Title: NEW: Swept Away, (1/4) by Rachel Howard - rated R Author: snowrider5@aol.com (Snowrider5) Date: 3 Aug 1997 17:58:35 GMT~ NEW: SWEPT AWAY, (1/4) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com) R for graphic imagery, language and sexual innuendo Classification - X Spoilers - Vague third season Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST. Summary - A Colorado woman bleeds to death under bizarre circumstances. Was she murdered to keep a new piece of military technology from being built? All rights reserved. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Langly, Frohike, the Thinker and Walter Skinner are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions and are used without permission; no copyright infringement is intended. All other characters are the property of the author - please do not use without permission. Author's permission given for electronic duplication only. All feedback/comments welcome - email to snowrider5@aol.com. Note from the author: I monkeyed considerably with medical and technological facts - all in the name of art. In addition, for all I know, the Union Pacific line only carried freight in the '30's. So sue me. ---------------------------------------------------- SWEPT AWAY August 10 10:43 AM Lakewood, Colorado The summer sun blazed outside, but the air-conditioned office was cold enough that the woman walking into the busy meeting room shivered, and the tall, handsome man at her side bent toward her briefly, solicitously. She looked up at him with a warm smile, shaking her head in the negative, and they walked into the room together. Luis Rodriguez shivered a little himself, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the building and everything to do with the tubes coming out of the arms of several of his colleagues at Lindall Reska. Donating blood at the company's biannual blood drive was not a chore that he minded greatly; he had never been squeamish and it didn't hurt much. It was just kind of...ghoulish. He wondered if the technicians scurrying around the room ever thought of themselves as latter-day vampires. He felt rather than saw a shudder pass through Christy's body again and he asked again. "Sure you're okay?" "Yes. It's a little creepy, that's all." He nodded, not even wondering at the way her words echoed his own thoughts. In the seven months or so that they had worked together, she had done it so often it seemed natural to him. "It really doesn't hurt at all. Let's get our paperwork done." He sat down and began filling out the interminable forms. Had he ever suffered from jaundice or hepatitis or AIDS or this or that. Had he ever been to Africa. Had he ever bought or sold sex or had sex with someone who did, yadda, yadda, yadda. He zoomed down the form, circling no's, had his finger pricked for the test, then settled into a lounge chair and waited for the tech to come his way with an IV. Christy was finishing up at the finger-pricking station, and he watched as she stood, shaking the wounded digit, and headed for the reclining chair next to his. As she settled in, the tech came, found a vein, swabbed his arm and slid the needle home. "Sorry I talked you into this, Chris?" "Not yet. But if I faint, you're going to hear about it." The technician moved in, set her up with a needle and a tube. Luis watched the red line slowly course down the tube and out of sight, toward the pint bag attached to the collection unit on the floor. Looking at the needle in his arm, he smiled wryly. In the barrio where he'd grown up, needle marks meant something else. Usually, that you were busy sacrificing yourself on the altar of dark gods who were not known by these clean, tidily dressed people who he now worked with. These people worshipped different gods. Here, his needle mark would be covered with a sterile pad. He would be given a sticker that told the world cheerily that he had donated today. He might even get a friendly pat on the back from a someone. What a different needle this was. Christy's eyes were shut, but she looked okay. Well, not really, he thought. She never looked okay. Her skin was naturally pallid - the mild sunburn she'd gotten earlier this year had looked raw instead of healthy next to the chalky skin that showed around the edges of her loose dresses. It was really a shame, he thought. She was phenomenally intelligent, had a decent sense of humor. He knew right away when they were assigned to work together on their piece of the OS that they'd been partnered because they both stuck out - the chick programmer and the spic programmer. He smiled humorlessly. But he'd ended up enjoying working with her. She knew her stuff and then some, and she was pretty good company. Too bad she wasn't prettier. She had opened her eyes and was staring at the ceiling. He looked at the acne-scarred skin that was too pale, the too thin, shapeless body, nearly colorless ash-blonde hair. Ugly, he amended. It wasn't a lack of prettiness - she was just plain ugly and it was a shame because she was a nice enough person, but what man was going to go for that package? Later he couldn't remember which had happened first - had she cried out first or had her outburst come after the jet of blood spouted up from the floor? Her back arched and an unearthly, guttural sound issued from her throat. Thin jets of blood sprayed out of connection between the tube and the pint bag on the floor like lawn sprinkler. The needle and tube quaked but remained stuck in her vein, and the blood arcing out of the plastic connection sprayed across Christy's contorted figure, soaking Luis's shirt and pattering like a hideous rainshower on the industrial carpeting. A woman across the room began to scream as two white-faced technicians ducked under the steadily thickening gout of blood and bumped into each other on their way to Christy's side, a morbid, blood-streaked Laurel and Hardy act. The Laurel-and-Hardy vision broke Luis from his rigid, shocked immobility. He turned, frantically tugging at his own needle and it came loose almost immediately, his own blood welling up from the tiny hole. Christy was still groaning and he fought a hysterical impulse to tell her to shut up and turned toward her just in time to catch a stream of blood directly in his left eye. He ducked, moaning in horror and cried out her name as one of the technicians doubled over beside him, retching and the second, a young man, cried "Jesus Christ, what the hell" and Luis saw that the bloodspout that had blinded him had come from her arm, from a too-big hole where the needle had come out. She moaned the first intelligible words to come from her mouth since she had begun to bleed, "...Luis...killing me..." and his stomach shrank inside of him. He was still struggling out of the lounge chair and dimly saw people fighting each other trying to get through the doorway, get out of a room that already looked like a scene from The Shining, for God's sake. Their immediate superior, a pleasant middle-aged man with a Suburban and a scrawny wife, stood with his back against the wall, mouth opening and shutting over and over again, like a dying fish. The young male technician was struggling bravely with Christy's arm, trying to secure a sterile pad over the hole still spouting blood from her vein as her body convulsed again, but Luis, stepping in her blood, slipping in it as he reached toward her, knew immediately that it was too late. Her head lolled toward him and the blood sliding from her nose and the corner of her mouth were dark, dark and her eyes stared sightlessly at him. Luis, for whom needles would forevermore call up visions far darker than street drugs, sighed heavily as he fainted. August 12 11:21 AM Their basement office was already unbearably hot and it wasn't even noon yet, Dana Scully reflected. If the powers that be ever decided to fix the ventilation systems down here, it wasn't going to be soon enough if they had already been forced to leave the office due to heat exhaustion. Her partner's phone rang and he reached for it absently, his eyes still locked to his computer screen, knocking over a not-quite-empty can of root beer as he did so. He picked up the receiver, saw the mess and swore under his breath before answering "Mulder. Uh, sorry sir." Scully rolled her eyes and looked around for something to clean up the mess with. Way to begin a conversation with the boss, Mulder. He hung up the phone as she leaned over him with a handful of paper towel, mopping the sticky liquid off of the files it had baptized. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" "Just tell me what he said." He pouted charmingly at her, but she was too hot for teasing and she glared back at him. "The bad news is that Skinner wants to see us in his office right away and he's already pissed at me. The good news is that his a/c works really well." Skinner wasn't all that pissed, judging by his expression when they sat down in his office, Scully thought. He did look preoccupied, but that didn't necessarily bode poorly for them. "The case that you're being assigned was brought to my attention by a former colleague who now works at Defense. The company that the victim worked for, Lindall Reska, is an important supplier." "What do they supply?" "Broadly, defense electronics. Very lucrative." Skinner grimaced slightly. "Only about two-thirds of the cost of a fighter aircraft is the big stuff - engines and airframe. The rest is electronics - radar, night vision, and so on. Lindall Reska makes the systems that fire the guns and missiles, and the systems that go in the missiles themselves. The victim worked in a division that makes embedded operating systems for smart missiles." "Sir, is there any reason to believe this is an X-file? Did your friend at the Department of Defense want us to investigate this case, or did you?" Mulder asked. "Agent Scully's medical expertise was deemed appropriate and necessary for the case." "By you?" "That's information that I'm not going to be able to share with you at this point." Mulder was perking up, Scully noted, either due to the benefits of the a/c or the prospect of a new case. "What do we know about the victim?" "Christine Ditlow, age twenty-seven. She apparently bled to death while giving blood at the company blood drive." "What?" Scully sat up, immediately interested. "Bled to death how?" Skinner crossed his arms across his chest. "That, Agent Scully, is what you and Agent Mulder are going to Colorado to find out. You're leaving this afternoon. " "Colorado," her partner said happily, stretching his long legs. "They have nice weather there." 7:31 PM Denver International Airport "So where are we staying?" Scully asked as they emerged from the sleekly modern airport onto the concrete walkway. Mulder sniffed the air cautiously, momentarily reminding her of a hunting dog. "Feel that, Scully? Next to no humidity. What?" "Where's our cheap motel?" "Scully, I'm wounded. Our accommodations are on the west side of town and may even have a mountain view." "Really," she replied dryly. "I can't wait. Let's go get the car." As they settled into the plush burgundy upholstery of their rental car, he handed her the directions, smirking. "Mulder...The Big Bunny Motel?" "A landmark, Scully. Used to be the Bugs Bunny Motel but the long arm of Warner Bros.' copyright lawyers reached out and voila...Big Bunny." "You pick these places because you secretly hate me." "And everyone at the Bureau thinks *I'm* the paranoid one." It actually wasn't too bad, although the "mountain view" was a fantasy - "parking lot view" was closer. They put their belongings down in their adjoining rooms, ordered a pizza and pulled out the files that they hadn't finished reading on the plane. Finally, Dana tossed down the folder she had been reading with a sigh. "The eyewitness accounts of what happened at the blood drive don't make much sense. The family agreed to the autopsy - hopefully, that will clear up some of these questions. But her blood checked out absolutely fine in the screen that Bonaventure ran just before she donated - hematocrit normal, B positive, nothing weird at all. Mulder, people don't just bleed to death for no reason." He wasn't listening. "Mulder?" "Scully, did you read this?" He waved another manila folder in her direction. "She must have been working on some pretty funky software, if I'm understanding this documentation at all." She crossed over to where he sat on the bed, perched next to him and peered at the sheaf of paper he held. "Looks like the manual for my VCR." "Close. This is a technical description of the beta version of the operating system that Christine Ditlow was working on." She scooted closer to him and bent over the small text, frowning. "Did you lose your glasses or are you getting vain in your old age?" "Broken earpiece." She flipped past a few pages of print and found a drawing, squinting slightly. Mulder leaned back against the headboard and watched her read. Her thick, red-gold hair kept sliding out from where she had tucked it behind her ear, and she was unconsciously reaching to push it back for the third time when he intercepted her and neatly did it himself. "Are you actually enjoying reading that or are you just trying to impress me?" She suppressed a shiver at his light touch. Quit noticing when he does things like that, Dana, it's not good for your sanity. She drew a deep breath. "Mulder, this drawing is a cross-section of a missile. I think this part here, with the triangle," she tapped the page with a manicured fingertip, "is where the guidance system goes." She looked up at him amusedly. "You amaze me. Have you completely forgotten high school? You should always start by looking at the pictures. But *you* always start with the fine print." "That's where they hide the interesting stuff." "Right, except this was written by computer geeks. There is no interesting stuff; ergo, check the pictures first." She tossed the folder down on the bed with the others. "I'm doing the autopsy in the morning at eight. Why don't you drop me off and then go talk to some of her co-workers at Lindall Reska." "No, I'd rather have you with me for those interviews. I'll check in with her mother first." "Why do you need me for the workplace interviews?" "You generally have quite an effect on computer geeks, Scully. These guys are going to be just like Pendrell or the Gunmen. Wear something low-cut, willya?" She whacked him with one of the scattered folders. "Mulder, I don't believe you're suggesting that I dress provocatively to entice witnesses to talk to us." "Who said I wanted you to dress sexy for the *witnesses*?" This time she reached for a pillow to whack him soundly in the face, struggling not to smile. "If you're not ready to go to IHOP by six-thirty tomorrow morning, you're a dead man." "Ooh, Dr. Scully gets rough." She gave up and headed for the connecting door to her room, allowing herself to smile once her back was to him. "'Night, partner." 9:10 AM Denver, CO The house wasn't luxurious, wasn't stylish, but it was comfortable, with overstuffed couches and chairs that looked like they had been lived on, and two small yappy dogs that circled Mulder's ankles, surreptitiously waiting for the right moment to spring on him and fillet him. He gave the dogs a quick glare as he followed Ruthanne Ditlow into the dimly lit living room. The drapes that kept the morning sun from spilling into the room were a dark mauve and dusty, and contrasted nicely with the massive, dusty crucifix mounted on a purple velvet background that dominated one wall of the room. Mulder looked up at the all-too-realistic embodiment of Christ, body contorted in agony, molded crimson drops spilling from carved hands and feet, and tried not to shiver. Ruthanne Ditlow handed him a mug of coffee, and settled into the chair across the coffee table from him. She clutched a handkerchief in one plump hand and her own coffee in the other. "I'm not sure I'd know, to answer your question, Agent Mulder. If she was having trouble at work, I don't think she'd have told me." She looked at him uneasily, as if she was expecting some reproach, but he was silent. "Christy never talked much about work - not to me." "She was developing a new kind of software, wasn't she?" Mrs. Ditlow waved the hand holding the scrap of cloth dismissively. "Christy was always working on software. I don't know anything about what kind. I don't have a computer." She picked up an old New Testament on the coffee table, running her hand over the cover. "I was proud of my daughter, but I don't understand what she was doing with the talent the good Lord gave her, sir," she said, struggling with tears. "She could have done anything she wanted. Such a smart girl." Her composure was cracking, and Mulder touched her hand gently. "If you need a minute, Mrs. Ditlow..." "No." She wiped her eyes. "I always thought Christy spent her time working on machines because they were easier for her to deal with than people were. She always had a talent for math and science. She won an honorable mention in the Westinghouse competition when she was a junior in high school. I had hoped she would become a doctor, but she loved computers - spent more time in high school playing computer games and writing her programs than anything else." He nodded, starting to form an image of the woman who had died. "Do you have a picture of her that I could see?" She got up, crossed to the mantle and picked up a framed picture, handed it to him. The young woman wearing the graduation cap and gown in the photo was smiling nervously at the camera, holding tight to a diploma. High school, he guessed, more from the teenagers in the background than from Christy's face. She wasn't a pretty girl. Hunched protectively around the diploma, self-conscious even in her moment of academic triumph, her lank hair hung across her lean face, partially obscuring bad skin as well as her only discernible beauty, a pair of clear amber eyes that spoke to Mulder, reminded him of his own awful adolescence. Those years were rotten for most people, he guessed, but especially so for a gawky girl who spent a lot of time with her computer. "Was she a good student other than math and science?" he asked, mostly to avoid making any comment on the picture. "Oh, yes, Christy was her class valedictorian in high school and she graduated summa cum laude from college." "Where did she go to college?" "California. Stanford University." Mulder blinked. Summa, from *Stanford*. 'Smart' probably didn't do her justice, then. Genius was probably more like it. "She must have studied hard. Did she have time for friends, boyfriends?" Mrs. Ditlow's lips pursed slightly. "Not really." Mulder read sadness on her face. Christy Ditlow hadn't had much in the way of a social life, he guessed. Not that he was one to judge her on that particular issue. "How about now? Anyone she talked about spending time with?" "She was...fond of a man she worked with. His name is Louis something. I think they were working together on this software project." Her expression gave nothing away, but Mulder heard the slight hesitation. So Christy had had at least one relationship with someone at work who might be able to tell him more about what she had been working on. He needed to get to Lindall Reska and track down Louis something. "Agent Mulder, I know every parent probably says this about their child, but Christy was special. She was so kind, so sensitive to everyone around her. Even when she was a little girl, she always knew without being told when I was tired, or busy, or when my faith was being tested." She touched the Bible again. "Her sisters and her brother were never like that. It was like Christy could hear things no one else could hear, things I hadn't even said." Mulder nodded sympathetically, but his mind was on Lindall Reska. "Do her sisters or her brother live close?" "Lucy's just down in Colorado Springs, but Brian and his wife live in Indianapolis and Mary moved to Chicago a year ago." "Thank you, Mrs. Ditlow." He promised to keep her informed about the investigation, gave the two slavering mutts a parting glare, and left. When he nosed the car into the mid-morning traffic, he headed south on I-25, towards Lakewood. END 1/4 Sorry - I gather part 2 didn't post. Here y'all go... NEW: SWEPT AWAY, (2/4) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com) R for graphic imagery, language and sexual innuendo Classification - X Spoilers - Vague third season Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST. Summary - A Colorado woman bleeds to death under bizarre circumstances. Was she murdered to keep a new piece of military technology from being built? See part 1 for disclaimers. 11:42 AM Jefferson County Coroner's Office His partner was peeling off her gloves when he walked into the cold room on the first floor reserved for autopsies. He absorbed the slight frown and asked, "Find anything?" "Maybe. Not enough, though." "Not enough to explain the cause of death?" She nodded. "Major internal organs look normal, with the exception of the heart - slightly enlarged, but not excessively so. That enlargement could be caused by a number of relatively common conditions or by certain drugs - but there's no sign of any medical condition that would explain the enlargement. I'm still waiting on the toxicology report, though, so that might clear things up a little. "The vein that her blood was drawn from is severely lacerated at the point of contact with the IV. I removed a section of the vein to examine it under a microscope and I found a couple of anomalies. One, the vein almost looks frayed when magnified. I've never seen damage like this before, Mulder." "What could cause the end of a vein to fray?" She shook her head in exasperation. "Extreme pressure could do it, I suppose, but in this case the pressure would have to come from inside the body - a huge buildup of pressure in the vascular system. But the human body can't do that." "Okay. What else?." "Two other things. The brainpan looked normal, but the cerebral vascular system has some severely enlarged vessels - suggesting that, at least at times, she got more blood flow to and from the brain than a normal circulatory system would deliver. I've never seen that abnormality before, either. Now, come take a look under the 'scope." She led him back toward the lab, tugging off her gown as she went. He grinned, remembering what he had been teasing her about last night; she had chosen a tailored, dark gray silk pantsuit today, with a rather severe, collared blouse in a paler shade of gray. She looked great, as usual, but the outfit was hardly sexy. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure she *owned* a lowcut outfit. He bent over to look into the microscope. "What am I looking for here, Scully?" "What you're looking at are some blood cells that I removed from the end of the damaged vein. The first time I looked at them, I thought the magnification was too high. Then I compared the slide to another sample - my own, actually." She waved a pinkie finger plastered with a band-aid in his direction. "Many of Christine's red blood cells are nearly four times the size of mine. Way, way greater variation than you should find in a generally healthy young woman." He frowned down at the microscope for a minute. Scully could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. When he turned back to her, his hazel eyes were narrowed. "So the tox report could show the presence of a drug that could cause her blood cells to swell enough to bust the end of a vein?" She rolled her eyes. "I suppose. I've never heard of a drug that could do anything like this, though." "Yeah, but I'll bet someone at Defense has." He was still looking at her, but she could tell his mind was still working, gnawing at the problem. "I wonder which buddy of Skinner's put us on this case." 2:13 PM Lindall Reska's headquarters Lakewood, CO Luis Rodriguez didn't fit Scully's image of a computer geek. In fact, he was tall, dark and sexy, with a wide mouth and a charmingly pouty lower lip and broad shoulders. He gazed at her unhappily, and she tried to push the comparison to her partner out of her mind. "So what can you tell us about this operating system that you were working on with Christine, Mr. Rodriguez?" "Do you think she was murdered?" He looked miserable and scared all at once. "We don't know yet, Mr. Rodriguez. Her death was unusual enough to warrant an investigation, and that's why we're here." Scully felt him focusing on the death, closing himself off, and she decided to redirect her questions to the equipment for the moment. "I have a copy of this diagram of where your OS would go, but I don't understand..." "Where did you get that?" He leaned forward, his expression changing to astonishment as he saw the sheaf of paper that she had drawn from her briefcase. "That's an integrated report - holy shit, Christy and I didn't even have clearance for one of those!" "Do you know where this guidance system is going to end up?" Mulder asked. "Well, yes. At least, I think so." Rodriguez leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Look, we knew we were working on a piece of an air-to-air missile. That's not a big secret - anyway, it'd be damn near impossible not to let your programmers in on that information. But Douglas Reska Junior - he's our CEO - he has a, a kind of vision about where this technology should be going. And I think that's what we're working on." Mulder lowered his voice, too. "What is it?" "Reska was disappointed - that's probably not a strong enough word, he was furious - with Reagan's interpretation of what the media calls the "Star Wars" defense system. He tried for years, I heard, to convince the Reagan and Bush administrations that the real threat that we should be working to deflect wasn't a Russian attack, but an extraplanetary threat." Scully stole a look at Mulder - predictably, he was completely hooked by now. "What kind of extraplanetary threat?" "Reska feels that the real danger, not just to the US of A but to the whole world, was another massive natural disaster that would change our atmosphere so radically that the survival of the human race would be endangered. Like the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs." "That theory has never been proven," Scully broke in. "It's also never been dismissed, Scully. Most paleontologists consider it the most likely scenario for the wholesale extermination of creatures who, on the face of it, were extremely well adapted to their environment." Mulder said. Rodriguez crossed his arms, leaned back and smiled at her, a challenging grin that made her admire his mouth again. At least he hadn't said anything about aliens attacking. Yet. She shook her head; she was getting distracted by this man who reminded her of that unbelievably sexy guy on N.Y.P.D. Blue and the conversation had taken a weird turn. Why did that only seem to happen in interviews when Mulder took an active role? You need to get this back on track, Dana, she reminded herself silently. "All right, your CEO has some unorthodox ideas about the potential uses for this technology that you're working on. What is it that you think you're actually building here?" Rodriguez grinned at her again, his gaze drifting across her body in a way that made her flush slightly, and this time she was sure he was flirting. Mulder shifted restlessly in his chair next to her. "You think that you and Christine were working on a part of an air-to-air defense system designed to counter non-military threats from space?" Rodriguez's handsome face clouded over again at the mention of his former partner's name. "Yeah. That, or something pretty close to it." He fell silent. Dana waited a moment, and felt her partner silently floundering. Clearly, this man felt some guilt over his partner's death. They needed to get him talking again. Okay, Dana thought. She briefly and silently pondered the irony of what she was about to do, given Mulder's idiotic suggestion from the night before, then ruthlessly forged ahead. She leaned forward slightly, allowed her gaze to wander as Rodriguez's had. "Sounds pretty expensive to develop. Do you ever worry about other companies stealing secrets?" The guy was now blatantly undressing Scully with his eyes, Mulder noted with total disgust. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't tell if she had done anything that could be construed as a come-on. That would be totally unlike Scully. Of course she hadn't done anything - unless she was flirting with this techie, trying to make some kind of point of getting back at him for teasing her last night. Shit. "Our security is pretty tight, Agent Scully. I don't think anything gets out of here that isn't supposed to. Except for that report you've got." He leaned across the table and tapped the document she held, letting his fingers graze her knuckles. Mulder shifted again, beginning to get seriously annoyed. "If I may ask, where did you pick up that report?" She smiled coolly at him, and replied, "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that." Her expression changed subtly and she asked Rodriguez, "You were with Christine at the blood drive?" "Yeah. I talked her into doing it in the first place." He looked genuinely stricken. "I didn't have any idea what was going to happen." Scully nodded sympathetically. "No one would have. Did she have any health problems that you knew of?" "No...or I wouldn't have suggested she donate blood. She had never done it before." "Did you see anyone other than the lab technicians approach her while she was donating?" "No - and she was right next to me, I would have seen anyone else who got close to her." "Did anyone else know that she was planning to donate blood? Would she have discussed that with someone else?" "Well, we all signed up on a big sheet on the bulletin board near the front desk. So I guess anyone who had seen the board would know." In other words, the entire company and anyone else who walked in the front door would have known exactly when Christy would have an IV in her arm, Mulder thought sourly. "Can you try to reconstruct the sequence of events for us? When you saw there was something wrong, what happened?" Rodriguez shuddered, but in a nearly steady voice, he recited what happened that morning - how she began to bleed, the techs scurrying around her, everything up until he passed out, everything except her last words. He knew the question was coming and steeled himself for it. "Did she say anything at all after the IV went haywire?" Rodriguez paled noticeably. "She said my name. Then she said something like 'killing me.' That was it." Scully watched him. What a nightmare - she couldn't imagine how she would feel if she had to watch Mulder die horribly, like that. She knew Luis Rodriguez couldn't have felt the same way about Christy Ditlow that she felt about Mulder, but Except there was something, some suggestion that the comparison between her own partnership and this man's connection to Christy made in her mind, that she would have to examine again later. "You worked very closely together, didn't you?" "Yeah." His face softened. "When we were assigned to the project, I didn't know how good she was. But she turned out to be amazing. She just has, had, an incredible grasp of the system requirements. We were a good team, I think. She always knew where I was going with an idea before I ever said a word...it was like she could hear me without me saying anything, you know?" Scully nodded; she did know. She felt the same way about Mulder, about the whole conversations they held without saying anything aloud. Rodriguez's description resonated strangely to Mulder, reminded him of something he couldn't place. He made a mental note to review this part of the conversation on the tape in the hidden recorder in Scully's briefcase, and asked, "Did she have any other close relationships here that you know of?" Rodriguez shook his head. "Christy was pretty shy. She never hung out in the cafeteria, and she only stayed at the Christmas party for about half an hour, I think." He thought back to party and chuckled. "Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. But she was definitely not what you'd call outgoing." "Did you like her?" The other man's look was direct and candid. "I liked her a lot. I could have done a lot worse for a partner. If someone did this to her on purpose, I hope you send them to the chair." Mulder sat back, satisfied for now. The two agents rose without looking at each other. "We'll be in touch again, Mr. Rodriguez," Mulder said to the tall man who was busy watching Scully's retreating figure. Making an effort, he didn't say anything else as he followed his partner to the door. She stopped suddenly, so abruptly he nearly bumped into her, and turned around to look back at Rodriguez. "Was she in love with you?" "What?" Dana looked at Luis Rodriguez while she waited for his answer, taking in the narrow hips and wide shoulders, the sensual mouth and the dark eyes that, finally, had stopped wandering up and down her body. He looked away first. "Maybe," he said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. She left without comment, leaving Mulder two or three steps behind, making him hurry to catch up with her short stride. He waited until they were outside, in the parking lot, and then asked, "What was that all about?" She slid smoothly into the passenger seat and smoothed her jacket, fastening her seatbelt. "I don't know," she said finally. "I just thought it might be important." "Important how?" "I don't know, Mulder," she said, almost angrily. "Let's get out of here." 7:49 PM Denver They let themselves into the second-floor apartment quietly, stepping around two or three half-filled boxes in the short hallway. Christy had some decorating talent, Dana noted. Although the apartment was in an old building, Christy had filled it with angular modern furniture that contrasted nicely with the honeyed gleam of the wood floors and the high ceilings of the apartment. A soft chocolate colored leather sofa nestled invitingly close to the fireplace in the living room. Mulder headed straight for the blond wood and brushed steel desk at the far end of the living room, near a long window with a view of 17th avenue. That was where she spent most of her time, Scully guessed, judging by the placement of the desk - why waste the view otherwise? She moved down the hallway, past a neat bathroom, and found herself in the doorway of Christy's bedroom. She hesitated for a minute before violating the dead woman's privacy - funny how even after autopsying her body, looking through her bedroom seemed like trespassing. The bedroom set contrasted sharply with the rest of the furnishings in the house. The bedframe itself was wood and iron, a winding scrollwork pattern tracing the outlines of the headboard and footboard. A mass of pillows topped the thick, fluffy comforter, at least a dozen of them, in several shapes and sizes. The effect was intriguing but excessive, reminding Scully of a romance novel. And everything looked *new*. On the bedside table, there was only a lamp with a beaded shade and a box of tissues. Pulling open the drawer, Scully found an envelope and an unopened box of condoms. The envelope held only a few receipts - for the bedding, bed and pillows. That had been a fairly costly - and recent - shopping spree, Scully noted. What had inspired Christy Ditlow to go out and spend well over a thousand dollars decorating her bedroom? "Scully, come look at this." She went back into the living room and found Mulder perusing a stack of papers. He held up a diagram identical to the one they had found in the files Skinner had given them. "Looks like Christy and Rodriguez had the 'integrated report' after all." "What makes you think he has a copy?" "Why wouldn't he? She has one." "Mulder, she may have had a different level of security clearance than he does." "Maybe. And he wouldn't admit something like that unless we put a gun to his head. I think that Christy was in charge of this project and she let him come along for the ride." "They were assigned to work together. Why would she necessarily be his supervisor? Couldn't they have been equals?" "That's not how it works in the real world - you know that. Someone is always in charge." "Is that so?" She looked steadily at him. "Which one of us is in charge, Mulder?" His brow furrowed. "I wasn't talking about us, Scully. I meant in this context, one person usually..." "No, of course you weren't." She pivoted on her heels and walked back towards the bedroom, seething without knowing exactly why. She heard his exasperated sigh from the other end of the apartment, and ignored it. She looked around the bedroom again. No pictures - none. She unconsciously reached out to smooth a wrinkled corner of the bedspread. The books on the shelves on the opposite wall were nearly all technical manuals and textbooks. Tugging open the drawer on the other nightstand, she felt a rush of amusement - here was the romance novel that she had imagined Christy reading, and sure enough, the lurid cover depicted a tall, dark man and an improbably curvy heroine clutching each other on a frilly bed covered with pillows. Her smile faded quickly. It wasn't funny, really, not at all. Was that what this lonely woman had been hoping for? "Scully?" Her partner was standing in the doorway, his expression unfathomable. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room and peered over her shoulder at the jacket of the book. "*Swept Away*?" "Except that she never was." Scully felt an instant of aching sympathy sweep over her, for the woman who had died without ever sharing the new bed with the man for whom it had been intended. "Mulder, I feel like we're missing something obvious." He nodded. "I think we've only scratched the surface. I want to know just how secure Lindall Reska's records really are." She fought off another wave of annoyance. "Why would it matter? The fact that she had the integrated report implies strongly that Christy knew what the eventual purpose of the OS was." "No, it doesn't. And we don't know, either. Rodriguez could have been completely off-base. I want to talk to someone at Lindall Reska and ask them directly what that piece of software was for. And in the meantime..." He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and hit one of the speed-dial buttons. "Lone Gunmen." "Langly, turn off the recorder." A click. "It's off. What's up, Mulder?" "Feel like a fishing expedition?" "What are we trying to catch?" "Mysterious death from unidentified causes - of a computer programmer who might have been working on a system that could save the planet from attacks from outer space." He grinned at Scully, who was rolling her eyes at his melodramatic tone. A low whistle came from the other end of the line. "Mmmn, very nice. Hang on a sec." Mulder heard a few rustles, the sound of voices, and another click. "Is the lovely Dr. Scully there?" "Hi, Frohike. Yeah, she's here." Scully rolled her eyes again. He covered the receiver with one hand and whispered, "Your face could freeze that way, y'know." "What's she wearing?" "Uh-uh, Frohike - she's armed and dangerous and I'm not talking." He could feel exasperation rolling off of his petite partner in waves. "You guys game or not?" "What do you need?" "A simple hacking job. Into Lindall Reska's mainframe. See how far you can get - I'm not looking for anything specific." "Lindall Reska, huh? Home of the guys who speak softly but carry *really* big guns." "Speak softly how?" "The head of the outfit is an interesting guy, for a man who's as heavily invested in the American war machine as anyone in the world could be. Spent most of the '80's donating big bucks to the Republicans and promoting the concept of using military technology to combat natural disasters." "Meteors hitting Earth?" "I'm impressed - you're finally reading the right publications, Mulder. It's not exactly a secret, though - Reska handed over a hell of a lot of money to lobbyists and to fundraisers for the members of the House defense subcommittee that oversees NASA and a couple members of Ways and Means." Mulder absorbed what Frohike had said. Not much of a secret. Who would kill to derail a project that, it seemed, everyone already knew about? "Can you get into their systems?" "If The Thinker can get into the Defense Department - then this ought to be a piece of cake." Mulder hung up a minute later, smiling. "Ever had Rocky Mountain oysters, Scully?" "No - what are they?" Still grinning, he dropped a hand to the small of her back as they headed out of the bedroom. "Local delicacy." She gave the dead woman's bed a final look, then let him guide her out of the quiet apartment. END 2/4 NEW: SWEPT AWAY, (3/4) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com) R for graphic imagery, language and sexual innuendo Classification - X Spoilers - Vague third season Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST. Summary - A Colorado woman bleeds to death under bizarre circumstances. Was she murdered to keep a new piece of military technology from being built? See part 1 for disclaimers. 2:33 AM Big Bunny Motel She rolled over again with a sigh. These nights were the worst - the hour or so of relatively untroubled sleep she'd managed to get would make going to sleep again that much harder. And the noise of the infomercials coming from Mulder's room wasn't helping. She considered checking to see if he was awake. She considered sneaking in and turning off the sound to the TV if he wasn't. She mentally weighed the invasion of his privacy with her need for sleep, and decided it wasn't even close. Slipping out of bed, she padded across the room and turned the knob as gently as she could. Not a sound. Good. Sliding the door open slowly, she winced at the inevitable soft creak and peered around the corner of the door. Incredibly, considering his chronic insomnia, he was asleep with arms thrown wide, his breathing regular, oblivious to the huckster on the tube trying to sell him an amazing all-in-one workout machine. The night air drifting in from the open window was cool, but his exposed chest was bare and the sheet, wound around his legs, ended just above his hips. She averted her eyes quickly, feeling like a voyeur, and looked for the remote. Luckily, it was on the nightstand and not in his hand. She padded over the small table, picked it up and pressed the mute button. She tensed, waiting to see if the sudden silence would wake him, but he didn't move, and she turned back to the door. "Scully?" Damn, damn. "Sorry I woke you up." She deliberately didn't turn until she heard the sheet rustle, hoping he had pulled it up at least a few inches. "S'okay." He hadn't. He blinked at her sleepily like an owl, propping himself up on one elbow, rubbing the other hand through his hair. The blue light of the television pooled over the planes of his chest and abdomen, throwing his muscles into sharp relief. As he became more aware of his surroundings, his gaze sharpened. "TV keeping you up?" "I was up already." "Something wrong?" "No. Not really. I just couldn't sleep." Why hadn't she put on a robe before walking in here? Not smart. "Need company?" Was it a more complex invitation she saw in his eyes, lit only by the flickering light from the television, or was her tired mind fooling her? "I just came in to turn off the sound," she said, lamely. "I'm sorry I woke you." She turned quickly and left the room as quietly as she had come in. He reached for the remote and realized she still had it. Slipping out of bed, he crossed the room in a few long steps and caught up to her just inside of her room. "Scully? Remote?" He thought she was blushing, but in the semidarkness of her room it was hard to tell. "Oh. Sorry." He was standing much, much too close, wearing nothing but boxers. And he hadn't even extended a hand for the remote. Her hair brushed his chest as she reached for his hand, dangling at his side, and wrapped his fingers around the small device. Biting her lip, she turned away without meeting his eyes, crossed to her bed and got in before she could trust herself to look up at him. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, only two steps over the doorway between their rooms. It was only imagination that allowed her to still feel the heat from his body at this distance. Then he left. He thought about the creamy pale skin of her throat and the shadow in the small dip above her collarbone, about the sweet smell of her silky hair as it swept over his skin. If he slept again tonight, it wouldn't be for a while. He sighed and tried to think about basketball. 9:18 AM Jefferson County Coroner's Office The tox report was clean. Completely clean. She grimaced in frustration. There were substances that could have killed Christy and been gone by the time they did the tox screen, but she had hoped for a simple answer from the lab results in her hands. Not this time. Sometimes the compounds that killed a victim were gone as quickly as an hour after death, the chemicals breaking down as the blood sat, no longer stirred and oxygenated by the circulatory system. But there was another sample of Christy's blood. Dana's eyes widened as she considered the possibility. "Anything?" Mulder walked back into the lab, tucking his cellular phone back into a pocket. "Nothing at all. But I had a thought. The enlargement of her red blood cells and the enlarged cerebral vessels suggest that her circulatory system was compromised in some way. Maybe the blood she donated was saved in a way that could tell me more than the post-mortem sample did." "Maybe." She could tell he was still lost in his own thoughts. "Scully, the Thinker got right into Lindall Reska's system. Langly said, and I quote, it was about as complex as ripping off a convenience store." He snorted. "Not too reassuring, considering these guys are building parts of our national defense. And I still think we're not seeing the whole picture. I want to talk to Douglas Reska." "About?" "What Christy was really working on. Why someone would call us in on this case, for God's sake. Why," he slammed his open hand down on the lab table in frustration, "why it's so easy to find out what that OS was for. Why would Skinner give us this supposedly top-secret diagram? The DOD doesn't hand that stuff out like popcorn to anyone who asks for it!" "All right. See when we can get in to see him. I need to try and get the blood Christy donated. I hope they kept it." His first call, to Lindall Reska's main number, got him transferred to an administrative assistant who kept him on hold until he hung up. The second try went better - he got to Reska's secretary after only two transfers. He patiently explained his name and why he was calling, tossing in his badge number for good measure. When she came back on the line after only a minute, he was too surprised at first to answer. "Scully, he said to come right down." "Reska?" She stared at him for a minute. "Do you need backup? Bonaventure, the blood center, they're holding the sample for me." "No, go ahead - take a taxi over to wherever they're storing the blood and call me when you're done. Scully, how many CEO's do you know who immediately make room on their schedule for a total stranger who they KNOW isn't a potential client?" "I don't know any CEO's." He sighed. "Neither do I." Lindall Reska 10:30 AM Mulder settled himself into the dark leather chair and took his first good look at Douglas Reska, Jr. The man immediately reminded him of Charlton Heston. In his impeccable gray suit, white hair swept back over a broad forehead, he could easily have come straight from central casting. The prototypical businessman. Then Reska leaned forward across the expanse of oaken desk and asked him, "Do you worry about your safety, Mr. Mulder?" Blinking at the intensity of the man's words, he answered honestly, "All the time." "You should." Reska regarded him calmly, and the silence stretched out for nearly a minute. "There are great forces at work in the universe, Mr. Mulder. We have so little control over our destiny - the destiny of the human race, of the planet we call home - it's laughable. All our so-called accomplishments - every work of art, every symphony - all of the greatness of humankind is a spark that could be snuffed out at any moment." Mulder suddenly, illogically, felt that Reska had sought this meeting, instead of the reverse. His impression of the man had changed already. "What forces?" he asked, fighting the urge to add 'sir' to his question. "That's the point. We don't have any idea what shape the threat will take. Disease, perhaps. The last great epidemic. Or the last war, one that would make the past few - even the one they called the Great War during its time - seem puny by comparison. But we have resources, if only a few. Even the scourge of AIDS has turned up immunes. And someone," his mouth turned down slightly, "someone always survives a war. But not an attack from the unknown. Space, Mr. Mulder." He got up and began to walk restlessly around the office, touching furniture, desk ornaments, as he moved. "What if something came that we knew not at all, not from research or history? Some great force, unknown to us...until it was too late?" Mulder nodded, not wanting to interrupt the soliloquy with a spoken comment. Like a king, he thought. Lear, maybe. Driven by his obsession. "And that, Mr. Mulder, is why I asked for your help." He turned back suddenly and regarded the agent sitting motionless in the deep chair. "You - you were the one who called Skinner?" Reska frowned slightly. "I called the Secretary of Defense, Mr. Mulder. I asked for a forensic specialist. And for the best investigator the FBI could provide. I don't know who would want to stop this project. But someone who would" - his face darkened alarmingly -"bring the most important work this corporation has ever done to a near-standstill - that someone must be found. Brought to justice." "Was Christy Ditlow that important to the project?" "She was critical to the success of the operating system. She was undoubtedly the best programmer on my staff, the one person who understood all the requirements of an artificial intelligence this complex. This system will have to analyze data swiftly and respond accurately, with appropriate force. Replacing her will take months, if not years." "What about Rodriguez?" Reska narrowed his eyes, and Mulder could see him mentally inventory his personnel. "Luis is a competent programmer, but Christy had pure genius. I believe they were partnered to offer her...support." He had been right - Rodriguez was just there for backup. "You still haven't asked me what we're building, Mr. Mulder." "I think I already know. This system, the missiles this OS is going into, they're for a planetary defense system, isn't it?" Reska smiled. "Yes. That is its most basic function. And building the technology is only a first step - but a very necessary one." "What's the second step?" Reska's smile became world-weary, and Mulder thought of kings again. "Convincing them to use it. To *agree* to use it. Diplomacy could still kill us all." He turned back to the window. "Do you read Latin, Mr. Mulder?" "A little." "*Pax Quaeritur Bello*." He stood, framed by the sunlight slipping though the blinds. "Please let my office know if there is any way we can aid your investigation." Interpreting the dismissal correctly, Mulder stood too, his eidetic memory supplying the answer as he reached to shake Reska's hand. "Let Peace be sought through War?" The grip that closed around his hand tightened uncomfortably, and Reska's eyes met his. For a moment, Mulder saw through the controlled facade, beyond the decades-old obsession to the man underneath. Then Reska released his hand and the window was gone. Mulder mumbled his good-bye, left without saying anything else. 12:10 PM "I believed him, Scully." He finished his synopsis of the meeting with Reska. He shook his head. "Not until the very end, but by then, I did. That's why he made time for me so quickly - he's the reason we're here in the first place. This defense system means everything to him. I called the Gunmen again while I was on my way to get you. Reska's worth somewhere in the vicinity of twenty-seven million. Over the past fifteen years, he's donated at least six million of his personal funds to various political campaigns. We don't know how much he's spent on lobbyists." He sighed. Scully knew why he was frustrated. He was looking for the difficult answers and only finding easy ones. Given the game and the players, easy answers almost had to be the wrong ones. He looked down at the small cooler that swung from her hand. "Did you bring me lunch, Scully?" he deadpanned. She wrinkled her nose at him. "Only if you're a vampire. I want to get back to the lab and look at this sample. We can pick up some sandwiches on the way." 1:40 PM Jefferson County Coroner's Office For the second time in as many days, she stared down at the sample under the microscope and couldn't believe her eyes. If she hadn't known that it was human blood, she would never have believed it from what she was seeing. The white blood cells were grossly enlarged, more than the red cells had been in the post-mortem sample. And there were far, far too many of them. It was as if the woman's immune system had gone wild. Where the hell were they in the second sample? She pulled back and rubbed her eyes. Her partner stirred restlessly at the other end of the lab. She hated it when he hung around while she did tests. Whether or not he meant to irritate her, he did - after four years of working with her, Mulder knew lab work was sometimes slow going but always seemed to think his hovering would help her speed up. Although she was used to his presence, she preferred doing this kind of work alone. He ambled up to her, and she could feel his eagerness. "Anything?" She rubbed her eyes again. "I need another control sample. This is just too weird." She stripped off one latex glove and reached for alcohol and a curette. She picked a clean slide out of the rack and poured some alcohol on a cotton ball. "Want some?" He held out an index finger, anticipating her next move. She had planned on using her own blood, but his gesture surprised her and she reached for his hand with a small smile. "Not that one - your pinkie is fine." He tried hard not to shiver, not at the curette heading for his finger, but at the way her fingers smoothed across his palm, curling the little finger toward her. She swabbed it, stabbed quickly, and looked up at him, a fat red droplet clinging to the end of the curette. Their eyes locked briefly and she paused for a moment before releasing his hand, almost reluctantly. Then the moment was gone and she was dragging the sample across the slide, slipping it under the 'scope. She compared the two slides for a minute or two, then stepped back and shook her head. "I've never seen anything like this, Mulder. Her white blood cells went wild either just before or during the time she gave blood. Then, somehow, although she died while she was donating, the pm sample shows a normal white blood cell count and grossly enlarged red blood cells. And a clean tox screen." "Some kind of toxin that dissipated quickly after she died?" "Could be...or maybe a genetic abnormality. I don't know. But I'd like to get some family medical history and see if there's a pattern. If it's something hereditary, we might find it in a relative, too." She saw him frown and added, "This is the only thing we have so far, Mulder." He knew she was right, but it didn't end his frustration. "Okay. I'll call Mrs. Ditlow. What do we need?" "First, middle names of family members - sisters, brothers, father, grandparents, cousins - everyone. Phone numbers. I'm going to get us access to death certificates." It came to him suddenly - saying Mrs. Ditlow's name out loud triggered the rush of memory. "Scully, Mrs. Ditlow said something strange when I interviewed her. I just remembered it because Rodriguez said almost exactly the same thing. They said it was as if Christy could hear what they were saying without a word being spoken. Remember Rodriguez saying something like that?" She nodded. "I don't know if it means anything." "I think it might, Mulder. Let's see what we can find out about her family." An hour later, they sat in front of a computer terminal in the coroner's office. Scully tapped on the screen. "Edna Ditlow. Christy's great-aunt. Born May 1, 1920. Died November 30, 1939. Death certificate says she died of blood loss. No other information." Mulder looked at his notes. "She has a sister, Lydia, who's still alive and living in Wheat Ridge, Colorado, at a nursing home. Where's Wheat Ridge?" He tugged a map out of his briefcase and scanned it quickly, his brow clearing. "It's right here in Jefferson County - another suburb of Denver. Think Lydia will remember anything specific about her sister's death?" Dana immediately flashed back to her own sister's funeral. Missy, she thought, I will never forget it as long as I live. How could I forget? She realized Mulder was looking down at her sadly. "I'm sorry, Scully." He touched her shoulder gently, brushing her hair back. As always, she felt a slight thrill at his caress - she tried not to think of his touches that way, but they never felt like casual gestures. She looked back up at him, not even surprised that he had sensed what she was thinking about. He always knew - just as she knew his thoughts. Her partner understood her more intimately than anyone - her mother, her sister, certainly Ahab - ever had. It frightened and exhilarated her at the same time. "I'm okay, Mulder. Let's get going." END 3/4 NEW: SWEPT AWAY, (4/4) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com) R for graphic imagery, language and sexual innuendo Classification - X Spoilers - Vague third season Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST. Summary - A Colorado woman bleeds to death under bizarre circumstances. Was she murdered to keep a new piece of military technology from being built? See part 1 for disclaimers. 4:20 PM Wheat Ridge Comfort Center For Assisted Living Lydia Ditlow looked frail, but reasonably alert. She settled an afghan around her knees as Mulder finished his explanation. "It was an accident. A train accident." The old woman looked back at him serenely. "But that's not really why she died." Dana asked, "Why do you think she died?" "Because God made her wrong." The old lady still looked calm and lucid. "Edna wasn't ever right in her mind or body, sweet as she was. God called her home to him because she wasn't fit for this kind of cruel world." She reached into a breast pocket and extracted some narrow glasses, which she perched carefully on her skinny nose. She took a long look at the two agents, seemed satisfied, and continued. "Our mother thought Edna had been blessed, but it weren't no blessing. God can be unkind. Look at Job. Edna was always hurting. She knew too much." The woman paused briefly. "The accident was up in Wyoming, on the UP line - that's Union Pacific. We had taken the train east to Kansas to visit family - in those days you could do that, now it's all planes or cars. But the train was an elegant way to travel, in my mind. That wasn't the day to be traveling, though. "Four cars jumped a rail, and ours was one of them. It was terribly frightening. People thrown into the air, children screaming for their mothers, and we kept moving for - it seemed like hours, but I know it was only a few minutes. I was only scraped up, with a bruise on the head. Father and Joe had gone to the restaurant car - we didn't know 'till later that they were just fine. But our mother was by a window that crashed in, and she was cut bad." She winced at the memory. "I remember nearly blacking out, then grabbing onto the back of a seat and hauling myself up. Edna had a cut on her head - only a small one, but it was bleeding some, and she was bending over mother, begging her to talk, to say something. I think Mother made some sound, because Edna looked at me and I at her - and then I saw her look beyond me." The old woman's voice caught, and she breathed deeply. "I looked back over my shoulder, and there was a little boy, maybe four years old, behind me in the aisle, and his head had been cut nearly clean off of his shoulders. One huge piece of glass pinned him to the floor, and it was still pressed up into the wound. His hands were still moving, though, rapping against the carpet like he was knocking at a door, over and over.I think I screamed, but Edna's voice took over and seemed like it filled the air. She screamed and cried out, and when I looked back, the blood running down her face was like a river. It covered the front of her dress before I could reach her." Lydia Ditlow looked calmly at the two agents, her composure regained. "She died of horror, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder." Neither agent stopped her, although Scully was certain they had told her their names and their job titles when they had arrived - and that the old lady had understood them. "I know, because I have a touch of the curse, too. I felt her die. It feels cold - like ducking under a bridge on a hot summer day." The car was an oven and they leaned silently against the open doors, waiting for it to cool off a little before they slid into the seats. Scully looked over at her partner stripping off his suit jacket and asked him, "Did her mother say anything about it?" "About what, Scully?" He gave her the look that he always got when he was being deliberately obtuse. It went away when he saw stormclouds gathering in her eyes. "About an obscure blood disease? Or about Christy being an empath?" She had not said the word, even to herself, and it triggered a storm of images in her head. The bed in Christy's room, the scrollwork and the pillows. The thin pale body in the morgue. Rodriguez's face when she asked him if Christy loved him. And another image swam into her mind unbidden, of a tall, blonde woman dressed in an old-fashioned dress with a long gash on her forehead, opening her mouth in the beginning of an endless scream. "Scully?" She started, and when she raised her eyes to him, he had the feeling that she was seeing through him, past him. "Scully?" "We've got to talk to Luis Rodriguez again, Mulder." 6:54 PM Rodriguez opened the door and stared at them in surprise, then stepped back to let them in. She didn't waste any time. "I need you to tell us exactly what happened right before Christy started to bleed." "I already told you." "*Tell me again.*" Her voice was low but thrummed with insistent energy and Mulder stepped back a little, let her move in on Rodriguez. The big man backed away from her, eyes widening a little. "What did you say to her?" "Nothing. Nothing at all. Before she sat down, I asked if she was okay." "You were in the chair next to her. What were you thinking about while they drew your blood?" His eyes were still wide and hers never left them for a second. He hesitated, and then said, "About her." He flushed. "What about her?" "That it was too bad." "Be more specific, Mr. Rodriguez." Mulder stared at her. Had he thought before that Scully had consciously flirted with this man who was practically cowering at his tiny partner's stare? Not a chance. "That it was too bad that...that she wasn't pretty. Because..," his voice trailed off. "Because no one would want her? Because she was too ugly for you to screw?" Mulder recoiled from the blazing word passing her lips. Scully never, never talked like this. "You didn't pull any punches, did you, Rodriguez?" "But I never said it! I never said it out loud!" "You didn't have to. She heard you anyhow." She glared at him, then wheeled around and pushed her way past Mulder out of the apartment. Without sparing another glance for Rodriguez, whose shoulders had begun to shake, Mulder followed her out of the building, into the summer evening, the air cooling already, promising a chilly night. "Scully?" She looked tired. "Give me the keys, please. I'll drive." "Drive where?" "Back to the motel. I need a shower and some food." "Calling it quits for the day?" When had this become her show? "Scully, you said 'screw'." He regretted the comment as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "Yes, Mulder, I did," she replied, in a tone of voice that made him want to crawl under a rock and stay there. He gave her the keys. 8:27 PM "Did Reska say anything interesting this morning?" She wandered through the open connecting door, still combing her freshly washed hair. Her question sounded like a polite afterthought. "Yeah. *Pax Quaeritur Bello*. Latin. Can the enigmatic Dr. Scully remember enough from her..." "Let Peace be sought through War." He whistled. "Very impressive." "It was Oliver Cromwell's personal motto. I remember in college - I took some classes in English history and I always thought he was really interesting. The Lord Protector." Mulder remembered the look in Reska's eyes, and nodded. Not Lear, but he had been close, in a way. "Reska is an interesting guy. I wish you'd been there to meet him. But I'm still confused, Scully." "About what?" "The OS is for exactly what Rodriguez said it's for - a planetary defense system. Reska is a paranoid of epic proportions - my kind of guy, huh? - but I believed every word he said. The man is totally obsessed with this project. He's the reason we're here, Scully - he called the Secretary of Defense and requested the investigation." It was her turn to whistle. "I *believe* him, Scully. And that's why I'm confused." "I thought you understood when we left Rodriguez's apartment." "Understood what?" "That Christy's death had nothing to do with the OS." He gaped at her. "It was a complete accident, Mulder." "How do you figure?" "Her condition, the physical manifestation of her empathic ability, has some major drawbacks. The differences in her circulatory system and in the make-up of her blood made it incredibly stupid for her to have donated blood - but she didn't know what would happen. At least, I don't think she did." Scully paused for a moment, frowning. "Edna had the same condition. And like Edna, Christy had an open vein, and was suddenly gripped by a strong emotion. And with her condition, that's all it took. Somehow, their circulatory systems surged when they reacted strongly to messages coming from other people, and it caused their blood to...swell. The white blood cells - maybe it was some kind of badly-timed defense, their bodies reading the empathic reaction as a kind of infection." She twirled a strand of hair absently as she analyzed the physical reactions. "Then, with the open wounds, they bled out." "You think that hearing Rodriguez's thoughts actually killed Christy?" Scully frowned severely at him. "She was in *love* with him, Mulder. And he laid there next to her thinking how he would never, could never be attracted to her. How ugly she was. She's the only case I've ever seen where someone really did die of a broken heart." Mulder shook his head, not because he disagreed with her analysis, but because he could feel his last lingering belief in a military conspiracy slipping away. And because it was his partner, his coolly logical Scully, who had posed the theory that a woman had literally died of heartbreak. "It seems so...farfetched." "This, from a man who spends all of his time looking for extraterrestrials." Her hair was drying, and the strands that lifted away from her damp head, stirring slightly in the cool breeze drifting in from the window, looked like spun gold in the evening light. "This isn't like you, Scully." "What isn't?" "To accept something like this so calmly. When did you suddenly become a believer in extrasensory powers like empathy?" "She had a nearly unique condition, Mulder. Although I can't explain exactly how her body did what it did, I saw and recorded evidence that substantiates - if loosely - my theory about what happened to her." She looked away from him. "And...I guess I had a gut feeling about this one." Reclining on the motel bed, head propped on one hand, he looked just like he had the other night when she had woken him up. She tried, for at least the fourth time today, to banish the memory of his sleepy gaze and bare torso, and had to walk over to the window and stare hard at the dimming sunset to do it. He asked, "What are you going to say in the report?" "That she died of complications resulting from donating blood while she had a unique circulatory abnormality." He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "What about empathy?" "If that goes into the report, Mulder, I'll have to explain about Rodriguez." "Trying to keep his name from being sullied?" There was an edge to his voice that he didn't like, but he couldn't help it. Just once. If she would tell the whole story in her report, just once. "Not his. Hers. He was her *partner*, Mulder." Sometimes he felt like everything they left unsaid would choke him. The silence hung in the room for a long time before he said, lightly, "How about dinner?" "How about it?" "I was wondering if my favorite partner might like to go out for a really nice dinner." "Define nice and keep our per diem in mind. Chinese?" "*Fuck* our per diem and *fuck* Chinese." Bitter, angry, even. She stared at him, shocked. "Mulder?" "Just go put on something low-cut." His voice was back to normal, teasing her. "Except, I forgot, you don't own anything like that." "What?" Now she sounded angry. It took a second for her to compose herself. "Where are we going to eat, Mulder?" "Downtown. Someplace trendy and expensive. I'm buying." She left the room without another word. He dressed, choosing carefully. Jeans, black T-shirt, a slightly rumpled sport coat. He caught himself hoping that she would be pleased with the results. When she reappeared, knocking once before she came in, his eyes widened. She DID own something low-cut. And oh, the clear, creamy skin of her throat and chest above the deep, square neck of the skimpy, sleeveless black dress, the way the linen outlined the smooth curve of her waist... It was actually a work dress, one she usually wore hidden under a long black blazer, he realized with an obscure sense of relief. But this was, this was...those open-toed black sandals with the two-inch heels were NOT work shoes. They were, he admitted privately, the kind of shoes that are properly known as knock-me-down-and-fuck-me pumps. On Scully. And no pantyhose. She noticed him looking at her feet and flushed. "They're new. I don't know why I packed them...Ready, Mulder?" Was he? He could smell her perfume, faintly, a slightly spicy scent that he didn't recognize. That must be new, too. And what was he doing noticing his partner's new perfume? She was smiling slightly at him, and he had never seen anything sexier in his life. He shook his head to clear it, dropped his hand to the small of her back, and ushered her out the door into the cool night. -- END --