddering and
spilling himself into her, was more than gratifying. It was
singularly the most satisfying moment of her life.

For several moments, they remained locked together. She
drifted through thoughts both contemplative and warm. She didn't
realize that he was on the other end of the spectrum, balancing
his extreme emotional and physical release with typical, dark
humor.

"Told you I could use just my lower half," he joked.

"Mulder!"

Each of them were still half dressed. Dampened with
perspiration and tears, their shirts stuck together as he
withdrew from her. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the
ceiling. A wide smile crossed his face. The woman next to him
rose up on an elbow and assessed his expression with a critical
eye.

"Mulder, you're grinning like the village idiot."

"See what an impact you have on me?"

"Right now, I'm thinking of the impact we have on each
other. God, Mulder, what happened here? One minute we're
arguing, the next minute you're leaving and then we're..."

"If you start to analyze this, Scully, I swear..."

"Alright, Alright..." Scully fell back onto the floor and
sighed. She, too, stared at the ceiling. The first words she
had hoped for came out quite differently that what she imagined.
She wanted a simple admission. A confirmation that what they had
just done was more than...

"Scully..." He interrupted her thoughts.

"What?"

"I love you."

She smirked.

He leaned over her. His hand smoothed away the strands of
hair that had fallen across her eyes. It was then that she saw
it again. The same look he had given her in the operating room.
A look of love and reverence so deep that her hurt was instantly
assuaged.

"I love you," he repeated emphatically.

She reached up to touch his face.

"I love you, too."

************


Mulder woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and
bacon frying. He had slept so deeply that her leaving the bed
had gone unnoticed. His body ached from exertion. Too soon, she
had warned him. Despite the ache, he was glad that he didn't
listen, that he had been capable of steering her past her own
advice.

When Scully came into the bedroom, she carried a large
wicker tray holding breakfast and two cups of coffee. She had
showered and dressed. Her auburn hair was still damp and pushed
behind her ears. Looking into her face, he was reminded of the
day before while she gazed at the sailboat coursing the rim of
the harbor. She wore contentment well.

"How's my little operative this morning?" Mulder heckled
her.

She ignored the remark, depositing the tray on his lap. Her
eyes examined him for a moment. "You look tired."

"But, in a very good way." He grinned. "Hmm, fried eggs and
bacon. Trying to clog the very arteries she saves."

Scully sat down on the bed and tucked her feet underneath
her. She lifted her cup of coffee and blew it gingerly.

"I'm going to fatten you up, Mulder. You've lost weight."

"Speak for yourself. Hasn't anyone told you that the waif
look went out a long time ago?"

"I'm not a waif," she protested. "I'm....lean."

"You're skinny. I like my women with a little more
padding."

"You also like women who are long legged, tall and brunette.
I don't match any of those criteria."

"That's because you forgot intelligent and funny."

"I'm not funny, Mulder."

"Oh, you are Scully. You are so very, very comical at
times."

"That's not being funny. That's being made fun of."

"Teasing you was always one of my favorite past times," he
admitted, stuffing a fork full of eggs into his mouth. He
grinned at her sullen expression and continued, "I guess it's a
good thing that I've discovered a new one."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that you shouldn't speak with
your mouth full?" she shot back.

"I'll remind you of that later." he grinned. "Hey, you're
not going to try to change me now that you have me, are you?"

"I'm a doctor, not a magician." Scully reciprocated.

Mulder shook with silent laughter.

"I'd change for you," he tried to charm her.

"Liar," she snorted. She reached across to the tray and
stole a piece of bacon.

"I'm serious, Scully."

"Sure you are." Her teeth bit into it viciously.

He cringed. It was time to change the subject.

"Scully, tell me more about the program."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You know we have to."

"Why?"

"Because last month a hospital in Detroit was bombed."
Mulder informed her. "The Bureau was involved in the
investigation, which I'm sure you know came up with more
questions than leads."

"It could have been just a random act of violence, " she
offered.

"Was it random or was it a warning?" He shifted the tray
from his lap. "Tell me, Scully, did Detroit host the program?"

"What if it did?" She tried to deflect the question.

"It means that you could be in danger," insisted Mulder.

"What's your definition of danger?" Scully argued. Risk?
Taking chances? We did that for years, Mulder. Why should it
bother you now?"

"Because I've suddenly developed a taste for an ordinary
life," he confessed.

"My life is far from ordinary," warned Scully. "I've
crossed over the line from reluctant witness to active
participant."

"You've also crossed over the line to become my lover," he
concluded.

She smiled. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be.

"So, you're willing to change." she drew him back to his
offer. "What if we begin by changing your venue? You know,
Skinner said you could work out of any field office you chose."

"And the Baltimore SAG did send over a big basket of fruit,"
Mulder added.

Their eyes met and held a moment. Hers reflected happiness.
His suggested more. A hint that he wanted to seal the bargain
just made.

"Mulder, no." she protested feebly as he reached out and
drew her on top of him.

"Scully, yes..." He began to unbutton her blouse.

"Too much exertion, too soon," she cautioned.

"What if I promise to use only my hands," Mulder proposed.
"And, maybe my mouth..."





Several days later Scully was back at the emergency room.
She had just completed suturing a laceration along the eyebrow on
a twelve year old boy who had been injured playing street hockey.
She gave the boy an encouraging smile as she snipped the end of
the stitches. Returning the scissors to the tray next to her,
she said.

"So you're the goalie, huh? Well, now you can show your
friends what distinguishes a goalie from the rest of the
players."

"Will there be a scar?" the boy's mother asked as she
pressed close to the examining table.

"His eyebrow will conceal it." Scully advised. She rose
from the swivel chair and picked up the boy's chart. Studying
his history, she noted that he had a routine medical history. No
recent injuries or illnesses that required medical attention in
the past year.

"There was a lot a dirt in the cut," she informed the
mother. "Your son really should have a tetanus shot as a
precaution."

"What ever you think, doctor," the mother agreed.

As she administered the vaccine, she watched the boy turn
away and fixed determined eyes on the wall. So brave, she
thought. It was children like this who were really the hope for
the future.

"Dr. Scully," She heard Dr. Myer's voice as he approached.
She excused herself and met him over by the nurses station.

"Coming to supervise my handiwork, Dr. Myers?"

"Coming to see for myself if the rumor is true," Myers
responded. His eyes narrowed as he intently studied her face.

"What rumor?"

"That sullen Dr. Scully is smiling alot today. Humming too,
from what I hear." Myers paused as a nurse passed by them. "Oh,
yeah, I can see it. The very subtle sparkle in your eyes, the
radiant skin, the sheen to your hair. A few days away from the
rat race has really made an improvement."

"Is that what you really believe?" Scully pursued a point
she felt necessary to make with this man.

Myers leaned against the counter and folded his arms.

"It's that former partner of yours, isn't it?"

"He's no longer my former partner."

For a moment, she saw a flicker of disappointment in the
man's eyes. He recovered swiftly, giving her a smile of genuine
pleasure.

"Good for you, Dana."

Scully realized then that it wasn't ordinary jealousy. It
was envy of her ability to push aside fear. To find happiness in
the moment when the future appeared so bleak. Those who knew of
the program had a difficult time coping with the magnitude of the
threat. Armageddon was no longer an abstract concept. It was
capable of striking at any moment. The realization wore down
their resistance, distancing them from those unsuspecting,
closing them off to forming what could be futile relationships.

"Ignorance is bliss," Scully said suddenly. Myers gave her
a quizzical look. She drew his attention over to where the young
boy was rubbing his arm where she had injected the vaccine. "But,
knowledge has given us hope."



Mulder arrived at the Federal Building fifteen minutes
before his appointment with the SAC of the Baltimore Field
Office. He was greeted warmly be several agents who ushered him
from the waiting area into the operations room. Spooky Mulder
was a distant memory. In this place he had found distinction
among his peers. In their eyes he was a hero. He tried not to
appear uncomfortable amidst the backslapping and praise from the
fellow agents. He wanted to fit in, not to react with his usual
wry manner that too often bordered on sarcasm.

"Hey Mulder," one agent called over to him. "Got a moment?"

"Sure," Mulder responded, glad to have the excuse to cross
over to the man's desk. The agent pointed to his computer screen
and said.

"What's your experience in domestic terrorism?"

"What do you got?" He glanced over the agent's shoulder.

"We're being put on alert. Two hospitals, one in Seattle
and one in Atlanta were bombed this morning." The agent quickly
reached for the phone. He pressed the SAC's intercom.
In a terse voice he advised his superior of the news. Cupping
the receiver, the man nodded as he listened to his instructions.

"Agent Mulder," The agent turned to him. "Agent Mulder?"

He was gone.


As Mulder raced through the parking lot of the Federal
Building, he reached for his cell phone. Shit, shit, shit, he
thought frantically, remembering then that she no longer carried
one. A beeper. She wore a beeper. She had given him the
number. He dug the slip of paper out of his wallet and punched
in the numbers. Unlocked the door to her car, he waited to be
connected with the paging system. His fingers pounded the number
of his cell phone.

"Come on, Scully." He willed his cell phone to ring. He
started the ignition. Let it ring. He had to reach her. He had
to warn her.

He screeched the car out of the parking lot, cutting off
oncoming traffic as he sped up the boulevard. His foot pushed
down the accelerator pedal as he gripped the wheel. He jerked it
suddenly. The tires spun and screeched as the car turned down a
side street.

"God damn it, Scully, answer the page." Mulder grabbed the
cell phone and dialed again.



"Someone's insistent," Myers said as Scully's beeper went
off a second time. She reached down to the waistband of her
pants and turned the beeper off. It was Mulder. Paging her
twice. Why was he calling her now? She was on duty. He had an
appointment at the Baltimore Field Office at 2:00 and it was only
a few minutes after. Something was wrong. She sensed it.
Excusing herself, she moved to the other side of the counter to
lifted the handset and dial his number.

"Mulder," she murmured in a low voice so she would not be
overheard.

"Scully," He was shouting. She heard the screech of brakes.

"Mulder, that's my car you're driving. Mulder?"

"Scully, get out." he yelled. "There's a bomb. Get out of
the hospital now."

Scully's hand froze on the receiver as her eyes lifted to
Myers. It was then that she the flash of light.

The line went dead.



Mulder screamed her name as he witnessed the bomb's
detonation. The air reverberated with its impact, shaking the
car as it pulled into the hospital parking lot. His eyes dilated
with horror as he watched the building shake with the force of
the blast. Windows shattered into bits of glass, spraying out
onto the pavement. A thick black smoke billowed out of every
opening, rising upward to the roof. The force of the blast
twisted and bent the steel supports, causing the building to
pitch to one side. At one end, floor after floor began to
collapse. The entire west wing crumbled. It tore down the
middle, leaving one half of the building demolished.

The east wing, where the emergency room was, still stood.

Please God, please God....his heart hammered as he bolted
out of the car. The parking lot was strewn with glass and
concrete. He could hear the terrified screams coming from the
rubble. People began to stumble from what was left of the
building, covered in blood and soot, some charred from the heat
of the blast. As he maneuvered to the emergency room doors, a
paramedic tried to stop him. His face was glazed with sweat he
caught his arm.

"You can't go in there."

He threw off the man's restraining hand and whipped out his
badge.

"I'm going in..."

"The rest of the building could collapse."

"There may be people alive in there." Mulder growled. "If
you can't job, fine. But, don't stop me from doing mine."




"Jason?"

Scully crept around the nurses station on all fours.
Pausing, flinching, as another piece a glass pierced through her
skin, she inched around the counter to where he had fallen.
Daylight filtered into the corridor which had gone dark with
smoke and loss of electricity. She peered down the corridor to
where the west wall had been ripped away. Half of the hospital
was gone. Gone. She gasped, choking on smoke, trying to breathe
in air that was suddenly hot and charged.

"Dana..."

She turned back to Myers. His face was scorched from the
the blast. She had been spared the intense heat, shielded by the
counter of the station. His dazed eyes met hers.

"A bomb," he whispered.

"A bomb," she nodded. Her ears rang painfully from the
massive blast. Cupping them, she glanced around what remained of
the emergency room. Wires dangled from the ceiling which had
partially collapsed, dripping layers of insulation and fragmented
plaster. There was glass and debris everywhere. Her eyes
shifted to where she heard the groans and whimpering of people.
Several hospital personnel had already struggled to their feet.
Stunned, some sought out the injured while others sought their
escape.

Scully tugged at Myers arm.

"We got to get these people out of here," she gasped.

Myers shifted himself up and pushed her away.

"You're the one who had got to leave, Dana. Before it's too
late."

"I'm not going anywhere until I check for survivors."

She rose to her full height. She searched through the
rubble for the boy and his mother. She found them huddled behind
the overturned examining table. Both wore stunned, their arms
and faces streaked with blood.

"Jason, help me." she called over her shoulder. He joined
her, leaning over to pull the woman to her feet. She moaned.
Myers steadied her and began to steer her towards the opening in
the wall. Scully grabbed the boy and followed.

"Scully..."

She whirled around. Mulder. She could hear his voice in
the distance. Her eyes strained down the corridor towards the
waiting room. He was battling his way through the wreckage to
reach her.

"Get as far away from the building as fast as you can." she
pushed the boy through the opening.

"Mulder." She screamed his name. Energy surged through her
legs as she sprinted down the hall and into his arms. He clasped
her tightly to him, lifting her off her feet.

She was alive. She was alive.

"God, baby, I was so scared." he murmured, pressing
desperate kisses across her face. It was then that he felt the
stickiness against his lips. Her skin was smeared with sweat and
blood. Her hair was matted to her temple where the skin had been
lacerated. He pushed her away suddenly, his eyes traveling the
length of her in the dim light. Her forearms were scratched,
bleeding, staining the front of her scrubs.

"Your hurt." he cried.

"I'm fine." she assured him. "Help me, Mulder. There are
still people in here."

"Dana." It was Myers. He had returned to find her. Seeing
her with Mulder, he exhaled in relief.

"Agent Mulder." He spoke urgently. "You have got to listen
closely. She's in danger..."

"Jason, no!" Scully snapped.

"Dana, you knew this might happen. We all did. The
program in this hospital is dead. And, so are you if you stay
here."

"Scully?" Mulder peered down into her face. Her eyes
dropped as if she was seeking a way to contradict what Myers had
just told him.

"Agent Mulder, you have got to get her out of Baltimore.
Those responsible for this will be looking for her. Wanting to
make sure that the operative is among the dead. She's the one,
Mr. Mulder. Without her, none of this would have been possible."

The doctor gave Mulder a sharp look and continued.

"I saved your life. Now, you save hers."

Mulder needed no further encouragement. He seized Scully
around the waist and dragged her down the corridor to where the
wall opened to sunlight and safety. She resisted, protesting
first with words, then struggling with him physically. He refused
to listen, pulling her along side of him, stopping to lift her
into his arms when she tried to jerk away.

"Mulder, please listen..." She grasped his neck for support.

"Not this time." His arms tightened around her legs and
back as she twisted in his grasp.

Her strength did not compare with his. She could do nothing
other than stare back with regret to where Myers stood. He
lifted his hand in farewell.



Back at the townhouse, he packed quickly. She retrieved two
suitcases from the back of her bedroom closet. One contained
clothes. The other held her personal effects and money.

"I see that you've been prepared." Mulder commented.

"Ever since the bombing in Detroit," she conceded finally.

There was no time to linger. Not even time for her to
shower and change. She rushed into the guest bedroom. Reaching
for a disc, she began the process of sabotaging her computer.
Once the task was completed, she reached for her medical bag and
joined Mulder at the front door.

As they left, she paused as if she forgot something. He
anxiously waited while she turned back to securely lock the door
to the townhouse.

"Locking out the Yankees, Scarlett?" he joked, realizing his
mistake when he saw the look on her face. She was about to cry.

In the car, she did. Overcome by stress and trauma, she
hunched over in the passenger seat and wept.

Mulder gave her a tense look. He wanted to comfort her but
there was no time. He couldn't stop driving and getting out a
Baltimore was an arduous task. Roads were blocked off by
emergency crews. Traffic was congested. All had stopped to
witness the devastation. Finally, he steered the car off the
road and onto the shoulder. He maneuvered it several hundred
yards to the entrance of I-95.

"North or South, Scully?"

She sniffed and looked up. Tears had streaked paths through
the dirt and dried blood on her face. She stared at him with
incomprehensive eyes, as if the decision was too hard to for her
to make. She was retreating into a state of shock.

"North then." He answered for her. To go South they would
have to pass by D.C. Ground zero.





They drove until dark, until Mulder's concern for her
condition outweighed his determination to get as far away as
possible. They stopped at a roadside motel which was cheap and
garish. Inside their room, he gently stripped off her soiled
hospital scrubs. When she wavered unsteadily on her feet, he
removed his own clothes and steered her into the bathroom. The
fluorescent light flickered, casting a harsh, uneven glow on
their bodies. He held her in the shower as the hot water coursed
down them both. Dirt and dried blood began to wash clean of her
skin. When he lathered her hair with shampoo, bits of glass came
away in his hands.

She was silent, yielding to him like a trusting child. He
wrapped her in a towel and led her to the bed. He used tweezers
to retrieve splinters of glass that were still embedded in her
arms and hands. She didn't flinch. When he applied antiseptic
to her many cuts and scratches, she stared at the ceiling with
vacant eyes. Drops of water fell from his wet hair onto her face
as he scrutinized a laceration that ran from her scalp down to
her temple. The shower had removed the caked blood that sealed
it. Now it began to seep again.

"I don't know, Scully." He bit his lip. "You may need a
doctor to look at this one."

"I am a doctor," she murmured. It was the first time she
spoke in hours. The hot shower had warmed her. Her numbness was
fading.

"Your dripping on me, Mulder."

"Sorry." He sat back. She reached out and clasped his hand.

"In my bag there should be some bandages."

"Got em." He pressed them along the cut. The bleeding
stopped.

"Tired, Mulder," she whispered as her eyelids began to
flutter close.

Mulder lifted the edge of the bedspread and glided her under
the sheets. He removed the towel and tossed it over a chair.

"Want your jammies?"

She shook her head.

"Just you."

He eased into the bed beside her. Her tiny, beleaguered
body curled up next to his. Her breath fell evenly against his
chest. She had fallen asleep.


The next morning, he left her sleeping to go across the
street to a diner where he brought breakfast, coffee and a paper.
When he returned, she was awake, sitting fully dressed on the
edge of the bed watching the morning news. As he handed her a
cup of coffee, his eyes studied her contorted features. She
looked battleworn. Her skin was pallid except for the area
surrounding the bandaged forehead. It had reddened with
inflammation. When he pointed it out to her, she nodded solemnly
and asked for her medical bag.

"What are you doing?" he asked, flinching as she drew out a
syringe and a vial of medicine.

"Antibiotic," she told him.

She tore open the plastic bag that held the syringe.

"You're not going to make me do that are you?" He tensed
with the thought of sticking a needle into her skin.

"You did it once before," Scully reminded him as she jabbed
the syringe into the lid of the bottle and measured out the
dosage.

"Once was enough," Mulder protested squeamishly.

"Here hold this." She held out the syringe. He took it
hesitantly.

She contemplated him as she reached for a pad moistened with
alcohol. She rubbed it against the skin of her upper arm.

"It's okay, Mulder," she answered as she took the syringe
back from him. He grimaced as she injected herself with it.

"You are something..." His voice dropped in awe.

"Yeah," she scoffed as she withdrew the needle and wrapped
it back in the plastic. "I'm something alright. Because of me,
hundreds of lives were lost at Baltimore General yesterday.
Hundreds..."

"Don't blame yourself, Scully," Mulder cautioned her.
"You're not responsible."

"I'm the operative. I brought the program there."

"You brought hope. You brought survival. Hundreds may have
been lost, but thousands have been spared."

"Don't try to placate me with your philosophical bullshit,
Mulder." Scully retorted. She rubbed her arm which stung from
the injection.

"Then stop the self-flagellation." Mulder countered. "You
and the others knew this could happen. It did. This is a war,
Scully. There are bound to be victims."

"I want out," she bellowed back. "I don't want to be a part
of it anymore. I want that ordinary life that you spoke of. I
want it with you."

"So get out," Mulder responded dryly. "What's stopping you?
The provisions have been made for you to disappear. And,
although the identities of the victims aren't in yet, I'm sure
that Myers will make sure your name is among them."

"The provision is for me to drop out of sight for a while.
Not permanently. Just long enough for things to settle down.
Myers will report the truth to the CDC. In a few months, they
will expect me to resurface. I'll be reassign me to another
facility ... another program."

"Again, Scully, the choice is yours," he pointed out.

"I want it to be ours," Scully insisted. "What about you,
Mulder? You've got to report into the Bureau."

"Just long enough to resign," said Mulder.

"You can't mean that," she protested. "It's your life's
work."

"Lives change," he told her. "What would you have me do,
Scully? Go back to tracking down serial killers? Chasing the
proverbial monster of the week while the fate of mankind is
crashing down around us?"

"What are we going to do?" she whispered in agitation.

"We're going to give you time to heal. Time to reflect and
decide what we should do next." He reached for her hand and
squeezed it tightly. "We're going to take that suitcase full of
money and for the next few months, live that ordinary life."

An ordinary life...

An ordinary life with him...



Feedback is most graciously accepted. Please e-mail me at
paigecaldwell@hotmail.com.

From: Paige Caldwell <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>
Date: 1 Jun 1999 06:24:46 -0700
Subject: xfc New  "True Lies" Seq. to "Ordinary Life" 1 of 3

From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>

Title:              True Lies
Author:             Paige Caldwell
Feedback:      paigecaldwell@hotmail.com
Classification:             MSR, X
Rating:                 NC-17
Disclaimer:         These characters do not belong to me.  No
                        infringement is intended.
Spoilers:      Through "One Son"
Archive:                Please do, but drop me a line as to where.
Summary:       Sequel to "An Ordinary Life". The ordinary
                        life Scully left the Bureau for was a lie.
                        Reunited with Mulder, they flee the danger
                        created by her role as a CDC operative, only
                        to discover the truth isn't what they believe
                        it to be.
Author's Notes:             Many thanks to Kimberly at Clinique's
                        Hidden Gems for her support in navigating me
                        through the posting process.  And to the
                        readers who took the time to e-mail their
                        comments and requests for a sequel.

Part One of Three

The main office for the Center for Disease Control was
located in Atlanta, Georgia.  When Dr. Jason Myers boarded a
private jet, sent two days after the bombing of Baltimore
General, he expected to be flown to the agency's headquarters for
debriefing.  He was a renown trauma surgeon, one of the best in
the mid-Atlantic.  He had been chosen to participate in the
Program not just for this recognition, but because of his
reputation as being innovative, a man of dark, impenetrable
resolve.  He was capable of wielding his influence as effectively
as his scalpel.

It was these qualities that drew the CDC's operative to
Baltimore.

Her diminutive size and gender was quickly overshadowed by
her commanding presence.  If she was impressed by him, she didn't
show it.  She was not the type to flatter, nor was she overt in
her attempt to enlist him.  In her pragmatic style, she revealed
the secret of the alien virus.  She met his horrified reaction
with calm, unperturbed eyes.  When he fired off a round of harsh
expletives, she lifted a placating hand and offered a viewpoint
that diminished his terror.  A virus was a virus despite its
origin, she told him.  This particular virus could not only be
curtailed, it could be prevented.  The CDC had a vaccine.  One
that could effectively immunize the public.  One that would
guarantee survival.  His survival if he chose to accept the
truth.

Dana Scully could be very convincing when she wanted to be.

Now she was gone.  Despite tight security measures, the
Program had been compromised.  The results were immediate and
devastating.  In one day, his hospital had been blown into a
seven-story mountain of debris.  That he had survived the bombing
seemed more than arbitrary luck.  It seemed predestined.  It had
been his skill as a surgeon that had saved the life of Scully's
former partner.  It was that man, Mulder, who turned out to be
the one capable of removing the operative from danger.  And, it
was his intrigue with them both that had ultimately saved his
life.

Myers glanced out the window of the jet.  The morning sun
was behind them now. They were not headed South.  They were
flying due west.  His eyes crossed the aisle to where his escort
sat stoned faced and silent.

"We're not flying to Atlanta," he observed.

The man didn't respond.

Myers realized then that distinction had its drawbacks.

*****

When Mulder called Skinner to tender his resignation, there
was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.  When his
superior spoke, his voice was curt and unflinching.

"Your resignation is not accepted, Agent Mulder"

"When I fail to report to work will it be accepted then?"
Mulder matched the man's tone.

"I heard about what happened..." the Assistant Director
began.

"Don't believe everything you hear," responded the agent.

"Hearing and believing are two different things," stated
Skinner.  "I've heard the speculation of domestic terrorism, but
certain coincidences can no longer be ignored."

"Certain conclusions are best left unspoken," prompted
Mulder.

"Then see to it that certain actions are taken," finished
Skinner.

"Thank you, sir," Mulder exhaled in relief.

"Don't thank me, yet,"  warned the Assistant Director.
"You're getting sloppy, Mulder.  You've forgotten a basic rule of
your training."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Covering your tracks," reminded his supervisor.  "Make the
most of your resources, Agent."

With this admonition, Skinner hung up the phone.

*****


Later that morning, Mulder realized the mistake that Skinner
was alluding to.  Scully's car.  In his panic to get her out of
Baltimore, he had not considered the obvious.  They should have
abandoned her car in the hospital's parking lot.  Evidence that
would have corroborated her death had been clearly visible on
major highways.  He took immediate steps to rectify his
carelessness.  Using one of his Bureau generated alias, complete
with a driver's license and credit card, he rented a car.  That
it was a Ford Bronco was more than a recognition that four wheel
drive might come in handy.  It was a signal to Skinner that his
plan was to go under, as far and fast as he possibly could.

They curved through the countryside of Pennsylvania,
distancing themselves from the major cities, maneuvering miles of
back roads before they stopped.  Together, they pushed Scully's
car down a deep incline that led to a ravine full of underbrush
and trees.  As it careened down the slope, the car suddenly
flipped, and slid along it's roof to where it slammed against the
tree.

"To think I just had it serviced," she said in a dead pan
voice.

Mulder turned to look at her.  She stood at the edge of the
ravine, hands on hips, her lips blowing the strands of auburn
hair that had strayed into her eyes.  Her face was dotted with
perspiration.  It was a hot, humid day and pushing the car had
worked up a sweat for both of them.  On her, it looked good.  The
flimsy material of her blouse clung to her breasts, revealing
more than she realized.  Despite the cuts and bruises, she looked
smoldery, even sexy.

For a moment, he was distracted by the image of making love
to her.  Out in the open field, in broad daylight, even if every
farmer in Pennsylvania was within spitting distance.

But, he wanted more than just the intimacy of her body.  He
wanted her back.  Not Scully, his former partner or doctor or CDC
operative that she had become.  He wanted to regain what the
bombing in Baltimore had shattered...an ordinary life with the
woman he was in love with.

He had discovered that there were facets of an ordinary life
that gave him true contentment.  Sharing her bed was only one of
them.  He had found others.  The feel of the afternoon sun
against his face as they sat on the dock by her harbor side
townhouse.  The crisp taste of Chardonney from a shared wine
glass.  The sparkle of her blue eyes as she dipped her bare foot
into the harbor and splashed water at him.

There were more...so many more.  The sound of her soft
laughter when he suggested that they take turns preparing meals.
He wasn't a capable cook.  She was superb.  Each dinner was a
carefully planned event.  A time to linger across a candlelit
table, but not in the classic, romantic sense.  There were no
soulful glances.  No hand holding.  Instead, the table rocked
with animated, biting conversation.  He would bait her with
topics ranging from the nonsensical to the sensational.  Her wit
would respond with lightning speed and accuracy.  It played out
well between them.  Compatibility was not limited to those who
shared similar ideas.

"Marry me, Scully."

His words were really an extension of his thoughts.  Only
after he spoke them, did he realize that he should have shared
them first.

The vivid blue eyes glided over to his.  They held a flicker
of surprise, then turned bitter.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed.  She spun around and headed
towards the rental car.  He trailed after her, saying,

"I'm serious."

Scully opened the car door.  He reached over her shoulder
and slammed it shut.  She whirled around.  Her eyes fired rounds
of indignation.

"You can't marry a corpse, Mulder."

"You're not dead."

"I'm listed among the dead, or presumed dead," she corrected
herself. "We can't tamper with that by taking out a marriage
license, can we?"

"Why does everything have to begin and end with our jobs?"
he protested.

"Because our survival depends on how well we do it," she
stated in an uncompromising tone.

"Fine.  Have it your way."

His reverie was shattered.  As always, her logic had the
accuracy of a guided missile.

He stalked around to the other side of the car and yanked
open the door.  Looking over the hood of the car, he saw that she
hadn't moved.  She was staring off into the distance,
contemplating what he hoped was a callous disregard of his
feelings.

"You think the corpse might get into the car so we can get
out of here?"

His scathing words had the desired effect. Scully got back
into the car and slammed the door.  He, in turn, slammed his.

They continued down the road for miles, neither of them
speaking, both of them staring out the windshield in silence.  He
turned up the air conditioning to cool down the car which was
stifling with the heat of the afternoon sun.  The brisk air from
the vent blew steadily against her face and hair.  It relieved
the discomfort of her hot skin, but not the raging tension inside
of her.

At first, she had not taken him seriously.  Caught off
guard, she had failed to see that his hazel eyes had been
sincere.  That she had responded with cynicism was really a
defense mechanism.  One she had learned to deploy when faced with
situations which left her emotions raw and her nerves on edge.
He had effectively taught her this strategy by example. When it
came to sarcasm, this man was the master.

And now, he was hurt by her use of it.

She rubbed the bandage across her forehead.  She was still
suffering torturing headaches since the bombing.  A symptom of
trauma.  An emotional manifestation that was far worse than any
of her physical injuries.  Because she was a doctor, she
recognized the signs.

Because she wanted to stay on equal footing with Mulder, she
did not share her diagnosis with him.

Another problem was slowly manifesting between them.  Sexual
tension had finally been released, but professional tension was
still wound up tightly. Her new role in the prevention of
colonization had been grudgingly acknowledged by him, but not
accepted.

He wanted confirmation of their commitment.

She needed to be sure of his motives.

She didn't doubt that he loved her, but knew that his
emotions, however genuine, would not withstand the force of his
obsession.  A compulsion so strong that defeat held no meaning.
He had returned to Behavioral Crimes to lick his wounds and to
wait, poised and ready, for the game to resume.  And, she had
become an integral player in the game, one capable of returning
him to where he wanted to be.

To her, the game was not enticing.  It was cruel.  One with
no rules, only horrid reminders when one made the wrong move.
She had underestimated the danger.  As an operative for the CDC,
she should have been better prepared.  She had known the risks.
The Program had been designed to cloak the truth to prevent the
outbreak of hysteria.  Because of this, she had been able to
justify the flagrant violation of the oath she had sworn as a
doctor.  But now, the ethical dilemma was spinning out of
control.  To continue the Program under this new threat would be
a reckless disregard of humanity.

Scully shuddered.  The airconditioning was no longer
refreshing. It was blowing too hard against her chilled skin.

"Can't you turn it down a bit?" she heard herself ask.

"What, are you cold?"

She could tell that he was still angry by his scoffing tone.

"I didn't think corpses felt the cold," he muttered as he
turned the vent towards him.

An ordinary life.... an ordinary life with him.

The prospect no longer seemed so enchanting.

*****

Myers was escorted to the office of the Assistant Director
who supervised the Program for Eastern Division of the CDC.  He
had not expected such upscale offices for such a remote location.
The plane had landed near the mountains of West Virginia.  A
jeep had met him on the landing strip and driven him through a
series of tunnels that coursed through the hills.  They led to an
underground facility which was the Program's headquarters.

He was seated in front of an impressive mahogany desk that
bore several clues of the Assistant Director he was about to
meet.  His eyes scanned passed the computer and focused on the
desk set.  A leather trimmed blotter...a crystal pen holder... a
Waterford paper weight.  It was distinctly feminine.  Although
the brass name plate gave no clue other than "Assistant Director
D. Scott", Myers was certain that the program's superior was a
woman.

His intuition was right on target.  As the door opened, he
was greeted by a tall, brunette who extended a solicitous hand.

"Dr. Myers, I presume?" the woman smiled generously.

Myers rose from his chair to shake her hand.

"Assistant Director," he responded, noting the french
manicure, the slender fingers and the thin blue veins that ran
underneath her white skin.

"How good of you to report in so quickly."  The woman
released his hand and moved around to the back of her desk.  "The
event in Baltimore has left the Division both stunned and
dismayed."

"It also left three hundred and forty six people dead and my
hospital flattened,"  replied the doctor.

"A tragedy among several.  As you know, Baltimore was one of
three hospitals bombed that day."  The Assistant Director
remarked as she glided into her chair.  She sighed, as she leaned
over to flip on her monitor.  For a moment she gazed at the data
that darted across the screen.

"I don't know what you expect to learn from me other than
what I've already reported." commented Myers taking his seat.

"Baltimore was on my watch, Dr. Myers," the woman said as
she glided the mouse over its pad.  "I'm interested in more than
the number of casualties."

"What exactly are you interested in?"  the doctor asked.

The Assistant Director paused the mouse and clicked the
button.  Another field filtered across the screen.  Her dark eyes
scrutinized several entries as she calmly inquired.

"Where is the operative?"

"Good question." the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Where do you think she is?"

The woman's dark eyes slid over to his.

"Her body has not been discovered," she remarked.

"Sifting through seven stories of rubble could take weeks,"
offered the man.

"There are witnesses who placed Dr. Scully in the emergency
room just prior to the explosion," conveyed the woman.

"Are there?" Myers lifted his eyebrow.  "Funny, I was in the
emergency room and I don't remember seeing her."

"So, you mentioned in your report," commented Scott.  She
turned to face him.  She folded her hands and rested them on her
desk.  "Over two weeks ago, you performed emergency surgery on a
federal agent by the name of Fox Mulder."

Myers nodded.

"What can you tell me about Agent Mulder?"  questioned the
woman.

"He came in with a gunshot wound to his upper right
extremity,"  the doctor narrated. "He experienced a hemothorax
which was promptly drained and...."

"I'm not interested in his clinical course," interrupted the
Assistant Director.  "I want to know if he was exposed to the
operative during his admission."

"He was," related Myers.  "Why are you attaching such
importance to Agent Mulder?"

"Why are you protecting Dr. Scully?"  countered Scott.

"You want me to explain the obvious?"  Myers folded his arms
and leaned back in his chair.  "Okay, I'm game.  The Program has
been compromised.  And, I suspect by someone with enough
knowledge to pinpoint the hospitals which hosted the Program.
The CDC has one hell of a leak, Assistant Director.  I just want
to make sure that it's not sitting in front of me."

If the woman was shocked or offended, she didn't show it.
Instead, she studied the man more carefully, as if she was taking
in the details of his face.  His skin had been burned by the heat
of the bomb's explosion.  Not badly, just enough to cause him
discomfort and give his olive complexion an odd, pink tinged
look.

"The Program is fortunate to have you in it, Dr. Myers."

"The Program is in the crapper, if you'll pardon my
expression," retorted the man.  "If the CDC can't protect their
own people and the hospitals which sponsor the program, then
don't expect their cooperation."

"Which is exactly why I need your help." conveyed Scott.

"You overestimate me."

"Actually, I believe that the CDC has underestimated your
influence, Dr. Myers."

"As what?" he sneered.  "A door to door salesman to
unsuspecting facilities throughout the country?"

"No." There was a hint of amusement to her voice.  "We have
those already.  I need you to influence the Baltimore operative
to return to duty."

"Are you telling me that Dr. Scully makes that much of a
difference to the Program?"

"It is imperative that she return to headquarters at once."

"Why?"

"Because where she goes, her former partner will follow."

"We're back again to Agent Mulder," noted Myers.

"If anyone can sniff out a traitor, he can," she advised.
"He's the best profiler that the FBI has to offer."

"Maybe I'm missing something here." Myers leaned forward.
"You need Scully to get to Mulder?" he asked.

"Something like that."

"The CDC is a federal agency.  Mulder is a federal
investigator.  Use your own influence, Assistant Director.  You
don't need mine."

"The CDC prefers that the Bureau remain uninvolved."

"Dr. Scully deserves better than to be used as a pawn,"
Myers stated coldly.

"We're all pawns, Dr. Myers. Players in a highly dangerous
game.  Scully knew that when she accepted her job."

"You should know better than to debate the meaning of
informed consent when speaking to a doctor."

"Perhaps I'm going around this the wrong way," Scott's voice
softened.  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
She watched the man's eyes glide up her body.  His black eyes
flickered with a danger she had not only come to recognize, but
appreciate.  His insolence was as attractive as his appearance.
Dark hair, muscular arms, perfect white teeth that flashed when
he grinned.  She had been in a position of power too long, she
thought.  She was too easily intrigued by a man who's haughty
attitude tempted her to more than a challenge of words.

*****

That night, Scully had a difficult time falling asleep.  It
didn't help that Mulder was crunching on sunflower seeds as he
sat propped up against pillows watching late night television.
His annoying habits, once vaguely tolerable, now grated on her so
intensely that her teeth clenched.  While her body was fatigued,
her mind was still awake, racing with an speed that stifled
sleep.  He was not only depriving her of silence and darkness
necessary for her to relax, he was acting like a petulant child.
Pouting, provoking her at every turn.

She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to draw the blanket
over her shoulder.  The majority of the covers were caught under
his weight.  When she tugged at one end of the blanket, he
shifted his leg slightly to give her just a sliver more.

The last of her patience was obliterated by the crack of
another sunflower seed against his teeth.

When she rolled over to confront him, Mulder hoped that his
ceaseless battering at the steel door of her mind was finally
over.  He had been prodding her all afternoon.  At first, out of
hurt and rejection.  Then, out of recognition that she was in
trouble.  She was withdrawing into herself.  Scrutinizing her
participation in a program that had literally blown up in her
face.  He knew her well enough to comprehend that the real danger
was the type she was capable of inflicting upon herself.  She was
sinking fast, not into a pool of self-pity, but of self-
condemnation.

Her tepid eyes narrowed in on him.  He tensed, waiting for
what he believed would be an onslaught of berating, multi-
syllabled words.  Instead, she reached out and grabbed the bag of
sunflower seeds from his lap. Before he could protest, she jumped
out of the bed.  Stalking over to the motel room door, she opened
it wide enough to throw the bag out into the parking lot.

Stunned, Mulder gaped at her.

She slammed the door, locked it and turned around.  The
expression she gave him was not smug. It was so agitated that he
was instantly filled with contrition.

This was not the way, he thought.  He would have to find a
better one.

"Come back to bed," he said in a soft, coaxing tone.  He
turned off the television and lifted the blanket as a peace
offering.

"Don't even think..." Scully warned, misinterpreting his
gesture of tenderness for something else.

"I'm not," he assured her.

When she eased back down onto the bed, he carefully wrapped
his arms around her.  She felt his fingers begin to trace slow
circles through her hair, smoothing it back from her ear.  Her
strain began to ease. She was reminded that not all of his
incessant actions was aggravating.  This one was comforting.
Soothing.

"Try to hold on, Dana," he murmured gently.  "I know you're
having a hard time, but I promise you we're going to make it
through this."

Of course, she would hold on.  She would do it for him.  For
them.  No more star crossed lovers.  They had struggled through a
vacuum of lost time and misperceptions only to be reunited by a
near tragedy.  The revelation of her "ordinary life" had almost
torn their reconciliation apart.  And now, a new threat.  One
created by trauma and guilt.

Mulder continued stroking her hair until her eyes closed and
her breathing became even.  He settled back against the pillow
and stared into the darkness.

"I really do love you, Mulder," came her tiny whisper.

He rolled over to his side and slid his arm around her
waist.

"I love you too..."

Scully drew his arm more snugly around her.  She was
drifting off to sleep.

"Don't let go."

"I'll never let go."

End of Part One


"True Lies" Part 2 of 3

The following day, Assistant Director Scott lifted the
handset to her phone and punched in several numbers with the tip
of her pen.  When a voice answered, she asked,

"Have you found them yet?"

"We located Dr. Scully's car in Pennsylvania.  It's
totaled."

"Took him long enough," the woman pursed her lips and
reached over to her computer.

"They changed cars?"

"They changed cars." confirmed Scott.  She leaned back in
her chair and waited for the information to course over her
screen.  Twining the phone cord around her slender fingers, she
gave Myers his instructions.





Late in the afternoon, Mulder shifted the Bronco in park and
cut the ignition.  He glanced over at Scully who was sound asleep
in the reclined passenger seat.

"Wake up sleepy head," he called out as he gently tapped the
tip of her nose.  She stirred slightly as her head rolled towards
him.  He waited patiently as she drifted awake.  The limpid eyes
gazed up at him.

"Hmm.." she murmured as she shifted up in the seat. "I was
dreaming."

"Good dreams, I hope."

"We were on the dock by the Harbor." She stretched then
continued.  "I almost had you convinced to go sailing with me."

"Oh, yeah, you were definitely dreaming," he chuckled as he
opened the car door.

Scully looked out the passenger window.  What she saw made
her catch her breath.  She got out of the Bronco and stood on the
running board, shielding her eyes against the mid-afternoon sun.
  They had arrived at their destination.  A cabin in the woods.
Tall trees, abundant with deep green leaves, covered it like a
canopy.  A wide porch surrounded the cabin.  Wood steps led down
to a grassy area which sloped down to a pristine, azure lake.

A lake.  It stretched out to the east, fading like a blue
mist, blurring against the forest and hills the bordered the
horizon.

Scully felt tears creep into her eyes.  He had promised
seclusion.  He had hinted that they were going to someplace
remote and peaceful, but she had not expected this.  This was
more than a hideout.  This was a haven....

"You like?" Mulder asked as he came around to the passenger
side of the Bronco.

"I like..." Her voice lifted with a note of pleasure.

Mulder felt a twinge of hope as he reached up and swung her
down to the ground.  Her hands lingered against his shoulders as
her head arched towards the lake.

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Haven't you learned by now that I'm a man of unlimited
resources?" Mulder heckled her.

"Are you also a man of property, Mulder?"


"Hardly," he grinned.  "The cabin belongs to some friends of
mine."

"Friends?"

     "Yes, Scully, I have managed to secure a few friends over
the years."

"You told me once that I was your only friend."

"No, I told you that you were my best friend," he reminded
her.

Her bottom lip began to twitch.  For a moment, Mulder
thought she was going to cry.  Instead, the quivering mouth
turned upwards into a smile.  The first one she had given him in
days.  He felt his spirits lift.  Her smile was like a balm
smoothed over his chafed nerves.  Since they had fled Baltimore,
being with her had been like balancing a tight rope.

By her expression now, he knew that he had reached the other
side.

Scully's ebullient mood continued as they unloaded the
Bronco.  Earlier in the day, they had stopped for supplies and
groceries to stock up what was to be their hideout. In the
supermarket, she had shown little enthusiasm.  But now, she began
to assort the refrigerator of the tiny kitchen with a renewed
interest.

Mulder explained that the caretaker, who lived a mile down
along the shore of the lake, had been contacted by his friends to
prepare the cabin for their arrival.  The electricity had been
turned on.  Plastic coverings that protected the furniture had
been removed and stored neatly in the hall closet.  Windows had
been opened to allow the warm breeze to filter out the musty
smell.  Logs had been piled up by the stone fireplace, for in
this climate, the evenings could still dip down to chilly
temperatures.

"Who exactly are these friends of yours?" Scully wanted to
know.

"They're yours, too," hinted Mulder as he came in with their
suitcases.

Scully shot him a quizzical look as she crossed over to the
bedroom.  Except it wasn't an ordinary bedroom.  It looked more
like a dormitory.  There was no bed, just three cots.  There were
desks cluttered with magazines and papers.  One held a computer.
Another shelved a printer and a paper shredder.

"Lone Gunmen," she whispered, shaking her head.

She should have known.

Mulder deposited their bags in the room.  When he turned to
face her, she pointed to the cots.

"Unless you can specify which one of these is Byers, don't
expect me to sleep on any of them."

The man laughed.  Steering her by the shoulders, he moved
her back into the livingroom.

"The couch pulls out to a double bed," he informed her.  "We
can sleep out here by the fire.  That is, of course, if your
willing to share."

"Well...." she paused and sighed.  "I guess it's alright.
After all, we are best friends."

By the time he finished unpacking, the sun had begun to set.
He found Scully outside the cabin seated on the porch steps that
led to the lake.  Her arms were wrapped around her legs.  Her
chin rested on top of her knees.  Her gaze was intent on the
water which had turned violet in the twilight.  Her eyes were no
longer vacant, but bright with contemplation.  As he sat down
beside her, they glided over to his.

"It'll be dark soon," he said, stretching his hand out to
her. "You want to explore the shoreline?"

Scully took his hand.  She turned it over in hers, spreading
his long fingers out, caressing his palm with her delicate touch.

"I'd rather explore you," she responded softly.

She rose to her feet.  With a strength that surprised him,
she pulled him up beside her and led him back into the cabin. As
she lifted his t-shirt over his head, he drew in his breath.  Her
fingertips traveled down the hairline of his chest, lingering on
the waist band of his jeans.  She rose up on tiptoe to press her
lips against his neck.  They trembled against his skin.

Mulder exhaled slowly, his own body quivering with delight
as her mouth trailed the path of her fingers.  When she lowered
herself to her knees and reached for snap of his jeans, he caught
her hands.  Gripping them tightly, he knelt down beside her.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I don't want to be dead anymore," she murmured. "I want to
feel alive.  I want to feel you."


Mulder released her hands.  With one fluid motion, she
stripped off her shirt, and unfastened her bra.  It was all the
encouragement he needed.  With a low groan, his mouth found hers.
Her lips yielded instantly.  Her tongue traced around his with
such deliberate, languid sensuality that he almost stumbled
backwards.  Her hands slid up his back to steady him.

Their eyes met briefly.  His darted over to the rug before
the fireplace.  Hers motioned towards the couch.  Without a word,
they moved over to it.  While he sat down to unlace his boots,
she rested her hands against his shoulders, balancing herself as
she kicked off one sneaker after another.

Scully closed her eyes as he glided her jeans and underwear
down her legs.  The fading sunlight filtered into the cabin,
casting a soft, golden glow against her skin. He no longer
flinched when confronted with the cuts on her arms.  He no longer
noticed the bruises across her legs or the crusted laceration
across her forehead.  In his vision, she was flawless.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, easing her down onto
the couch.

Scully stretched her arm over her head, sighing with the
luxurious delight.  Mulder.  Only Mulder.  His hands were roaming
her now.  Caressing her.  Exploring her.  She had always
suspected that he would be intuitive as a lover, capable of
quickly discerning what pleased her most.  He was a profiler.
One of the best.  It was his job to get under a person's skin, to
delve into their minds and emotions.  And, there was no
forgetting his library of what she glibly referred to as his
"self-help tapes".  That this man was able to draw sensations
that were both tormenting and exhilarating to her was no surprise
at all.

She groaned as her fingers dug into the back of the couch.
He was teasing her now, stopped briefly to allow her to gather a
fragment of control, only to start again.  When her thighs began
to tremble, he shifted over her, pulling her hips up to his.
Giving her what she wanted the most.  The feel of him inside of
her.

This was being alive, she exulted as her legs wrapped around
his back.  Life was meant to be lived.  Love was meant to be
experienced.  She had been given a second chance.  She would not
turn her back on it again.






"Dr. Scully..."

She blinked and gazed up with eyes that were blurred with
tears.

"The Assistant Director is ready to see you now."


Scully stood up and smoothed the wrinkled skirt to the
business suit she wore.  It had been loaned to her by another
operative and was loose around her waist.  The sleeves of the
jacket were too long, giving her an unkept, wasted away
appearance.  Yet, it reflected how she felt.

She was supposed to have been given three months.  Three
months...not three days.  The precious time by the lake was
abruptly cut short with the appearance of Jason Myers the day
after they arrived at the cabin.  A former ally turned henchman
for the CDC.  His new distinction soured in her mind.  He offered
no explanation of how he had found them, just an urgent plea for
her to return to headquarters.  When she had demanded to know
why, he stared at Mulder with his flashing black eyes and
responded cryptically,

"Because there is a duty to be performed."

There was something wrong.  She suspected from the moment of
his arrival. Hours later, as the jet arrived on the landing
strip, she vocalized her concern to Mulder.  His hand reached
over to take hers.

"It'll be alright, Scully."

"We shouldn't have left the cabin."

"If the CDC could find us, then we weren't safe there
anyway."

"Is that the only reason you encouraged me to come here?"

Her question was pointed.  She loathed her own suspicions,
but they lingered in her mind.

"What are you implying, Scully?"  Mulder asked.

"Just pondering the meaning of second chances," she
murmured.

Her hand slipped away from his.

They had been led off to separate quarters to shower and
change.  When she was summoned to report for debriefing, she had
expected to find him waiting for her in the hallway.  But, he
wasn't there.

Where was he?


She was kept waiting in the hallway for what seemed an
unusual length of time.  Time enough to battle uncomfortable
thoughts concerning the meaning of love, of trust and
unconditional acceptance.  Their days together should have been
enough to abate her fear.  What was wrong with her?  Why couldn't
she believe?

As she opened the door and entered the room, she realized
that believing had been her problem all along.

Oh my God, she thought in horror.  It had all been a lie.  A
charade, orchestrated by the mistress of deceit.  For a moment,
she wavered on her feet, recoiling with shock and revulsion.

"Scully..."

Mulder was there.  He rose out of his chair and came to her
side.  She felt him take her arm to steady her.

"I know this must be awkward," offered the Assistant
Director.

"You know it's more than just awkward, Diana," Mulder
snapped as he gently led Scully over to a chair.

Assistant Director D. Scott.  Diana Fowley.  The same
person.  Her contact within the CDC.

Suddenly, all the lies made sense.  The perfect timing of
her enlistment into the Program.  The daily encrypted e-mail.
Faceless, voiceless contact with her superior, rationalized by
her as a security measure.  The truth had been expertly concealed
by Fowley and blindly accepted by her.  She had wanted to make a
difference.  To feel hope, to move beyond disillusionment and to
step past a partner who she was tired of trailing behind.

Now, she realized the magnitude of her mistake.

Oh my God, Oh my God...

She should speak.  Why couldn't she find her voice?  She
could hear it in her brain.  It screamed over and over what a
fool she had been.  Her lips could not move.  Her mouth was so
dry that even if she could cry out, it would sound no louder than
a whimper.

"Scully..." Mulder lowered himself to one knee by her chair.
Her eyes were vacant, the color of a leaden sky.  They stared
straight ahead, flat and unmoving.

     "Is she alright, Fox?" Fowley started to move around her
desk towards them.

Mulder saw Scully's hands grip the side of her chair.

"It might be better if you give us a few moments alone,"  he
said to Fowley. "Give me a chance to explain what you have told
me."


"Of course," the woman nodded.  She cautiously circumvented
Scully on her way out of the office.

Left alone, Mulder pried her hands loose from the chair.  He
squeezed them tightly in his.

"Dana, look at me," he pleaded.  Her eyes slid down to his.


"I know this is a shock.  Hell, it blew my mind away."
Mulder asserted.  "But, there is an explanation if you're willing
to hear it."

She still said nothing.  Her hands were as cold as ice in
his.

"The scientists who developed the vaccine were not the only
ones who discovered how self-serving their patrons were.  Fowley,
too, realized that she had made a serious mistake."

He took a deep breath and continued.

"Fowley was the one who initiated the contact with the CDC.
She was the one who brought the scientists here."

Scully's eyes flinched.

"She tried to tell me, Scully.  I refused to listen.  I was
convinced that she had betrayed me."

     The woman pulled her hands away from his.  When she tried to
rise from her chair, Mulder stopped her, jerking both she and the
chair towards him.

"Damn it, Scully, listen to me.  Fowley has shown me proof.
Documents that legitimize her involvement.  A commission from
the Director in Atlanta.  She encouraged the CDC to select you as
one of the operatives.  You, Scully.  It wasn't just your science
and background that influenced her choice.  It was your
character, your integrity that made you the perfect choice."

Scully's eyes narrowed in on his.  For a moment, he had the
distinct feeling of being on the wrong end of a shotgun.

"Of all of her lies, that has got to be the most outrageous
one of all," she exploded loudly.

Not only had she found her voice, she continued to vent it
with fury and vocabulary he thought not possible.

"But, what is even more fucking unbelievable is your
pathetic attempt to exonerate her.  That you believe there is
even a fragment of truth to her lies."


"I'm not trying to exonerate her." Mulder started to back
peddle.  "I'm just trying to figure out whether there is a
logical explanation for all of this."

"Don't expect to find it."

"Why?"

"Because you are incapable of using logic when it comes to
this woman."

"For a minute, can you please just push aside that little
green eyed monster of yours and tell me why her explanation is so
impossible?"

"Because Fowley is the infiltrator."

"That doesn't make sense.  Why would she destroy a Program
she helped create?"

"It's called damage control, Mulder.  Think about it.  The
Consortium lost control over their own players.  Their own
scientists.  With them went the vaccine.  What a better way to
curtail the damage then to have Fowley defect with them?"

"She brought them to the CDC.  What a better vehicle to
distribute the vaccine?"

"The CDC is a government agency with its own set of rules
and protocols.  Nothing is done quickly.  Everything is
monitored, scrutinized and evaluated for its efficacy.  As a
result, the process is slowed down."

"Why not stop the process all together?"

"The last time I checked, bombs were designed to do exactly
that."

Mulder shook his head.

"I don't know, Scully. It just doesn't add up.  If what you
say is true, then Fowley has taken an enormous gamble."

"But look at what she stands to gain.  Your Fowley is a
clever player.  With one well planned move she has accomplished
both her professional and personal goals.  Not only has she
crippled the Program, but she has managed to convince you that
she had no involvement in it.  She's playing you Mulder.  As
effectively as she played me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"


"She used me, Mulder.  She recognized my insecurities,
knowing I would pounce on any opportunity to find meaning in a
situation that had grown hopeless.  She found the way to separate
us.  She removed me from the equation and cleared the path back
to you."

"You're wrong, Scully.  Remember, I was also cut out of the
equation."

"I don't think she ever intended to cut you out
indefinitely. Just long enough for your craving to grow so great
that you would devour the next breadcrumb, even if it fell from
her hand."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You tell me, Mulder.  We're here because of you.  What does
she want?"

"She wants me to flesh out the infiltrator,"  Mulder advised
her.

"I'm sure flesh is exactly what she has in mind," scoffed
Scully.  "Yours and hers.  Did you agree, Mulder?"

"I haven't agreed to anything."

"But, you're thinking about it." The woman pushed him away
and rose to her feet.  "What is about her, Mulder, that makes you
abandon your common sense?  Is it because you believe she is the
one capable of satiating all your appetites?"

His eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

"Jesus, Scully.  That was vicious."

"Vicious?" Scully's voice reverberated with indignation.
"You stand before me now, debating which one of us you should
believe, and you dare call me vicious?"

"What I'm debating..." he retorted in an icy voice.  "is how
I can stop all of this."

"You can't."

"I have to."

"Then do it alone." Scully spun on her heel and headed
towards the door.

"Don't do this, Scully."

He followed her.  As she opened the door, he reached over
her shoulder and slammed it shut.  Whirling her around to face
him, he pleaded,

"Don't run out on me when I need you the most."

"You don't what the word means."

"You couldn't be more wrong,"  Mulder whispered urgently as
he pressed his forehead against hers.  "I will always need you.
I will always love the woman that you are.  But, right now, I
really could use my former partner back."

Scully jerked away, her back freezing against the door.

"Look at me," she hissed.  His eyes shot up to hers.  With
one eyes, she directed his gaze to the truth.  He swallowed
hesitantly and nodded.

"True lies, Mulder.  For a lie to be convincing there must
be an element of truth."

Scully reached up to the lapel of her jacket and removed her
CDC identification card.  She placed it into his hand, turning it
so that her access code was exposed.  Without another word, she
left him.


End of Part 2


"True Lies" - Part three of three


Later that night, Fowley knocked on the door to Mulder's
quarters.  When he didn't answer, she let herself in.  She found
him lying fully dressed on his cot, staring blankly up at the
ceiling.  He refused to look at her, stating coldly,

"Is she gone?"

"Yes," Diana said softly.  "I had Dr. Myers take her back to
Baltimore."

"Baltimore?" Mulder sat up in agitation.  "Are you out of
your mind, Diana?  She's not safe there."

"It's her home, Fox.  It's where she wanted to go."  Fowley
tried to calm him.  "She'll be safe.  We'll make sure of it."

"You're the one with the connections, Diana."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he collapsed back on the bed.  "Get out, Diana.
You're the last person I want to see right now."

"Get some sleep.  Things will look brighter in the morning."
Fowley moved towards the door.  She smiled to herself.  Had he
reacted any other way she would have been suspicious.  His
aversion to her did not sting.  It filled her with hope.

*****


"The trouble you two manage to get yourselves into," Walter
Skinner said as he removed his glasses and wiped the perspiration
from his forehead.

"I'm not the one who is in trouble now, sir," Scully
reminded him.  "Agent Mulder is."

"Let me get this straight," said the Assistant Director as
he reviewed her report.  "For over a year, you've been posing as
an operative for the CDC in an effort to distribute the vaccine
to the alien virus."

"That is correct."

"And, Agent Fowley, the person who initiated the program is
the same person who had been trying to compromise it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?" Skinner asked.

"We now believe that the hospital bombings were a smoke
screen, a way to deflect attention away from the real objective."

"Which is what?"

"To replace the vaccine with the virus itself.  To initiate
the first phase of invasion."

"And do you have proof of this?"

Scully's eyes traveled over to the man sitting next to her.

"That would be me," Jason Myers advised.

"Dr. Myers," Skinner acknowledged him.  "I'm all ears."

"Not to play on words, but so am I."

"What do you mean?"

"Diana Fowley talks in her sleep"

"Excuse me?"

"She talks in her sleep...sir."

Skinner gave them both a look of disbelief.

"That's your proof?" he asked in an incredulous voice.

"Hey," exclaimed Myers.  "I went to great pains to learn
that woman's true motives."

The Assistant Director frowned at the doctor.  Scully sighed
and leaned forward in her chair.

"Sir, Agent Mulder is right now attempting to obtain more
concrete proof.  But, as a former operative, I have the
capability of speeding the process up."

"To do what exactly?"

"To deal the Bureau back into the game."

*****

Out in the hallway, Myers leaned against the wall with his
arms folded comfortably.  He watched Scully pace back and forth,
noting with amusement how her four inch heels clicked along the
floor.

"A masterful performance," he heckled her.  She stopped in
front of him.

"That was no performance," she conveyed.  "That was a
pitiful and most likely unconvincing cry for help."

"I'm not talking about Skinner," responded the doctor.  "I'm
referring to the little drama you and Mulder created yesterday at
the CDC."

"Are those ears of yours really that sharp?"

"Come on spy girl.  Don't they teach you in your line of
work that the walls have ears?"

"And, eyes, or in this case... cameras." Scully lifted her
eyebrows.  "Jason, you never cease to amaze me.  You really are
good at the game, aren't you."

"Dana," Myers gave her his classic swashbuckler grin. "When
are you going to learn that I'm good at everything I do?"

Suddenly, Myers black eyes darted past her shoulder.  She
turned to find Skinner approaching her.

"Okay, Scully.  Time to saddle up.  You've got yourself a
task force."

*****

The FBI task force descended over the mountains of West
Virginia like locust, a swarm of black helicopters which were
camouflaged against the night sky.  They arrived in the pre-dawn
hours when most of the Program's personnel were off duty and
asleep.  The facility had been strategically designed.  Access
could only be gained through the network of tunnels.  Once the
guards outside had been stripped of their weapons and detained,
the task force began their descent to the underground facility.
Wearing protective equipment, their weapons drawn, they weaved
through the maze of the tunnels.

Scully was dressed in all black, her bright auburn hair
tucked tightly into a cap.  Her gloved hand motioned the team
forward.  They crept down the hall of the barracks, silently
maneuvering past the closed doors of operative's sleeping
quarters.  She paused outside the door where she knew Mulder
slept.  She pointed to the door as Skinner glided up beside her.
The Assistant Director nodded, throwing his hand forward for the
team to proceed.

She carefully turned the knob.  It wasn't locked.  She slid
into the darkened room and noiselessly shut the door.  She moved
towards the opposite side of the room where his cot was, each
step taken with deliberate caution.  She did not want to startle
him.  Her eyes strained through the dim shadows. She leaned
forward to whisper his name.

Suddenly, she was seized from behind.  A heavy hand clamped
over her mouth as she was dragged away from the cot.  She twisted
around in her assailant's grasp, thrusting her gun between them.
She gasped for breath when the hand shifted from her mouth to
her neck.  Despite the threat of his grip, Mulder's touch was too
distinct to go unrecognized.

"Mulder," she choked.  "It's me."

Mulder's hand rose up the side of her face.  His fingers
ripped off her cap and sunk into her hair.

"Scully..."  The feel of his breath was hot and urgent
against her cheek.  His lips sought hers through the darkness.
He tore them open with such force that she went weak at the
knees.  Her hands fell limply at her side.  Before she realized
it, the hold on her gun relaxed.  It clattered to the floor.

A loud siren began to wail through the halls.  Mulder broke
away from her mouth and jerked her away from the door.

"Talk about being caught in the act."

"Skinner is leading a task force.  We're shutting the
Program down.  The threat goes way beyond bombing hospitals."

"I know." He fumbled through the shadows to find his duffel
bag. "How did you find out, Scully?"

"Myers told me."  She lowered herself to the ground,
skimming the floor with her hands.  "Mulder, I dropped my gun."

"How did Myers find out?"

"He..." she stopped and reconsidered her choice of words.
"He inadvertently heard it while...while in compromising
position."

"Are you telling me that Dr. Don Juan had sex with Fowley?"
Mulder asked.

"He said she talks in her sleep," retorted Scully.  "You
figure out the rest."

"I don't have to.  I found the proof we're looking for."
Mulder retrieved the disk from his bag and tucked it into his
jeans.  "I got it, Scully.  The distribution plan for the virus,
disguised as the vaccine."

"And, how did you manage to secure that?"

"Relax, Scully.  The way to the enlightenment doesn't always
lie between a woman's legs." here was a tone of amusement to his
voice.  "Unless, of course, we're talking about yours."

"Mulder...."

"You're not going to shoot me are you?"

"You have to help me find my gun first."

*****

The facility was easily overtaken by the task force.  Too
easily, Mulder remarked, as they stood outside the tunnels while
the personnel were escorted out under armed guard.  All was
secure.  The entire inventory of the vaccine which was suspected
to contain the virus had been located in the shipping bay
awaiting transport.  It was to be taken to the Bureau's labs to
undergo testing to confirm that it had been tainted.

Everything was accounted for, but not everyone.  As dawn
approached, the search for Diana Fowley had come up empty.

"Once again, she's managed to dodge us,"  related Skinner,
handing Fowley's identification badge to Scully.  "I found this
on the desk in her office.  It was already ransacked.  Her
computer was destroyed."

Scully's fingers traced the lettering of the tag.

"A.D. Scott," she mumbled.  "Like you say, sir, the Artful
Dodger."

"I'm beginning to think she was one move ahead of the rest
of us," Mulder mused outloud.

"What do you mean, Agent Mulder?" asked Skinner.

"Doesn't this strike you both as a bit too convenient?" he
asked them.  "It was Scully's access code that enable me to
secure this date.  Why was the code still active?  Why weren't
security measures in place?  Do either one of you believe that
Fowley would be that careless?"

"Maybe she was diverted by a new objective," remarked
Scully, as she folded her arms obstinately.

Mulder frowned at her piqued expression.

"Maybe my accessing the distribution data was her objective
the whole time," he argued.

"The next thing he's going to tell you is that Fowley was
really playing a dual role, both helping and hindering the
Consortium."  scoffed Scully.  "That she was and continues to be
the ideal double agent."

"Sounds good coming from her, doesn't it?" observed Mulder
as he nodded his head towards the woman.

"Works for me," the Assistant Director commented dryly.  He
reached out to take the disc that Mulder offered him.  "This game
is far too complicated to worry about the motives, or double
motives of each player, Scully.  I say we gather our winnings and
go home."

Scully's mouth dropped open as the man turned away.  Mulder
leaned over to her ear and whispered,

"Close your mouth, Scully.  We're still on duty.  Now's not
the time for me to slip you the tongue."

"Shut up, Mulder," she growled.  She stalked towards the
field to where the helicopters were waiting.

"You said it yourself," he called after her.  "True lies,
remember?  That for a lie to be convincing it had to contain
elements of the truth."

Scully suddenly stopped in her steps causing Mulder to
collide against her.

"What is your definition of the truth these days, Mulder?"

"That it begins and ends with you."

"Nice save," she smirked.  His hands skimmed up her arms to
her shoulders.  He turned her towards the East, to where the sky
was a glistening mauve as the sun rose over the mountains.

"Look, Scully.  A new day promising a fresh start.  Rather
then get bogged down with trying to figure out if the bad guys
are really good guys posing as bad guys, I say we take Skinner's
advice."

"The part about gathering up our winnings?"

"The part about going home."

*****

Weeks later, Scully was in the kitchen of her townhouse in
Baltimore.  She had just finished seasoning the basil and lemon
chicken that was to be grilled for dinner and was assembling a
salad.  When her cellular phone rang, she reached across the
counter for it, balancing it between her shoulder and ear so her
hands might continue their work.

"Scully.." she answered crisply.  The days of a simple
"hello" were gone.  Her days of a medical resident and operative
for the CDC were over.  She had been reinstated to the Bureau.
Reassigned with her partner to monitor the Project as it began
again.  With new players, new rules and two federal agents to
monitor each movement.  Or, as Mulder put it, to ensure that the
bad guys, posing as good guys, pretending to be bad guys were
banned from the game altogether.

"Ahoy, mariner's daughter," the voice on the other end of
the phone greeted her.

"Mulder, where are you?" she asked as she drizzled a bottle
of balsamic vinegar over the salad.

"Closer than you think,"  he hinted.

"I hope its closer than that," Scully paused as she crumbled
fresh croutons over the bowl.  "Mulder, you do like croutons,
don't you?"

"You know me, Scully.  My craving is so great that I'll
devour any breadcrumb, especially if it happens to fall from your
hand."

What a wise ass, she thought.

"Hey, what's the wine selection this evening?" Mulder
directed her attention back to safer ground.

"How does White Zinfadel sound?"

"How does a glass shared down by the docks sound?"

"How close are you?" she smiled, rinsing her hands in the
sink.

"About twenty yards due east."  He hinted before he hung up.

Drying her hands, she peered outside the kitchen window.  If
he was on the docks, she couldn't see him.  She slipped on her
sandals and reached for the bottle of wine.

When she reached the end of the dock, Scully circled around
in confusion.  He wasn't there.  Believing she must have
misunderstood, she turned to leave.  It was at that moment that
she heard his voice.

"I think the path to enlightenment actually begins with a
woman's legs."

Her eyes darted down to the harbor.  He was lounging
comfortably in the back of a small sailboat.  He gazed up at her
bare legs, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.  He grinned as
her eyes widened in surprise.

A sailboat.  He had gone and done it.  Only a week ago, he
had suggested that they buy one.  She had discouraged him,
reminding him that their federal salaries couldn't support the
expense of a boat and docking fees.

"Mulder..." she tried to sound stern, but her misgiving was
melting into delight.  The sailboat was stunning.  Perfect.  She
exhaled slowly and kneeled down to take a closer look.

"You like?" He reached up and took the bottle of wine and
glasses from her hands.

"I like..." She studied him a moment. "Wait a minute.  I
thought you flew to Atlanta this morning to meet with Myers."

"Actually, he flew up here to meet with me.  We spent the
morning sailboat shopping."

"Myers..." observed Scully, shaking her head.  Assistant
Director Myers.  The Program's new coordinator.  A man of dark,
impenetrable resolve.  Capable of influencing others, including
Mulder, into decisions they would not have ordinarily made.

"I'm almost afraid to ask how much this cost," she remarked,
swinging her legs over the side of the dock.

"Just a suitcase full of money," Mulder's hands circled her
waist as he lifted her down into the boat.

"I thought that was to be our security measure."

"Scully, we are the security."

"Mulder, this is crazy.  It's irresponsible...it's..." She
paused as her hand glided along the mast.  "It's really
beautiful."

Mulder grinned.

"Myers said you'd cave when you saw it."

"That man really is a pirate.  Capable of manipulating... of
sacking people's resolve."

"He did managed to coerce me."

"And, how did he manage to do that, Mulder?"

"With these." responded Mulder as he pulled out a bottle of
pills.  She peered at the label.  Myers had written him a
prescription for Dramamine.

Suddenly, she laughed.  The sound of it was warm and
inviting.  He leaned over to greet her with a kiss.

"Scully..." Mulder lifted his lips from hers.  "There's
still enough sunlight to hoist the sail and explore the harbor
before dinner."

She reached behind her and opened the hatch that led down to
the tiny cabin.  With a gentle tug on his hand and a glimmer of
excitement in her eyes, she lured him to the berth inside.

"I'd rather explore you," she whispered.





Feedback is most graciously accepted.  Please e-mail me at
paigecaldwell@hotmail.com.

From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>
Date: Fri, 04 Feb 2000 21:32:49 EST
Subject: xfc: NEW:  To Bee or Not to Bee  (1 of 3) MSR, S, NC-17
Source: xfc

From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>

Title:              To Bee or Not to Bee
Author:             Paige Caldwell
Feedback:           paigecaldwell@hotmail.com
Classification:     MSR, S
Rating:             NC-17
Spoilers:           Through season five.
Archive:            Please do, just let me know where.
Disclaimer:         These characters do not "bee"long to me.
Summary:            A third installment to the series known as
                    "An Ordinary Life".  Scully and Mulder continue
                    to fight for mankind's survival as the threat
                    of an alien plague takes flight.

Author's Notes:     Please see acknowledgments at the end of
                    story.  For the first two stories, "An Ordinary
                    Life" and "True Lies" you can find them on my
                    webpage, designed by the lovely Galia, at:
                    http://galias.webprovider.com/paige.htm

                    This story is being posted in three parts.

Part One


     Jason Myers, M.D., former trauma surgeon turned Assistant
Director for the CDC, was often referred to as "the Pirate".  He
certainly resembled one in appearance with a swarthy complexion,
dark hair and black eyes that flashed like midnight gold.  Yet,
it was his manner that really earned him this title.  He was a
provocative mixture of cunning and arrogance. Those who weren't
cut down by his rapier wit were generally seduced by his charm.

     Or so he thought....

     Although Myers sailed his division like a well-trimmed
schooner, his superiors had just broadsided his request to issue
a general health alert about the alien virus.  To them, what
remained "not programmed, catalogued or easily referenced" was
the mass hysteria should the truth about Colonization be made
known.  He was instructed to maintain his course and to inoculate
as many people possible without their knowledge.

     He was also reminded that there were privateers still
determined to sink the Program and that his primary focus should
be to keep his ship afloat.  They were referring to his predecessor,  a 
female marauder, whose dark cunning had plundered the Program from within.

     Diana Fowley....

     His fingers now toyed with a vial that she had mysteriously
sent him.  Inside of it was a dead bee and a note which read,

     "To bee or not to bee."

     Punching the button to his intercom, Myers spoke to his
assistant,

     "Get Agent Mulder on the line."

     "Sir, he's on vacation."

     "Tell me something I don't already know," he retorted.

     "Okay," his assistant countered in her thick Bronx accent.
"Agent Mulder left strict instructions that he and Agent Scully
not be disturbed."

     "Did he now?" snapped the Assistant Director.

     "And, he told me to remind you that if their vacation is cut
short, a certain surgeon will have to learn how to operate with a
hook rather than a hand."

     Myers put a hand over the receiver as he shook with laughter.

     Mulder's gall was as appealing as his partner's stoic
reserve.  Together, the two agents were an intoxicating mixture.

     Speaking of which....

     "What time is it, Sheri?" he asked her suddenly.

     "A little past five."

     "Gin and tonic time, wouldn't you say?"

     "Twist of lemon, sir?"

     "Only if you'll play the lemon," he responded wickedly.

*************


     Dana Scully stood at the edge of the dock, unwinding one of
the marina's hoses to wash the salty residue off her sailboat.
The sun was slowly descending behind the row of townhouses, but
the harbor still reflected its light.  From the aquamarine
shallows to the channel's indigo blue, the water sparkled like a smooth, 
brilliant jewel.

     She returned to the dock reluctantly, sad to end the day,
yet eager to begin the night.  Turning on the hose, she began to
plan the evening.  As dusk would darken the eastern horizon, she
would light candles on the patio, set out cheese and crackers and
uncork a bottle of Chardonney.  She would grill swordfish, basted
with tarragon butter... his favorite....

     Mulder....

     The sailboat had been an impetuous gift, but more poignant
than the engagement ring he had wanted to buy her.  She didn't
need a ring to symbolize their commitment.  And marriage?  Well,
at this point an ordinary, married life seemed like a distant
dream.

     So, she settled for a more tangible one.

     A sailboat.  And, her seasick, Dramamine popping partner.

     Dressed in cutoff shorts and a bikini top, Scully's smile of
serenity turned into a mischievous grin as she turned the hose on
Mulder.  Still on board the boat, he startled as the cold water
hit his bare chest. Smirking, he twisted his towel into a rope
and took a swipe at her legs.

     Darting sideways, she shot another stream of water at his
back.

     "Hey," Mulder protested.  "Keep it up, Scully and I'll..."

     "You'll what?" she taunted, twirling the hose nozzle around
in her hand.

     "Let's put it this way," he snickered. "You get me wet... I
make you wet."

     Without hesitation, Scully fired another blast of water.

     This time, it hit his ass.

     She shrieked when he jumped on to the dock to grab her.
Dropping the hose, she sprinted the length of the pier and up the
grassy incline to their townhouse.  Panting with laughter rather
than exertion, she slowed down as she approached the French
doors.

     The best part of this chase was being caught....

     Mulder's hazel eyes flickered with bawdy delight as he
dragged her inside.  Seconds later, she found herself on the
living room floor anchored by the weight of his body, his one
hand pinning both of hers high above her head.  While he stripped
off her bikini top, her chuckles matured into snorts of laughter.

     The idea of him trying to ravish her on a cotton throw rug
was as comical as it was titillating.

     "Is dripping water on my face your idea of making me wet?"
she teased as he leaned over her, shaking his hair like an
indignant dog who had just been bathed.

     Scully didn't mind his silence, for he had found a better use for his 
tongue. The tip of it flicked the nipple of one of her breasts, then the 
other.  Humming a note of approval, she arched her back to accommodate him.  
He pulled away then, grinning with amusement as the cool air from the 
ceiling fan chilled the peaks he had just moistened.

     "Mulder," she gurgled in exasperation.  When he mimicked her
pout, she broke free from his grasp.  Filing her fingers with his
wet hair, she pushed his head back down.

     "Ah...Scully," Mulder choked out.

     "What?"  she asked, pulling him up by his bangs.

     "Am I allowed to breathe here?"

     "Is it necessary?"

     "What's wrong, Scully?  Find yourself in a sticky
situation?"

     "Why don't you check for yourself," she murmured, squirming
beneath him.

     With an ease she was already familiar with, he glided her
shorts and bikini bottom down her tanned legs.  Parting her
thighs, his finger traced circles around her moistness before
sliding into its source.

     "Water, water everywhere...," he joked in a sing-song voice,
"....but, not a drop to spare."

     "I hope that's your way of saying you feel a little
dehydrated," Scully murmured, opening her legs in invitation.

     As Mulder lowered his mouth to hopefully quench his thirst,
she moaned.

     Not in pleasure, but because the phone rang.

     "Did you forget to re-set the answering machine?" Mulder
asked, lifting his head.

     "I thought you were supposed to," Scully answered, rising up
on her elbows to give him an annoyed look.

     By the fifth ring, he swore loudly and reached for the phone
on the coffee table.

     "You're not going to answer it...," she began to protest.

     Mulder pressed a finger to his lips, silencing her. Cupping
the receiver close to his mouth, he spoke in a metallic tone,
"Ahoy there mates.  The boat has sailed.  If you'd like to leave
an SOS, please..."

     Suddenly, Mulder stopped and shifted the phone closer to his
ear.

     "Well... well....," he said sarcastically.  "If it's not the
pirate, himself. Guess you don't prize those nimble fingers of
yours, do you Hook?"

     Scully sighed and reached for her bikini.

     So much for an ordinary life... they couldn't even manage an
ordinary vacation.

**********


     "So, what do you think?"  Myers asked the two agents who sat
across from his desk.

     The Assistant Director had summoned them to the underground
facility, sending the CDC's jet that night to hasten their
arrival.  While Scully had the decorum to change into one of her
business suits, Mulder apparently didn't care how he looked.  He
was dressed in a tacky floral shirt and shorts.  Unshaven,
hair sticking up on end, he looked like a beach bum, rather than
a federal agent.  Myers leaned over his desk, half expecting to
see flip-flops rather than shoes.

     "It's a dead bee," Mulder said unimpressed.  He leaned back
in his chair and thumped his sneakered feet on his supervisor's
desk.  "You interrupted our vacation for this?"

     "And this...." Myers passed Scully a note which she read
quickly, eyebrows lifting as she turned it over and studied the
figures on the back.

     "These are coordinates," she announced, handing the note to
Mulder.  "Have you checked them out, Jason?"

     "Why, when I have a sailor and her beach boy to navigate
them for me?" posed Myers, still scrutinizing the agent's attire.

     "Well," Scully mused, peering at the note again.  "Judging
by the latitude and longitude, the location is within the
northern hemisphere."

     "Somewhere near the legendary Twin Peaks?" Myers reached for
his letter opener and jabbed the rubber soles of Mulder's
Reeboks.

     "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Scully demanded,
her blue eyes crossing from partner to supervisor.

     "That's Jason's degenerate way of saying that the
handwriting is Diana Fowley's," answered Mulder, frowning at him.

     "Fowley?" Scully's voice grew instantly hostile.  "Isn't she
dead by now?"

     Myers suppressed a laugh by coughing into his fist.

     "Apparently not, Dana..." he said, clearing his throat.
"But the bee is.  Will that do?"

     "No," retorted Scully.  "There's no substituting a bee for a
spider."

     "You're not going to make this personal, are you Dana?"
Myers asked, twirling the letter opener between his fingers.

     "I think the real question is whether you are, Assistant
Director," Scully answered stiffly.

     "Ouch," Myers yelped, pretending to be hurt, noting with
amusement how he had accidently stabbed his thumb with the blade.
"Now, look what you made me do..."

     "Serves you right for sticking things where they don't
belong," Scully retaliated, pulling a tissue from her pocket and
handing it to him.

     Mulder was strangely silent, not oblivious to their
banter...just not interested in it.  He appeared to be
contemplating the dead bee, pondering the significance of the
message.

     "Scully, what if the Consortium's plans have changed?"

     "What do you mean, Mulder?"

     "What if bees are not the most efficient means of spreading
the virus?"

     "I think I'm living proof that they are," Scully argued.

     "Then why did Fowley infiltrate the CDC in the first place?"

     "That's rather apparent, isn't it?" she said. "To slow the
distribution of the vaccine.  To bomb the facilities that hosted
the Program.  And, to ultimately replace the vaccine with the
virus, itself."

     "Exactly..." Mulder reached over and placed the vial in her
hand.

     "What are you saying, Mulder?" Scully demanded heatedly.
"That the Consortium may be seeking another alternative to infect
the populace?"

     "To bee... or not to bee...," he intimated.

     "That appears to be the question," Myers interrupted, "And,
I need the answer."

     "It's a trap," Scully insisted.  "The message is designed to
lure us into the spider's web."

     "Then bring me the spider," Myers demanded.

************

     The air of the underground facility was regulated by a
sophisticated biosystem, yet the atmosphere of their quarters
felt stagnant and uncomfortably warm.  Naked, Mulder stretched
out on the bed, keeping a watchful eye on the bathroom door.

     Scully might not be an open book, but he had spent years
studying various passages.  A silent Scully was a pissed-off
Scully in bold print. This latest assignment was re-opening a
chapter he had hoped would remain closed.

     The chapter known as the "Fowley Triangle"....

     Of course, Diana had been as treacherous as the Bermuda
Triangle, but the "mysterious disappearance" had occurred when he
steered past Scully's feelings on the subject.  By not making it
personal, Scully had taken it personally.  She walked out on him,
resigning from the Bureau and dropping off his radar for over a
year.

     Professionally, he had managed to move on.  He returned to
profiling and rehabilitated his failing reputation as an agent.
But, personally he had floundered.  Without Scully's calm steady
hand to guide him, he drifted like an abandoned ghost ship.
Before long, he found himself sinking into a dark, fathomless sea
of depression.

     Never again....

     Scully came out of the bathroom wearing blue scrubs, left-
over attire from her stint as an operative, posing as a medical
resident.  Mulder watched her as she moved around to the other
side of the bed, noting how the drawstring at her waist was tied
tightly into a knot.  Hoping to tease her out of her mood and
substitute pajamas, he joked,

     "Does this mean we're gonna play doctor?"

     Ignoring him, Scully reached for her pillow and plumped it
into shape.

     "You never fluff my pillow...," he whined.

     Lying down, she silently faced the wall.

     Mulder's gaze shifted from the curve of her hips to the
flat, low ceiling above him.  The oppressive environment really
had nothing to do with the circulation of air, just the
unresponsive woman beside him.

     "You have no reason to be jealous, Scully," he said to her
softly.

     "I'm not jealous, Mulder."

     "Then what do you call it?"

     "Bee-leaguered." She stretched out the syllables to
emphasize her point. "I'm sick and tired of watching Fowley tempt
you and Myers with her latest turn of tricks."

     "Are you referring to the message she sent, or the fact that
she's willing to prostitute herself," he retorted.

     "Does it matter?" she contended.  "Both you and Myers are
former customers."

     For a moment, Mulder stared at her back in disbelief.  Trying to
modulate his tone and temper, he said,

     "So are you, Scully. Granted, it had nothing to do with sex,
but Fowley hustled you all the same. You're the one who bought
the goods about being an operative for the CDC, remember?"

     "I remember a lot of things, Mulder,"

     "Do you remember turning your back on me, just as you're
doing now?"

     The mattress squeaked as she rolled over to face him.

     For a moment, they stared at each other.  Her eyes were
bright with tears while his were dark with regret.

     "I was trying to buy hope," she explained in a quivering
voice.

     Mulder shifted his gaze back to the ceiling.

     "And, I once tried to buy love," he confessed. "I never
thought I'd get it any other way."

     When she didn't respond, Mulder closed his eyes, trying to
shut out the pain of what he thought was her silent rejection.
Then he felt the mattress dip beside him and her warm tears drop
onto his skin.

     "But, I love you, Mulder," Scully whispered.

     "And, I'll do anything to buy you that hope," he murmured
back.

     "I'm sorry," she apologized, lowering her face to
his.  She pressed gentle kisses along his brow, twining her
fingers through his hair.  "I don't mean to be so possessive."

     "You can possess me anytime." Mulder tried to hide his own
desperation by adding lightly, "Right now, if you want to."

     "I want to...." Scully's lips found his.

     As she kissed him, Mulder felt the same thrill he
experienced the first time they sailed the harbor by their
townhouse.  At first, there was a tiny flutter in his stomach, a
nervous anticipation which left him dizzy.  Sensing it, Scully
opened her mouth, reviving him with her breath and the silken
texture of her tongue.

     It wasn't long before her scrubs were buried beneath the
rippling white sheets.

     Poised over him, Scully guided him inside of her.  Every
muscle of his body tensed as he felt the tide sweep him out to
sea.  He stared up into her eyes, as blue as the horizon,
watching her tears fade into a distant mist.

     "Only you, Scully," he murmured, his hands skimming the
roundness of her hips.  "Only you make me feel this way."

     Scully glided up and down on him in a slow, leisurely pace.
When she eased him in deeper, he tightened his grip to stop her.
Already he was gasping for breath, his control slipping...

     "It's alright," she leaned over to kiss him again.  As
easily as she would shift the mast of their sailboat, she rolled
them over so she was flat on her back.  At first, he hesitated,
but the pull of her eyes was too great.  He began to sink into
her wet softness, again and again, shuddering as a wave of
pleasure began to engulf him.

     "Give into to it," she whispered before her head fell
against the pillow.  Her cries of rapture, wild and abandoned,
whipped around him like gusts of wind.  Only then did he let go,
his own cries drowned out by the roar of the surf, his sight
blinded by the hot summer sun.

     When he collapsed into her waiting arms, Mulder found
himself both exhausted and exhilarated.

     By giving love, Scully had sold him on wanting an
ordinary life.

     And, now he would do anything to buy her hope.

     Anything....


To "bee" continued...in the next day or so....

From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>

Title:              To Bee or Not to Bee
Author:             Paige Caldwell
Feedback:           paigecaldwell@hotmail.com
Classification:     MSR, S
Rating:             NC-17
Spoilers:           Through season five.
Archive:            Please do, just let me know where.
Disclaimer:         These characters do not "bee"long to me.
Summary:            A third installment to the series known as
                    "An Ordinary Life".  Scully and Mulder continue
                    to fight for mankind's survival as the threat
                    of an alien plague takes flight.

Author's Notes:     Please see acknowledgments at the end of
                    story.  For the first two stories, "An Ordinary
                    Life" and "True Lies" you can find them on my
                    webpage, designed by the lovely Galia, at:
                    http://galias.webprovider.com/paige.htm


Part Two


     The next morning the CDC's jet flew the agents to a small, rural
airport which was within thirty miles of the position Fowley had
sent them.

     While Scully and Mulder set off by car to investigate, the
CDC began its own preparations.  A.D. Myers was not the type to
take any threat lightly.  Viral infestation through bees was the
first stage of Colonization.  Although the attack was rumored to
be years away, he hoped for the best and prepared for the worst.
The airport was closed, the one hanger transformed into a
possible quarantine zone.  A back-up team, consisting of Air
Rescue and a team of doctors were waiting on the landing field.

     "Corn... corn... everywhere...," Scully groaned, "and still
no bee in sight."

     "Are you sure we're at the right coordinates?" Mulder asked,
steering the car with one hand as the other reached over to turn
up the air conditioner.

     "As sure as I am that we've passed that stupid scarecrow
three times now," she answered.  "We've circled this field
enough, Mulder.  The only thing pollinating this crop is the gas
fumes of our car."

     "What about that group of migrant workers up ahead?" Mulder
pointed through the windshield.  "Think they know anything?"

     "If they do, I wouldn't count on them sharing it," said
Scully.  "To them, FBI means Federal Bureau of Immigration, and I
doubt any of them have green cards."

     "Let's try playing overdressed entomologists, who are on a
field trip gathering specimens," suggested Mulder.

     "Okay." Scully grinned, remembering the last entomologist
they encountered.  "I'll be Bambi the Bug Woman and you can
be...."

     "Shit!" Mulder exclaimed, slamming on the brakes.

     "What?" she gasped, bracing herself as the car skidded to a
stop.

     "Do you see that dark cloud ahead?" he asked as his hand
fumbling around the back seat for his pair of binoculars.

     "What dark cloud?" Scully scanned the horizon, shielding her
eyes against the afternoon sun.

     "I looks like a swarm," said Mulder, passing her the
binoculars.

     "Oh my God...." Scully focused them on the group of men in
the field.  "It's really happening."

     "Roll up your window!" His urgent cry made her drop the
binoculars.

     "We've got to warn them, Mulder," Scully insisted.

     "Too late, Scully." He reached past her and hit the button
to close the window.

     Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, Scully punched in
several numbers and barked the coordinates into the receiver.

     "How close is Air Rescue?" Mulder asked, shutting the vents
to the air conditioner.

     "Less than ten miles away." She bit her lip in apprehension.

     Thousands of bees were attacking the migrant workers,
swarming them.  Their bodies were soon blanketed like a dark,
humming pelt.  Panicked, the workers staggered aimlessly around
the field, their sense of direction lost within their stinging
shroud.

     "Jesus, Mulder.  I can just sit here and watch this."

     "Scully...." Mulder's arm shot across her chest, blocking
her from opening the door.  "You can't go out there."

     "I'm immunized against the virus," she cried.

     "You're not immunized against a virulent bee attack," Mulder
yelled back.  "Vaccine or no vaccine, hundreds of stings can be
deadly."

     Swallowing hard, she nodded to her partner and waited.  What
was only a matter of minutes seemed like hours as she watched for
the CDC's rescue team.  As the helicopters buzzed overhead,
dumping fire surfactants to the ground, Mulder turned on the
windshield wipers.  It was like being in a car wash, the foam
soaking their vehicle and obscuring their view.

     "Think they got them?" Mulder asked, shifting his eyes back
and forth to see out the windshield.

     "Dr. Scully...."

     There was a knock on the passenger side window.

     Startling, Scully turned to see a rescue worker, clad in
protective gear and netting.

     "All clear?" she asked through the window.

     "The bees are immobilized," the worker relayed.  "We're
evacuating the victims to the quarantine site.  We could use
another pair of hands, though.  Several men are already
experiencing complications."

     "On my way," Scully said before she turned to Mulder.  "You
coming?"

     Mulder shook his head, contemplating the horizon.

     "Nah...go play doc, Scully.  I think I'm gonna take a look
around."

     "For what?"

     "A pair of Jiffy Corn poppers."

**********

     "I shouldn't have left him," Scully said to herself as she
worked on one of the victims inside the helicopter.

     "What's that, Dr. Scully?"

     "Nothing...," she muttered, returning her attention to the
crisis at hand.  "Careful.  Scrape the stingers off with your
nail.  Don't use tweezers or the contents of the venom sack will
be injected."

     "Not to mention the virus..." added the rescue worker.

     "So we believe," commented Scully, reaching for an syringe
of Epinephrine.  The victim's breathing was becoming shallow.
While it could be a symptom of the virus' paralyzing effects, it
could also be caused by anaphylactic shock.  Not willing to take
any chances, she injected the contents of the syringe.

     "His pressure's still dropping."

     "Let's tube him," she instructed.

     Virus or no virus, the man's airway was closing.

**************


     Five miles up the road, Mulder found what he was looking
for.

     Not twin domes at the edge of the field.... although, Jason
Myers might salaciously debate him on that point.

     Diana Fowley....

     Seated in a dark sedan, she was watching him from the rear
view mirror.  Her eyes scanned his reflection to the image of the
empty seat next to him, smiling when she realized that he was
alone.  Cutting the ignition to her car, she opened the door and
extended a long, graceful leg to the ground.

     "Hello, Fox," she greeted him as he approached, noting with
amusement how his hand remained fixed on his holster.

     "Quite a show, Diana," he remarked sarcastically.  "Don't
bother auditioning your legs.  The director of `A Chorus Line'
might be interested, but I'm not."

     "That's right," Fowley murmured, gliding out of the car.
"Your taste, shall we say, is a little short-sided these days."

     "Actually I just managed to develop some," he returned,
leaning over to glance into her car.  "Traveling without
protection, Diana?"

     "Depends on your definition," she said, smiling as she
reached for her purse.  "I'm packing more than just my gun, if
you're interested."

     "The only thing I'm interested in is what the hell you're up
to," he demanded.  "Those men back there..."

     "A demonstration...," Fowley interrupted, "of the importance
of bees in the colonization process."

     "I've seen it before," Mulder said blandly.

     "You've seen what we've wanted to you to see...." commented
Fowley, holding out her hands in a gesture of surrender.

     "Are you turning yourself in or flaunting your manicure,"
asked Mulder, reaching for his cuffs.


*************


     "She's what?" Scully's voice rose an octave to convey the
range of her disbelief.  She pressed her cell phone to her ear
and moved towards the opening of the airport hanger.

     "Defecting...." was her partner's response.

     "More like defecating, she's so full of shit," Scully
grumbled under her breath.

     "What?" Mulder's voice was garbled with static.  "Scully?"

     "I'm here," she paused, struggling with her tone and her
level of irritation.  "Where are you?"

     "About two miles from the airport.  Call Myers and tell him
that Diana has requested asylum."

     "Asylum..." Scully repeated, gripping the receiver of the
phone.  "Mulder, the only asylum requested will be the one I
commit you and Myers to if you buy into this hoax."

     "What was that, Scully?" His signal was disrupted again. "I
can't hear what you're saying."

     "You never could," she snapped, ending the call with a
furious pound of her thumb.

     Turning around, her eyes scanned the row of migrant workers.

     Each one of them was being prepped for transport....

     In body bags.....

************

     Jason Myers leaned back in his chair, studying his cuticles
as he considered Fowley's words.  When his black eyes spotted a
piece of dead skin, he scraped it off with his nail.

     "If you keep picking at it, you'll be fighting more than
just one infection," the woman advised.

     Myers' lips curled into a sneer.

     "It's good of you to be so concerned, Diana."

     "Don't misinterpret my meaning, Assistant Director,"
cautioned Fowley in a stiff voice.  "Or Dr. Scully's autopsy
reports. What happened to those migrant workers is only an
unfortunate side affect of our experiment."

     "Experiment?" Scully's derisive voice rang out from the
corner of the room.  "Is that what you call the slaughter of
defenseless men?"

     Fowley's rolled her dark eyes in exasperation.

     "Don't you have a bedpan to empty, Dr. Scully?" she shot
over her shoulder.

     "That type of attitude won't help your situation, Diana,"
warned Mulder as he leaned over to unlock her handcuffs.

     "I'd be more concerned with your own," Fowley murmured, her
fingers grazing the agent's forearm.

     While Scully wasn't in a position to witness the woman's
subtle caress, Myers was.  Seated behind his desk, he watched the
rumored triangle take shape.  Already Diana's presence had
distanced the two agents, in location and in attitude.  While
Mulder was trying to mediate, Scully was openly hostile.

     Leveling his gaze on Fowley, he asked,

     "Why should we listen to you?"

     "Because I can give you a solution to your current dilemma,"
she intimated.

     "Exactly what dilemma am I in?"

     "A race for a cure," Fowley said.  "Don't forget, Dr. Myers,
I once sat in your chair.  I probably know the CDC's projections
on the efficacy of the Program better than you do."

     "Maybe you should clarify those numbers, Diana," Mulder
prompted.

     "Gladly." Fowley crossed her legs, allowing the hem of her
skirt to rise up her thigh.  "Only one out of a hundred civilians
has been successfully inoculated against the alien virus."

     "Sounds futile, doesn't it," remarked Myers.

     "Only to the Colonists," stated the woman.  "which is
exactly what the Consortium wants them to think."

     "Why?" The Assistant Director shifted around in his chair
and gave her his full attention.

     "Because the Consortium needs time to further their own
agenda," hinted Fowley.  "Don't forget who developed the vaccine
in the first place."

     "For their exclusive use and control," Scully interjected
scornfully.

     "It was their ultimate goal to distribute the vaccine to the
general public," the woman related.  "That is, until you, Dr.
Scully, disrupted their plans."

     There was an uncomfortable silence, which Mulder tried to
fill with his own explanation.

     "When I injected the vaccine into Scully, it spread through
the biosystems of the Colonists' alien craft."

     "Alerting them to its existence," Fowley continued.  "Which,
of course, threatened the Consortium's already fragile alliance."

     "As well as your own coalition," Myers pointed out.

     "Yes," Fowley admitted.  "Several members of the Consortium
insisted that we end our cooperation with the Colonists."

     "Including the scientists who developed the vaccine?" asked
Scully.

     "Rather than mutiny, the scientists decided to jump ship.
And, I was instructed to swim along with them."

     "Only so you could climb aboard the CDC and sink the same
program you helped develop," sneered Scully.

     The agent crossed the room to stand by Myers' desk.  Her
blue eyes chilled to an icy stare.

     "You never intended the Program to succeed," Scully accused.
You were the one responsible for the hospital bombings."

     "It was a necessary diversion," claimed Fowley, refused to
meet her gaze.  "The Colonists were suspicious and insisted that
the Consortium either stop the Program or utilize it to further
their own plans."

     "By replacing the vaccine with the virus, itself," prompted
Mulder.  "Which is why Diana summoned the three of us to uncover
the conspiracy, but without exposing herself as the conspirator."

     "The distribution data...." Myers nodded, remembering, as
his gaze skimmed the woman's long legs.  "You left Mulder the
codes to access the data and...."

     Noting the direction of his eyes, Fowley leaned forward to
murmur,

     "Yes, Jason.  And, by the way, I don't talk in my sleep."

     Clearing her throat, Scully lifted the autopsy reports from
Myers' desk.  In a crisp, no-nonsense voice, she said,

     "Since you've found various ways to articulate yourself,
perhaps you can expound on this.  The migrant workers were not
infected with the virus, yet all died within minutes."

     "Go back to your microscope, Dr. Scully.  Instead of
squinting through biased eyes, try opening them for a change."

     "They were injected with the vaccine, weren't they?" Mulder
asked.  "Or should I say overdosed with it..."

     "What?" Scully gasped.

     "The bees were never meant to spread the virus," announced
Fowley.  "Only the vaccine."

     "I don't believe it," denounced Scully.

     "You don't want to believe," Fowley stated in a
condescending tone.  "Especially if the truth exonerates me in
your partner's eyes."

     "Don't bother looking for absolution," Scully said in a
frigid voice.  "Instead, take a good look at your hands.  They're
covered in blood... the blood of thousands of innocent hospital
workers who deserved a better fate than to be the Consortium's
latest smoke screen."

     "Spare me your idealism," snapped Fowley, her composure
beginning to crack. "This is war, where survival depends on
strategy, not scruples."

     Rising from her chair, she slammed her fists onto the
Assistant Director's desk.

     "I'm here for one reason only," she declared. "To offer you
proof that the bees are to be used to spread the vaccine, not the
virus."

     "Get your hands off my desk," Myers told her curtly. "Don't
forget, Diana, one of your bombs leveled my hospital.  The blood
of my staff still seeps from beneath your nails."

     Fowley withdrew her hands, pulling herself upright to
recover her edged dignity.

     "Let this seep into your brain, Assistant Director," she
said. "If you take the Program to the next level by issuing a
general health alert, you will compromise all our plans."

     The woman then turned to Mulder and appealed to him softly,

     "Fox, we need more time.  The last phase of our test trials
are almost complete.  If you buy us that time, we'll be able to
disseminate the vaccine on a massive scale, using the bees to
spread it.  You'll buy us all hope."

     "Hope...." Mulder nodded, leaning over his chair to glance
at Scully.

     But, his partner didn't hear his words.  She had already
left the room.

     "Excuse me," he said, bolting up from his chair.


Continued in Part Three

From: "Paige Caldwell" <paigecaldwell@hotmail.com>

Title:              To Bee or Not to Bee
Author:             Paige Caldwell
Feedback:           paigecaldwell@hotmail.com
Classification:     MSR, S
Rating:             NC-17
Spoilers:           Through season five.
Archive:            Please do, just let me know where.
Disclaimer:         These characters do not "bee"long to me.
Summary:            A third installment to the series known as
                    "An Ordinary Life".  Scully and Mulder continue
                    to fight for mankind's survival as the threat
                    of an alien plague takes flight.

Author's Notes:     Please see acknowledgments at the end of
                    story.  For the first two stories, "An Ordinary
                    Life" and "True Lies" you can find them on my
                    webpage, designed by the lovely Galia, at:
                    http://galias.webprovider.com/paige.htm


Part Three


     Inside the facility's lab, Scully peered through her
microscope, the pupils of her blue eyes retracting under the
intense light.  She was running lab tests, viewing blood samples
to locate the vaccine's antigens.

     It was late.  Both staff and technicians had retired to
their quarters, but Scully was not alone.  A few feet away was
her partner, tapping his fingers against the counter.  Like
Myers, he was impatiently waiting for the results.

     Or, as Scully put it, the means by which he could post bail
for the hooker in order for her to street walk the CDC's
facility.

     "That's not funny," Mulder remarked.

     "It's not intended to be," she scoffed. "It's pathetic.  If
it meant selling her credibility, Fowley would drop her drawers
for Old Smokey, himself."

     "Scully...." There was a warning to Mulder's voice.

     Ignoring him, she lifted her eyes from the microscope.

     "Come to think of it, she probably has," she mused out loud.
"That is slept with the enemy, or ally, depending on which side
of the bed she's spreading her legs on."

     "Is this your perverse way of telling me that you've
isolated the vaccine's antigens?" Mulder asked sharply.

     Her eyes met his hesitantly.  Sighing, she slowly nodded.

     "The cell counts are flooded with them."

     "Why didn't you do this earlier?" he charged her angrily,
"You're a pathologist, for Christ's sake.  Who else is going to
run lab tests... the janitor?"

     "Mulder...." Scully swallowed hard, a lump of hurt clogging
her voice.  "I spent hours conducting and supervising the
autopsies on these men.  Each one of them died from anaphylactic
shock, which on the surface is consistent with an allergic
reaction to bee stings."

     "What's beneath the surface?"

     "The less obvious cause is an overdose of the vaccine," she
relayed, "which is also consistent with anaphylactic shock."

     "No, Scully," he said, his eyes narrowing in on hers.
"What's beneath the surface of your scientific approach these
days, other than antagonism?"

     "That's not fair, Mulder," she protested.

     "You want fair?" Mulder yelled.  "Then try playing fair.  If
not with Fowley, then at least with me."

     "Alright," Scully retorted as she jumped up from her lab
chair. "Come here, Mulder.  I want you to see something."

     The body of one of the migrant workers was still in the
autopsy bay.  Scully turned on the overhead lights and snapped on
a fresh pair of latex gloves.  Without a word, she tore the sheet
back, exposing Mulder to the swollen, ulcerated corpse.

     "Shit..." He held his breath and turned away.

     "Is this the answer to the CDC's dilemma?" Scully challenged
him. "To utilize bees to inoculate the public?  This man was
stung hundreds of times.  Do you know why that is?"

     Mulder shook his head as he moved back from the autopsy
table.

     "It's because bees swarm when they attack, Mulder.  They
emit a pheromone called iso-pentyl acetate, an airborne beacon to
signal other bees to pile on their target."

     "What you're saying is that bees can't be controlled," he
murmured.

     "No, they can't," confirmed Scully.  "Which is fine for the
Colonists who only want to spread death.  But, no legitimate
doctor or scientist would attempt such extreme measures.  Not if
they want to save lives."

     Mulder rubbed his chin thoughtfully as she drew the sheet
back over the migrant worker's body.

     "Maybe that's what this is all about, Scully."

     "What?"

     "To bee or not to bee," he replayed Fowley's message. "Maybe
we're just not asking the right question."

**************

     "I'm getting tired of all these questions," Fowley groaned
as she rubbed the back of her neck.  "Can't you think of a better
way to interrogate me?"

     Myers had been pacing his office, barking questions at her
like a high-strung dog.  But, now he stopped behind her chair,
sniffing more than just the jasmine scent of her hair.  Slowly,
he lifted her long, dark tresses and slid his hands around her
neck.

     "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Diana," he asked in a low,
tantalizing voice.

     He felt her stiffen when his fingers circled her throat.

     "That's not what I had in mind," she said in a controlled
voice.

     Myers relaxed his grip and began to massage her shoulders
with the palms of his hands.

     "Relax, Diana.  Remember, I've sworn an oath to preserve
life, not take it."

     "And, I've been in this game of life and death so long that
I've forgotten what it's like to relax," she sighed.

     "Is that why you're really here?" he asked, his fingers
sliding down the front of her blouse to skim her breasts.  "Do
you need me to remind you?"

     "Would you think less of me if that was partly true?"
Fowley inhaled deeply, arching her back to meet his touch.

     "It would depend on which part thought it."

     He abruptly removed his hands.

     "But, I'm always thinking, Jason," she murmured, turning
around to smile at the noticeable bulge in his pants.  "And, I'm
very good at using my head."

     Myers snickered then, lowering the zipper to his fly,

     "How good are you at giving it?" he asked.



****************

     "You want me to do what?" Scully cried.

     It was the next morning.  Scully stood before Jason Myers'
desk, staring at him in disbelief.

     "I want you to travel to all of our Program facilities and
shut them down," Myers instructed her.  "We're recalling our
operatives and stopping the distribution of the vaccine."

     "Have you lost your head, Jason?"

     "Depends on your definition," he answered, sniggering to
himself.

     She couldn't have heard him correctly.  She was tired,
having slept restlessly the night before.  Debating with Mulder
had been like turning mental somersaults.  By the time she joined
him in bed, she was in no mood for further gymnastics.  When he
tried to coax her onto his balance beam, she ignored him and
turned away.

     Only when she woke up did she realize that her "back-flip"
had landed her flat on her ass.

     Mulder was gone.

     "Where's Mulder?" she asked, suddenly suspicion.

     "You know what they say," Myers said, swinging his chair
around so he could turn on his computer. "The early bird always
catches the worm."

     "Define bird," she demanded.

     "Your partner."

     "And, the worm?" Scully asked, hoping he meant Fowley.

     "The first flight out this morning," he responded, typing in
several codes on the keyboard.

     "God damn it, Jason," Scully exploded, her fists pummeling
the top of his desk.  "What are the two of you up to?"

     Myers reached across his desk to clasp her hand.  His touch
was firm, but affectionate.  It was a gesture to remind her that
he wasn't only her supervisor, but her friend.  Black eyes
focused on the data that filtered across his computer screen, he
said,

     "That's for me to know, and the Consortium to find out."

     "I don't understand," she replied, leaning forward to peek
at the data he was scrutinizing.

     "Good," Myers laughed, turning the monitor off.  Lifting her
hand to his lips, he gave it a quick kiss.  "Just remember, Dana,
you're the only one who has never had to sell her credibility."

     "Why won't you tell me?"

     "Because I need that credibility right now."

     When the office door opened, Myers dropped her hand
abruptly.  Scully turned around and saw Fowley enter the room.

     "Good morning," the woman smiled triumphantly at her.

     "Out on bail, I see,"  Scully assessed her cynically.
Turning to the Assistant Director, she tried to reason with him.
"Jason, I think..."

     "Don't think," Myers cut her off sharply.  "Just do... I
want you on the next plane out of here, Scully.  Do your job and
let us do ours."

     As Scully spun on her heel, she came with inches of Fowley's
face.  Glaring directly into the woman's eyes, she said in an
acidic voice,

     "It's not over..."

     "Was it ever?" Fowley said knowingly.

************


     Three weeks later, Scully returned to her townhouse on
Baltimore Harbor.  It was another rainy, blustery day.  By the
time she dragged her suitcase up the brick path that led to her
front door, she was soaked.  Auburn hair plastered to her face,
she blindly maneuvered the key into the lock.  When it wouldn't
open, she twisted the knob impatiently.

     As the cold rain pelted against her back, she realized that
she was trying to unlock the door with her car key.

     "I really hate this fucking job," Scully muttered.  The keys
slipped from her wet fingers and landed in the puddle by her
feet.

     "And, my life," she added, running her hose as she crouched
down to retrieve them.

     By the time she opened the door, her leather pumps were
filled with water.  Sloshing across the hardwood floor, she
dumped her suitcase by the stairs.  Surveying the living room,
she sighed.  Rather than being welcomed by the warm comfort of a
sun lit room, she felt as if she entered a crypt.  The air was
dank and chilly.  She shivered, rubbing her arms as she peered
out the  French doors to the harbor.

     What she saw only submerged her deeper into despair.

     Bitter east winds assaulted the boats moored along the dock,
including her precious sailboat.  If the gale didn't shift soon
she would have to drag out her bilge pump to drain the boat's
small cabin.  Days of steady rain had wreaked havoc along the
shoreline.  The deck of her townhouse was flooded, from the terra
cotta planters to the seafoam green cushions of her patio set.

     Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry.

     Scattered geranium petals and the promise of mildew.

     Not to mention her sunken hopes that she might find Mulder
home, waiting to greet her.

     The last few weeks had been hard ones.  While her
instructions had been clear, the meaning behind them were still
ambiguous.  She'd obediently traveled to every facility that
hosted the Program.  Maintaining her stoic composure, she
diverted the questions of the CDC's operatives and recalled the
vaccine.

     Yet, beneath the surface, she was drowning in a turbulent
sea of speculation.  She was not permitted contact with Mulder,
only Myers, who called her each night to check on her progress.
And, although she knew that there was a method behind Myers'
madness, she also worried that he'd been bewitched by Fowley's
dark, seductive appeal.

     Whether it was an attraction to power or flesh, she feared
that her supervisor had proven to be a return customer.

     And, Mulder?

     "Oh God," she sobbed out loud, "Let there be some prices
that he's not willing to pay."

     "You can't attach a price to love, Scully.  You taught me
that..."

     She slowly lifted her face from her hands.  Turning around,
she saw Mulder at the foot of the stairs.

     "You're here...." she said, catching her breath.

     "But, I did manage to buy you hope," he responded, reaching
out to her cautiously.

     "Don't talk to me about buying hope," she cried, slapping
his hands away.  "Don't you understand?  You're my hope, Mulder.
Hope begins and ends with you."

     Without a word, Mulder tugged her into his arms.  He held
her tightly as she sobbed out weeks of frustration and fear. She
gripped the front of his flannel shirt, pulling and pushing,
still undecided if she should fight or surrender to her
incredible need for him.

     So he decided for her...

     Lifting her wet, flushed face to his, Mulder kissed her.

     And everything changed in one heart-stopping moment.

     "You're home," she whispered as his lips drew away from
hers.

     "And, you're soaked," he murmured, gently disentangling her
arms which she had clasped around his neck.  "We better get you
out of these clothes before you catch a cold."

     "I'm fine...," she sniffed, wiping her cheeks with the back
of her hand.

     "Well, the floor's not," he teased, lifting her up into his
arms.  "And, I'm not going to spend our vacation stripping and
re-varnishing it."

     "Vacation?"

     "I'll explain later," Mulder said as he carried her up the
steps.  "Right now, let's just celebrate being home."

     Although she had many questions, she decided they'd wait
until later.

     Mulder had sold her on the moment.

************


     After they had made love, the two partners snuggled
comfortably in each other's arms.  For a while, they were silent,
content to listen to the rain tap against the shingles of the
roof.

     Once Mulder felt her body relax against his, he told her
where he'd been the last several weeks.

     "I was distributing the same vaccine you were recalling," he
said as he stroked her damp hair.

     "What?" she gasped.

     "But, this time the vaccine has been disguised as a
inoculation against bee stings."

     "What?" she repeated, this time squeaking.

     "Ever hear of Africanized Bees, Scully?" Mulder asked. "An
existing threat which has been slowly migrating north these past
several years?"

     "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

     "The FDA approved mass distribution over two weeks ago," he
advised.  "By now every health care facility in the country has
the vaccine."

     "Oh my God," Scully bolted up in bed.  The down comforter
slipped beneath her waist, exposing her bare breasts.  "It was
all a hoax?"

     For a minute, Mulder stared at her nipples.  Their rosy
peaks were taut, chilled by the temperature of the bedroom. He
reached for his flannel shirt, which had been discarded on the
floor, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

     "You're the only one who has never had to sell her
credibility," he murmured.

     Scully blinked at him uncertainly, the fog lifting from her
brain.  She had heard the same words before, from Myers.  Now,
she realized where the words had originated.

     "Mulder..." her voice cracked as tears gathered in her eyes.

     "The Consortium was up to their old tricks, again." Mulder
conveyed as he gently buttoned the shirt. "They never intended to
use the bees to save lives.  Like you said, no legitimate doctor
or scientist would consider using bees to spread the vaccine."

     "Why should they bother to trick us in the first place?"

     "Because Myers is a pirate, capable of plundering the
government's resolve.  He was getting close, Scully.
Authorization to issue a health alert about the virus was within
his grasp."

     "And the Consortium need more time," Scully mused.  "She
said it herself...."

     "Oh yeah, she was selling, alright," Mulder said
contemptuously.  "But, Myers knew that she was lying.  As he put
it, a whore is always a whore."

     "What about you, Mulder," asked Scully, her eyes meeting
his.  "Did you believe her?"

     "I wanted to believe," he responded, turning away, his face
shadowed with guilt.  "But, only because I wanted to exonerate my
own crime of ever trusting her in the first place."

     "Where is she now?"

     "Myers let her go," he said, shrugging indifferently.  "He
said it was the only way she could report to back her pimp that
she'd sold her goods."

     "Think the Consortium bought it?"

     "That's where you came in," Mulder returned his gaze.  His
eyes were contrite, his voice apologetic.  "Recalling the vaccine
was proof that we were willing to cooperate."

     "You could have told me, Mulder."  Scully wiped her tears
with the sleeve of his shirt.  "I would have played along."

     "No you wouldn't," he said gently.  "When it comes to
Fowley, you're incapable of hiding your true feelings."

     "Which got us into this mess in the first place," she
sighed.  "Well, I'll be curious to see how this all turns out."

     "It's already happening," Mulder assured her.  "By the time
the Consortium realizes that Myers has double-crossed them,
hundreds of thousands of people will be inoculated against the
alien virus."

     "Only Myers," remarked Scully, the corners of her mouth
lifted into a wry grin.  "He's so good at playing a pirate that
he makes walking the plank seem like a pleasure cruise."

     "Speaking of which," Mulder paused to reach over to the
nightstand.  He retrieved an envelope which he handed to Scully.
"How does Jamaica sound to you, right now."

     Her blue eyes lit up instantly when she saw that it
contained two tickets.

     "A Windjammer cruise?" she gasped.

     "Courtesy of Captain Hook, himself."


******************


     Jason Myers was reviewing the statistics of the new
vaccination program when his intercom buzzed.

     "What can I do for you, Sheri?" he asked in a honeyed voice.

     "Do I have the right extension?" the woman gasped.  "Could
this possibly be the Assistant Director's office?"

     "You're such a saucy wench," he chuckled.  "Remind me to
give you a raise later tonight."

     "My desk or yours," she snickered.  "By the way, another
package has just been delivered to mine."

     "Send it back!" he barked.  "This time, with postage due."

     "It's from Agent Mulder, sir."

     "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Myers lightened
his tone. "Bring it aboard, Sheri, and yourself along with it."

     When his assistant entered his office, Myers allowed himself
the pleasure of examining her shapely legs.

     "You really are a sea wolf, aren't you," the woman said,
noticing his leer.  She deposited the package on his desk and
folded her arms in annoyance.  "I've heard the rumors, Jason."

     "What rumors?" Myers used his letter opener to sliced open
the tape on the package.

     "About a certain brunette who used to sit behind your desk,"
his assistant responded.  "I heard she had you quite captivated."

     "The only woman who captures my attention is you," he
related as he opened the package.  "Haven't you heard?  Gentlemen
prefer blondes."

     The woman smoothed back her bleached hair as she tried to
suppress a smile.

     He was hardly a gentleman, but that's what she liked about
him.

     "Besides," he teased.  "why would I want someone who once
sat behind my desk, when I already have someone who's willing to
kneel beneath it?"

     Bristling with indignation, the woman said,

     "You're such a black-hearted..."

     "Rum!" Myers exclaimed, lifting a bottle of Jamaican Rum
from the wrappings.  "Quick, get some glasses."

     "Wouldn't you rather just swig from the bottle?" she
retaliated.

     Pulling her into his lap, Myers kissed her.  His lips coaxed
hers open only to ravage her senseless with his tongue.  When she
sighed, nestling her blond head against his shoulder, Myers
raised the bottle of Rum and uncorked it with his teeth.

     Who needed an ordinary life?

     For him, a pirate's life would do.


The End.

Many thanks to my "bee-mused, bee-guiled and bee-wildered" betas, Linda, 
dlynn and (last, but never least) Exley_61.  And to Kimberly for her 
constant encouragement for me to continue this series.