Title:  Great Balls of Fire
Author:  Vickie Moseley  
Summary:  Two words:  ball lightning.
Spoilers:  VS 8, 9, 10, and 11
Category:  X MSR SA
Rating:  PG-13
Written for The X-Files Virtual Season 11
Archives:  VS 11 exclusive for two weeks then 
anywhere
Special thanks to Obfusc8or and Sally for beta 
services rendered.  And to answer that age old 
question, yes, I do watch the Discovery Channel.
Legend:  
OSHA:  the Occupational Safety and Health 
Administration, a Federal agency that oversees 
workplace safety.  OSHA has stringent rules and 
regulations about procedures in factories and has the 
ability to close down any company it finds out of 
compliance.  Nobody messes with OSHA
'I wanta file a grievance':  if a worker 
(particularly a union employee) feels that he has 
been unfairly treated or feels a violation of the 
company policy manual has been committed against him, 
he can file a grievance with his union steward and 
the company management has to arbitrate with the 
union to resolve the problem.

Rating:  PG
Category:  casefile, MSR

2630 Hegal Place
Alexandria, VA
January 23, 2003
2:35 am

Red, white and blue lights fought for attention with 
the bright orange and yellow flames shooting from 
every window of the stone building.  Firemen, their 
yellow suits scuffed with soot, yelled into mics 
hidden in their helmets and grappled with fire hoses, 
which seemed to be having little effect on the sea of 
flames that engulfed the apartment complex.  A few of 
the residents huddled in the cold, wrapped in the 
matching dark gray wool blankets provided by the fire 
department.

A dark blue sedan pulled up to the curb, some half a 
block away.  The woman inside just barely cut the 
engine before she was out on the street, running 
toward the scene of the blaze.

In the light of the fire, she almost allowed herself 
to believe it was a mistake.  She had almost 
convinced herself it was the other building, the one 
to the north, not the building she thought it was.  
But as she drew closer, she could see the numbers 
plain as day above the broken glass of the double 
doors.

2630.

Scully stood in stunned silence, not really believing 
her eyes.  The building was completely ablaze.  
Flames licked out the windows, all the glass had been 
shattered by the intense heat.  She choked on the 
noxious fumes of burning mattresses and sofas, 
carpeting and appliances.  Above the cacophony of 
sounds, she could occasionally pick out a muffled pop 
as a television or computer monitor exploded.  It was 
a scene she would vividly remember in her nightmares.

Frantically, she searched the small cluster of 
residents, hoping to find a familiar face.  She 
caught sight of Mr. Szarflarski, the super for the 
building.  Holding her breath, she ran up to the man 
and grabbed at his shoulder, spinning him to face 
her.

"My partner.  Have you seen Agent Mulder?" she 
rasped, her voice already raw from inhaling the heat 
and the smoke that hung heavy in the air.

The man's eyes went wide and he looked around, 
searching the crowd.  "I didn't see him, Ms. Scully.  
Was he home tonight?"

His words hit her like a punch to the stomach.  "Yes, 
yes, I talked to him about an hour ago.  He was in 
the apartment.  Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

The old man shook his head slowly, waiting to choose 
his words before next he spoke.  "The firemen found 
some bodies and got them out, but the floor started 
to collapse.  They say the fire started . . ."  He 
dropped his eyes so that he wasn't looking at her.  
"They think the fire started on the fourth floor."

Scully stood there, staring up at the window she knew 
so well.  At that moment, the roof collapsed, raining 
down through two floors before catching and falling 
the rest of the way to the ground floor.

"Please, tell me, where did the firemen take . . ."  
Her voice simply wouldn't cooperate any longer, it 
gave out in the stress.  But she had to know.

"I think I heard them mention GWU.  I guess there's a 
good sized morgue there," he said and reached around 
the blanket he was clutching to touch her arm.  
"Maybe . . . maybe he went out.  Sometimes he goes 
running at all hours, Ms. Scully.  I hear him 
sometimes, midnight, 2, even 3 in the morning.  Maybe 
he wasn't there," the old man tried desperately to 
give him something to hold on to, some hope.

Scully wanted to believe the old man, but she needed 
proof.  Spying a fireman with more insignia than the 
rest, she fished her badge out of her coat pocket as 
she approached him, steeling herself for a 
confrontation.

"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully with the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation.  An agent, my 
partner, lives in this building.  What can you tell 
me about the fire?"

The fireman lifted his protective visor and squinted 
at her badge in the glare of the conflagration.  
Finally, he looked up at her face.  "You think its 
arson?" he asked gruffly.

Scully shook her head in exasperation.  "I have no 
idea.  But I want to know, where did it start?  Has 
anyone been taken to the hospital, anyone not 
identified?"

The fireman shook his head and gave her an irritated 
look.  "Lady, I'm a little busy right now.  We found 
some people with smoke inhalation, took 'em across 
the river to GWU and GUMC.  There were a couple of 
bodies recovered from the fourth floor.  What 
apartment was this guy in?"

"42," she replied breathlessly.

His eyes darkened and he drew in a breath before 
speaking.  "Maybe you better check the morgue."

She shook her head, denying the words.  It couldn't 
be true, he couldn't be dead.  They'd been together 
just that afternoon, he'd teased her about her alarm 
clock and music selections.

How could she lose him now after all this time? 


Act I

Fairfax County Light and Power
Turbine Room no. 4
October 15, 2003
2:45 pm

The huge turbine that was the workhorse of the 
electric plant was purring like an enormous lounging 
cat, its fan humming with the power to light one 
hundred thousand households.  Sleek and shiny, the 
turbine sat much as it had for the past quarter 
century, the giant wheel taking the heat from the 
coal powered furnaces and converting it into 
megawatts of energy and casting them out on the 
Eastern Power grid as a child might cast a handful of 
rocks into a pond.  The cavernous room was incredibly 
loud, but in a white noise kind of way.  The gray 
walls and gray machine only echoed the gray clouds 
that shown through the high windows up near the 
twenty-five foot ceiling.

It was a majestic freak of nature when a bolt of pure 
energy shot out of the sky and through the glass 
panes of the high window.  It struck the turbine, 
arcing and dancing for at least a second, a 
millennium in the life span of a lightning strike, 
before vanishing to thin air, leaving only damage in 
its wake.

The fire erupted quickly, as soon as the lightning 
loosened its grip on the surface of the machine.  
There were safety systems in place that should have 
prevented it, but as sometimes happens, all the 
safety technicians in the plant, in the country for 
that matter, failed to foresee the havoc a simple 
random lightning strike could produce.  The systems 
failed and the fire spread.

The alarms rang out loud and shrill through the 
engine room at the other side of the plant.  Several 
plant technicians hurriedly flipped switches and 
threw levers in an attempt to keep the power flowing.  
The big turbine was taken 'off line' to prevent it 
from surging the other turbines into failure.  But 
now that a blackout had been averted, there was still 
the fire to control.

Plant fire control specialists suited up and ran down 
to Turbine Room No. 5 with chemical fire 
extinguishers and enough know how to control and put 
out the fire.  And put it out, they did.  Using all 
their equipment, they finally got the fire under 
control and after a few more minutes, it was 
completely extinguished.  The men, pulling off their 
helmets and gloves, patted each other on the back and 
left the room secure in the knowledge that their part 
of the catastrophe was over.  What they left was a 
horrible mess of chemicals, soot and a Turbine that 
would have to be up and running in less than a week, 
when it would be required once again to take up its 
burden and produce electricity for the Washington, DC 
suburbs, an area that sucked power more effectively 
than a lobbyist at the end of a long legislative 
session.

Bill Robinson was the Turbine Room's supervisor and 
he stood near the end of No. 5, surveying the damage.  
Most of it was superficial, he knew.  But until he 
could get a better picture, he'd be hard pressed to 
know what parts could be salvaged and what would 
require replacement.  Shaking his head at the work 
yet to be accomplished, he reached over to the phone 
on the wall near the door and called down to 
maintenance.

"Jim, this is Bill.  Get somebody up here to clean up 
No. 5.  And tell them to figure on some overtime.  
This is a real mess!"   

Ray Boulder was not an ambitious guy.  He'd been in 
the maintenance department at FCL&P for over six 
years and had yet to earn a promotion or more than 
the usual union cost of living increase.  At 5 foot 
10 inches and tipping the scales at just over one 
hundred fifty pounds, he wasn't very memorable in 
appearance.  Dark hair over dark eyes, a faint scar 
on his chin, probably from a past bar fight that he 
had lost, his personality matched his features--
undistinguishable.  As he looked over the mess that 
was Turbine No. 5, he swore loudly.  Taking up his 
rags and bucket, he proceeded to get to work on 
cleaning up what others before him had helped to 
create.

When he touched the metal with the wet rag, a soft 
surge went through his hand.  Ray had been around the 
plant long enough to know that water and electricity 
are a lethal combination.  He stopped cleaning and 
went to check the controls on the far wall that would 
tell him if the turbine was still 'hot' and 
operating.  All the needles were buried in the black 
area to the far left of the gauge, indicating a cold 
engine.  Ray scratched absently at his thinning dark 
hair and moved back over to the turbine to continue 
his work.

When the second surge hit him, it wasn't as soft.  He 
yelped and flinched, the rag dropping to his feet.  
Frowning, he once again went over to the gauge on the 
wall, tapping the faceplate this time in an effort to 
dislodge the needle, if indeed it was malfunctioning.  
The gauge continued to mock him with its 
interpretation of events.  The turbine was definitely 
not showing any signs of life.

More disgruntled than worried, Ray once again picked 
up his rag and went back to work.  The work finally 
engaged him and he was concentrating to the point 
where he didn't hear the faint popping sound behind 
him.  He leaned up, attempting to clear away some 
burnt and peeling paint when the popping sound became 
louder, right near his ear.  He looked over his 
shoulder just before the large ball of bright light 
engulfed him in its plasma.

The next thing Ray knew, he was sailing through the 
air.  When he landed with a thud, every muscle in his 
body flinched with static electricity.  Ray shook his 
head trying to clear it.  Flat on his back, he lifted 
his hands close to his face to stare at them, 
noticing the light feathering along his palms and the 
backs of his hands where he had been touching the 
metal of the turbine, almost like a tattoo done with 
a child's paint brush and red ochre paint.  Shakily, 
he let his hands fall to rest on his chest, feeling 
his heart race like he'd just run a marathon.  He 
drew in a deep breath, still trying to figure out how 
the hell he was alive.

The door to the turbine room opened and two 
technicians and Bill Robinson came running in.  "Hey, 
buddy, you OK?" Bill asked Ray frantically as he and 
one of the techs ran to assist Ray while the other 
tech ran to the wall to check the gauges.  "What the 
hell happened?"

Ray looked up at Bill like the man had three heads.  
"How the hell should I know?  What did you guys do, 
turn the damn thing on?" he demanded.  "I wanta file 
a grievance!" he added, but his threat sounded more 
like a whine.

"No way, man," the technician assured him.  "We were 
watching the gauges really close and this one just 
lit up for a second.  Bill knew somebody was down 
here cleaning, we came running to make sure they 
weren't fried.  We hadn't touched a thing!"

Bill was already on the phone, calling 911.  Ray 
tried to stand, but the technician held him to the 
floor, though it didn't take much to accomplish that 
feat.  "I don't need a doctor, I'm fine," Ray 
objected.

"Sorry, um, Ray, isn't it?" Bill stumbled.  "OSHA 
regs.  You have to be checked out.  Besides, you 
don't know how this could affect you."  His thought 
for a moment and then his eyes twinkled.  "And you 
want all this documented for any workers comp claim 
you might have to make in the future."  Workers comp 
was the winning lotto ticket to every blue-collar 
stiff and Bill, having been blue collar once, knew 
that.

"Oh, yeah, right.  Workers comp," Ray muttered.  He 
didn't' really feel like getting up anyway.  His 
nerves were still tingling, like his entire body had 
fallen asleep.  He closed his eyes and saw colored 
spots on his lids.

Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Emergency Department
7:15 pm

The ride in the ambulance was exciting at first.  He 
had wanted to do that since he was a kid.  But it 
wasn't as much fun as he'd imagined because he was 
strapped to a backboard and forced to lie completely 
still.  Ray didn't like the IV needle in the back of 
his hand at all and liked the oxygen mask over his 
face even less.  Once at the hospital, it was three 
hours of being poked with needles, prodded with 
little rubber hammers and finally left alone for 
thirty minutes, just wanting to go home.

Ray was just about ready to get up off the gurney and 
make his escape when the cute little blond haired 
doctor came back into his cubicle at the ER.

"Well, Mr. Boulder, looks like this is your lucky 
day," the doctor told him, flipping through her 
notes.  "Your tests all look fine.  Aside from a 
little residual muscle weakness you might feel, just 
from the shock, I would say that you're pretty darned 
good for a man who took on an electrical turbine!"

"So, I can get out of here?" Ray asked, already 
sitting up and looking around for his clothes that 
had been taken from him earlier.

"I see no reason to keep you.  I have discharge 
papers here I need you to sign.  I want you to take 
it easy tonight, just go home and veg out in front of 
the TV.  And I think you should probably take it easy 
tomorrow as well.  I'll write you a note for work.  
Other than that, do what you feel like doing.  If you 
experience any pain, especially pain in your chest or 
down your left arm, call us immediately or just come 
back here."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Ray assured her, grabbing the 
papers.  "Uh, the company pays for all this, right?"

The doctor looked slightly bemused but nodded.  "Yes, 
I was assured that Fairfax L&P would be picking up 
the bill.  We won't even send one to your house," she 
added with a smile.

"Thanks, Doc.  I appreciate it," Ray said and then 
the woman left and he hurried to get dressed and out 
the door.

His car was still back at the power plant, so he had 
to take a bus to get it.  By the time he got there, 
it was already past 8:30.  He cursed angrily and got 
in the beat up old Chevy Caprice Classic and gunned 
the engine.  It coughed to life and he pulled out 
onto the highway.

Three hours later
Falls Church, VA
Back room of Big Babe's Bar and Grill

Ray looked down at his hand again and tried to keep a 
straight face, but it was hard.  A three of clubs, a 
five of diamonds, two eights, a jack, a seven and a 
queen of spades looked back at him.  Bumpkus!  And he 
was already in the hole for $150.  He licked his lips 
and looked at the other men seated across from him at 
the poker table.  "Uh, I'll raise you three," he told 
the big man to his right.

"You ain't got 'three', Rockie," the man smirked.

"I'll give ya a marker, Bennie," he told a smallish 
man with a hard glint to his eye.

"You run out of markers, Rock.  Show Bert the cards."

Ray looked each man in the eye and sighed.  Slowly he 
laid down his cards.  The room broke up into 
laughter.

"Some bluff you tried, there Boulder.  Or should I 
call you 'Pebble'," roared the man called Bert who 
happily raked in all the chips from the center of the 
table.

Ray glared at the man and sat back in his chair.  
"I'm out," he declared.  He'd hoped his luck from 
earlier in the day would have held, but apparently, 
it was a fleeting as the feeling of euphoria that had 
embraced him after leaving the hospital.  

"You ain't 'out'.  You gotta settle," Bennie reminded 
him.

Ray swallowed.  He was completely tapped out, no more 
funds available.  He knew that any move on his part 
at that moment would result in tremendous pain, 
inflicted by any of the gentlemen seated at the 
table.  He would have to try bluffing just one more 
time.

"I got my rent money in the glove compartment of my 
car.  Let me go get it."

There was silence in the room, but Bennie and Bert 
exchanged a quick look.  Then Bennie smiled at Ray.  
"Sure, Ray.  Go on out to the car.  But don't try no 
funny stuff," he warned with a good-natured chuckle.

"Nah, never," Ray promised and quickly left the room.  
He had to force himself to walk slowly through the 
bar, his every instinct told him to break into a run.  
But he made it to the door and out to the parking 
lot.  It wasn't until he got to his car that he saw 
he was not alone.  Bert and another man whose name 
Ray couldn't remember were standing by his car with 
short steel rods about two feet long in their hands.

"We come out to help you find your way back," Bert 
said with a malicious grin.

"Uh, thanks," Ray muttered, looking around quickly 
for a path of escape.

"Ray, quite wastin' our time.  Get the money or pay 
off the 'interest'," Bert said, slapping the rod in 
his hands.  There was no mistaking what the 
'interest' would end up being.  The other man with 
Bert chuckled at the joke.  

Ray walked over to his car, between the two men.  He 
opened the door and was just about to slam it shut 
when Bert grabbed it from his hand and held it open.  
"None 'o that," Bert growled.  

Ray reached over to the glove compartment on 
autopilot.  He somehow convinced himself that if he 
played out the hand, he might be surprised.  Like 
maybe his fairy godmother had left two hundred 
dollars in the car without him knowing about it.  
With shaking hands, Ray opened the glove box door.

His registration and an old parking citation stared 
back at him.

"Just as we thought," Bert said sadly.  "Ray, you 
jest don't know when t' quit.  So we gotta teach ya a 
lesson."  He pulled Ray out of the car and with the 
help of the other man, pushed him toward some trees 
near the edge of the parking lot.

"No, please, don't hurt me," Ray begged.

"Don't be such a pussy!" Bert ordered.  "We'll try 
not to mess up your face too bad," he chuckled at his 
own joke.

"Please, you don't understand, I've had a really bad 
day," Ray persisted.

"Yeah, well my day just got a whole lot brighter," 
Bert assured him.  "Whaddya think o' that?"

Ray was thrown down on the ground and he saw Bert 
raise the length of pipe above his head like a baton.  
Then, Ray heard that popping sound again.  He looked 
over Bert's shoulder and his eyes grew wide.  It was 
that ball of light.  It was coming right for them.  
Ray rolled into a tight ball, expecting both the 
beating from the pipe in Bert's hand and the jolt of 
electricity from the ball of light.  Neither 
happened.

He heard a loud popping sound and then heard a 
stifled scream.  When he looked up, both of his 
attackers were engulfed in flames.  Ray scurried back 
on his hands and feet until his back hit the base of 
a tree.  The men were fully aflame and it was scary, 
but fascinating at the same time.  Ray looked around 
for the ball of light, but it was nowhere to be seen.


Dana Scully's residence
Three months later
6:55 am

Fox Mulder wiped his face with his just removed tee 
shirt, both were dripping with sweat.  He glanced 
over at the clock on the nightstand and frowned.  He 
was going to be fighting traffic if he didn't get a 
move on.  

He looked down at his partner, snuggled up, her head 
on her pillow and his pillow held tight in the circle 
of her arms.  She looked so damn cute like that.  He 
grinned, knowing full well that there were only a few 
places he could call Dana Scully 'cute' and live to 
see another sunrise.  Her bedroom was one such place, 
his bedroom and on occasion, his couch, were the 
other two.  

He leaned over the bed and brushed a lock of red hair 
from her face.  She stirred and one eye opened.  
"Mulder?"

"I'm just leaving," he told her softly.  She opened 
her arms, inviting him back into the bed.  "No, 
Scully, I just got back from my run.  I'm all 
sweaty," he whispered.

"I like you sweaty," she murmured.  

"I'm glad, but you make me change the sheets when I 
get 'em all wet and smelly and I don't have time, not 
this morning," he replied.  "Go back to sleep, you 
don't have to get up for another fifteen minutes."

"Ummm, good," she sighed.  He kissed her tenderly on 
the lips and when he drew back, she was smiling in 
her sleep.  He hated leaving her like this, but it 
was part of their lives.  Half the time he had to get 
up and leave, so he could shower and dress at his 
place.  The other half of the time, Scully had to 
leave him so that she could get ready for work at her 
apartment.  It was a lousy arrangement, but they were 
hard pressed to change it.  Neither of them felt they 
were quite ready to take the next logical 'step', 
whatever that meant.  Sleeping over seemed like a big 
step after all their years of denial. They'd never 
even discussed moving in together.  Even after two 
plus years of great sex, they were still getting used 
to the idea of being a couple.  

He let himself watch her for another minute, and then 
reluctantly headed for the door.

J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters
Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
9:15 am

Scully skidded to a halt outside AD Skinner's door, 
tossed a quick smile at his assistant and then tried 
to walk calmly into the office after a perfunctory 
knock on the open door.

Skinner looked over at her, a slight scowl on his 
face and then a glance over at her partner, seated in 
his customary chair.  Mulder was engrossed with a 
file in his hands and didn't bother to acknowledge 
her so she bumped his chair on her way to take her 
seat.  He flashed her a confused smile that she 
returned with a pointed glare.

"Sorry I'm late, sir.  My alarm clock was set for the 
wrong time," she said with a thin-lipped expression.

Mulder had the good grace to wince slightly and give 
her an apologetic shrug.

"That's all right, Agent, these things happen," 
Skinner said, giving Mulder a glare for good measure.  
"This was just called down from the Director's 
office."  He waved at Mulder, who handed the file in 
his hands to his partner.

"Five men have died in fires in the last three 
months.  All men have possible mob connections," 
Skinner explained as Scully flipped through the pages 
of the report.

"They were burned, arson fires, possibly," Scully 
suggested, picking up a key paragraph on one page.

"They weren't really in buildings at the time," 
Mulder interjects.  At his comment, Scully scans the 
rest of the page and her lips form an 'O'.

"They were set ablaze?" she amended her previous 
statement.

"With no traceable accelerant," Mulder added.  "And 
the bodies maintain an electrical charge for up to 24 
hours after estimated time of death."

"So the fire could have been caused by electrical 
contact, but at extremely high voltage," Scully 
mused, going back to read that section of the autopsy 
report.

"Well, at least none of them were found on bridges," 
Mulder muttered for Scully's ears only.  She shot him 
a quick glance before turning her attention back to 
their superior.

"You can see why you've been called in to do the 
autopsy on the latest victim," Skinner said, sitting 
back in his chair.

Scully looked at the file folder suddenly, noticing 
none of the usual markings of a case for their 
division.  "Is this case an X file, sir?" Scully 
asked.

Skinner pursed his lips and regarded Mulder for a 
minute, then looked back to Scully.  "At this time, 
the case is being classified as mob related.  There 
is an organized crime task force already in place and 
it has been given the lead on this investigation."

Scully looked over at her partner, confused.  "So why 
are we here?"

"They want you, because of your expertise," Mulder 
explained calmly.

"But what about you?" she asked.

"I'll just keep the home fires burnin'," he mugged.  
"It seems my invitation to this particular ball got 
lost in the mail," he said, looked directly at the 
Assistant Director.

"Over my objections, believe me," Skinner quickly 
pointed out.  "I specifically requested this 
investigation go to the X Files Division.  That 
request was shot down."

Mulder mimed getting shot in the heart and Scully 
frowned at him.

"The body is in at Quantico.  I suggest you clear 
your schedule to make yourself available to the task 
force.  The Special Agent In Charge will be 
contacting you later today," Skinner said, ignoring 
the silent conversation being waged in front of him.

"Yes sir," Scully said finally.  Mulder was already 
out the door when she stopped and turned back to her 
superior.  "Sir, might I say that I'm not happy with 
the direction this case is going?"

"I'll add your objections to my own, Agent Scully.  
But in the meantime, you have work to do," Skinner 
said, picking up a file on his desk and letting her 
know the subject was closed.

Scully caught up with her partner at the elevators.  
"Mulder," she started but the doors opened and they 
entered the elevator car.  Mulder waited to see if 
anyone followed them, and watched the doors slide 
shut, giving them some privacy from the crowded 
hallway.

"Scully, chill out," he told her, taking her hand and 
brushing his thumb across her knuckles lightly.  
"It's one autopsy.  You consult on autopsies all the 
time," he added.

"I just don't like the way this case it being given 
to Organized Crime," she grumbled.  "If there was no 
accelerate, the unexplained presence of an electrical 
charge long after death, those two facts alone would 
tell us this case qualifies as an X file.  I don't 
like them cutting you out of the loop!"

He grinned at her anger and squeezed her shoulder, 
their 'on the clock' equivalent of a tender kiss.  
"Hey, I've been Monster Boy for a long time, now.  
Maybe this is your chance to become Monster Girl!"

She smirked up at him, placing her hand over his and 
giving it a squeeze back.  "I just hate the thought 
of leaving you to your own devices for any length of 
time."

"What?  You don't trust me?" he cried, trying to 
sound wounded at her words.

"I don't trust you and that shipment of office 
supplies we just got in," she said dryly.

"Scully, I swear, I have no idea how those pencils 
got in the ceiling," he said, holding two fingers of 
his right hand up and his left hand over his heart.

"Yeah, well I'm locking the twelve boxes of pencils 
we just received in my desk upstairs and taking the 
key, just in case they decide to sneak down to the 
basement and play," she said.

"Fine," he said with a pout.  "Don't trust me."  
Besides, he mused silently, her desk drawer was 
child's play to pick the lock.


FBI Academy at Quantico
Autopsy Bay C
2:45 pm

She had just opened up the body with a Y incision and 
was examining the internal organs.  As was often the 
case in burn victims, the organs appeared 'cooked'.  
She grimaced slightly as she continued.  It wasn't 
that Scully was totally immune to the gruesomeness 
she witnessed on a daily basis.  It was just that it 
wasn't enough to deter her from continuing to look.  
What made many people recoil in horror and slam the 
door just made Dana Scully more curious.  

She was leaning forward, face close to the body when 
the door behind her opened.  She could hear someone 
coming up behind her, she was positive it was her 
partner.  Mulder had a penchant for sneaking up on 
her during autopsies and she knew he wouldn't be able 
to stay away from this one for long.  With a mixture 
of annoyance and expectation, she stood up straight 
and turned toward the footsteps.

"Well, Mulder what took you so--"  Her sentence hung 
like a fog in the room when she realized it was not 
her partner, but a man she'd never laid eyes on 
before.  "Excuse me, I thought you were someone 
else."

"Wish I were that someone," smirked the man, and then 
he nodded at the body on the table, turning his head 
as he viewed the internal organs on full display.  
"Damn glad I'm not that guy, though."  

Scully took a moment to compose herself, she felt 
immediately uneasy with this gentleman.  "If you'll 
excuse me, I'm working here."  She turned back to the 
body.

"Yes, I know.  I asked for your assistance.  I'm Grif 
Michelin, I'm the SIC for the Organized Crime Task 
Force."

Scully was glad she was turned away from the other 
agent, because she knew her face would betray her 
disgust.  She took a deep breath and pasted on a 
smile.  "Agent Michelin, nice to meet you."  She held 
up her latex gloved right hand and shrugged in 
apology.  "Sorry."

"That's OK, Agent Scully.  Dana, isn't it?  I'm just 
here to introduce myself, see if there's anything 
you've come up with."

"I just started my internal exam, Agent Michelin.  It 
will be a while before I can make my full report," 
she said with forced calm.

"Oh, believe me, I'm not Spooky Mulder.  I don't 
expect instant results.  And I prefer first names, 
don't you, Dana?  Call me Grif."  His smile would 
have been dazzling if Scully didn't find it so oily.

"Well, regardless of your opinions of other agents, 
_Agent Michelin_, unless you stand aside and give me 
enough room to work, it will be even longer until you 
get my report," Scully said, picking up her scalpel, 
the faintest tone of threat in her voice.

Michelin only laughed.  "I heard you were a spitfire!  
But seriously, my people are working on the 
assumption that this was a gangland killing, possibly 
the start of a new gang and this is their signature 
hit using fire.  What do you think so far?"

Scully was getting angrier by the minute, but as SIC 
for the Task Force, it was a valid question.  She 
couldn't help but feel she was getting a taste of the 
medicine Mulder had been forced to swallow for years.  
SICs who disregarded you as an agent only to suck all 
information out of your brain and then toss you 
aside, she had seen it happen too many times to 
count.  

"The bodies were burned, there is no doubt of that.  
But it was not induced in any normal manner.  They 
were subjected to an electrical field of some sort, 
extremely high voltage."

"Car battery, powered up tazer, hell, a power cord 
all could produce electrical current," Michelin 
pointed out.

"No, Agent Michelin, you're not hearing me.  This is 
extremely high voltage.  You don't find this voltage 
on any thing except some very large electrical 
transformers.  But even that theory doesn't work well 
because the induction of electricity to the body was 
exceedingly quick and there's no obvious point of 
contact.  I would say this was done by a lightning 
strike, but again, in death by lightning, you see 
contact points and grounding points on the shoes."

"Lightning?  That's you're working opinion?" Michelin 
hooted.  "What, you're saying the 'hand of God' 
killed this man?  That's a good one, Dana.  I can't 
wait to pass that one along," he laughed bitterly.  
"C'mon, Dana.  Spooky is all the way back in DC.  Try 
to remember what it was like _before_ you met him and 
give me a _real_ scientific opinion.  This body was 
found a good ten miles from the nearest large 
transformer.  The scorch marks on the ground indicate 
the murder occurred where the body was found.  There 
was not a cloud in the sky that night, so lightning 
is out of the question.  The pathologist we had look 
at the first victim tried that 'lightning' shit and 
obviously, we have four more 'lightning victims' to 
account for.  I expected more out of you.  I guess 
your reputation has exceeded your abilities!"

Scully was seething.  "I have work to do, Agent 
Michelin.  I informed you that my report is not 
complete.  Now I suggest you get the hell out of this 
autopsy bay and let me continue examining this body."

"I want something, Scully, something I can _use_ by 
noon tomorrow.  I'm a nice guy, but I have deadlines, 
too, you know," he sneered.

Scully had already dismissed him in her mind, but 
when she heard the door swing shut behind her she let 
out a growl and kicked the metal gurney in front of 
her.  It hurt her big toe like hell, but it made the 
rest of her feel a little bit better. 


Act II 

Fox Mulder's apartment
6:45 pm

Two bags of take out were clenched firmly in her 
teeth, her briefcase was slowly answering the call of 
gravity and slipping off her left shoulder, she had 
the keys in her hand at the bottom of her purse but 
wasn't able to manipulate them around her wallet to 
get the right key to the top and into her fingers.  
Just as she felt success with the keys, the door 
opened of its own volition.  She almost ran into the 
kitchen to drop the bags on the table.  

"Just in time," she panted, tucking her purse and 
briefcase on the spare dinette chairs.

"Just part of the service, ma'am," Mulder purred and 
pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly on the 
mouth.  She returned the kiss, added a little 
attention to detail of her own, and patted him on the 
bottom before pulling away.  "I'm starved."

"So am I," Mulder agreed, not letting her out of his 
arms.

"Mulder," she said with a warning growl.

"Oh, all right.  What are we dining on tonight?"

"Pad thai, curried chicken, sticky rice, but we're 
sharing that.  Did you make more tea, we drank the 
last the other night."

"Two quarts, in the refrigerator.  And I even made 
ice this morning before I left for work."

"Oh, that reminds me," Scully turned and gave him a 
sweet smile.  "Mess with my alarm again and this time 
the bullet won't go through your shoulder."

"Hey, I tried to make sure you would get up in time."

"Well, it's going to go off at 7:00 tonight," she 
said with a shake of her head.  "Next time, just make 
sure I crawl out of bed before you leave the 
apartment."

He walked over to where she was pulling plates out of 
the cabinet.  "I will.  I'm sorry.  I know this is a 
pain."

She leaned back into him.  "No, it's not.  If we get 
to sleep together most nights when we're in town, I'm 
all for it.  Maybe I should invest in one of those 
alarm clocks with two time settings."

"And a CD player," he commented, getting out the 
silverware.

"You don't like my choice of morning programming, 
Mulder?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Scully, how do I put this?  NPR and 'Morning 
Edition' tend to put me in a coma.  I need something 
a little bouncier to wake me up."

"Mulder, I refuse to allow any of your 'shock jocks' 
on my radio.  It would fry the electric in this 
building."  

They sat down and ate in silence for a few minutes.  
He stole some of her curried chicken and fed her some 
of his Pad thai.  She was breaking out the sticky 
rice when he decided to broach the subject of her 
day.

"So, how'd that autopsy go?"

It had seemed like an innocent inquiry, but not from 
the pink flush that colored her cheeks or the fire 
that suddenly burned bright in her eyes.

"Autopsy?  That went fine.  The asshole in charge of 
the task force, that's another matter," she said, 
shoving him a plate of dessert across the table but 
not dishing up one for herself.  She leaned back and 
watched him dig in.

"So, does the 'asshole' have a name?" he asked, 
trying not to let his bemusement at her ire get any 
of it directed his way.

He was successful, she smirked.  "I suppose so.  His 
name is Grif Michelin.  What kind of name is 'Grif' 
anyway?" she mused aloud as she picked up his empty 
plate and took it to the sink.

"Not one to throw stones, I think it's short for 
Griffith.  As in Griffith Michelin, III.  Old money."

She turned to give him a wide-eyed look.  "You're 
kidding."

He shook his head.  "I wish.  No, Grif isn't part of 
the fortune, not directly at least.  But as a second 
or third cousin twice removed his father more than 
made up for his distance by using the family name to 
get some heavy hitter clients for his law firm."

"Is 'Grif' a lawyer?  And exactly how do you know so 
much about him?"

"Grif just barely squeaked through law school but he 
couldn't pass the California bar.  Still, his degree 
managed to get him a spot in White Collar Crime.  Not 
sure how he made the hop over to Organized, but hey, 
I've taken a left turn or two in my day," Mulder 
said, eyes sparkling.  "And I know him because I 
taught him."

"When did you ever teach?" she demanded, handing him 
a plate that he dutifully dried with the towel he'd 
picked up from the counter.

"Right after Patterson, right before the X files.  
Nobody was sure what to do with me.  I wanted to 
investigate the X files, no one wanted me doing that.  
Matheson was working his connections.  So I was in 
limbo.  They had me teaching basic profiling at the 
Academy for four months."

"Mulder, you keep unfolding like a flower," she 
smiled and hugged him with her now wet and soapy 
hands.

He leaned down and accepted a kiss, then pulled up, 
smiling back at her.  "Obviously old Griffy boy made 
an impression with you.  Not one he could use to run 
for President, I'd bet."

"Oh yes, he made quite the impression.  He belittled 
my initial assessment, made snide comments about our 
work and threw around a few veiled threats.  I was 
ready to turn my scalpel on him, but he left."

"I thought they tossed his ass out on the street 
years ago," Mulder agreed.  "But then, there are a 
few others like that," he added with a grin.

"I'm glad I'm just consulting on this one.  If I had 
to actually work with that asshole for any length of 
time--"

"Oh, Scully, I'm getting very turned on," he murmured 
in her ear.  She shook her head and accepted his 
kisses on her neck.  "Hey, mind if I take a look at 
your report--when you have the results back?"

She looked up into his eyes.  "You know, Mulder, 
'Grif' would probably be very upset that you were 
sticking your nose in this case."

Mulder bit on his lip and nodded slowly.  "So you 
don't want me to look at it?" he asked, trying hard 
not to sound as wounded as he felt.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all!" she 
corrected him.  "I would love to have you look at my 
report.  And when we figure it out, without the aid 
of his little task force, I want to have a front row 
seat when we rub his nose in it," she grinned.

Mulder gazed at her in open adoration.  "Wow, Scully, 
I knew you were a wild red head, but this vicious, 
vindictive nature is a whole new side of you.  C'mon, 
leave the dishes, I have plans for you tonight!"  He 
pulled her toward the bedroom and she followed 
willingly. 

K&M Heating and Air Conditioning Warehouse
Greene Street and 68th Street
Fairfax, Virginia
2 days later

Carlos Mendera was not a happy man.  He'd spent most 
of his life building up a business and now it 
appeared that someone was trying to horn in on his 
operation.  Worse yet, his people, the blithering 
idiots he called 'cousins', couldn't even tell him 
_who_ was behind the murder of three of his better 
'enforcers'.  He slammed a meaty fist down on the 
ancient metal desk, making the two men in front of 
him jump in surprise.

"You're telling me you have no idea who this gang is 
or where they come from?" Carlos demanded, slamming 
his fist down again for good measure.

"Carlos, we done looked everywhere.  We roughed up 
some guys at the docks in Annapolis and one of the 
'Banderas' gang up in Baltimore.  Nobody's sayin' 
nuthin'!"

"Besides, we ain't the only ones being hit, boss," 
the other man chimed in nervously.  "Orlando lost a 
couple o' his goons in the last month, too."

"Probably shot each other in the dark," Carlos said 
with a grunt.  "Look, you dumbshits, I got a shipment 
comin' up from Bogata in four days.  It don't look 
good to my suppliers to have dead bodies lyin' 
around.  Luis, nose around a little more, find out 
about the two goons Orlando lost.  Do we know how 
they died?"

"Fire, that's all we know, boss," answered the second 
man.

"We did find out somethin', boss," the first man 
added suddenly.  "There's a Fed nosin' around.  Guy 
by the name of Mulder."

Carlos leaned forward, his face a picture of renewed 
concern.  "A Fed?  DEA?"

"Nah, FBI," came the quick reply.

Carlos smiled.  "A friend of our 'friend'?"

The man shook his head.  "I don't think so, boss.  We 
ain't been told to look out for this guy.  I think 
he's working the case himself."

Carlos shook his head slowly and chewed on a well-
manicured thumbnail.  "I don't like it.  Contact our 
friend, find out what you can about this Mulder 
joker.  We may have to keep an eye on him."

"You got it, boss," the man said, and left with his 
companion.

"Mr. Michelin, you better be worth what I'm payin' 
you," Carlos muttered to the walls before dragging a 
logbook over, put on his glasses and got down to 
work.

Hoover Building
Organized Crime Task Force
SIC Michelin's office
8:45 pm

The phone rang, startling Michelin.  He'd been going 
over his notes of the afternoon, wondering how in the 
hell he could make all the angles work.  He knew 
bringing Dana Scully in on the case would be a waste 
of time, but higher authorities had overruled his 
objections.  Now he just had to work around her, as 
well as he could.  But he still needed answers.

He grabbed the phone, anxious to get rid of any 
caller that late at night.

"Michelin, and make it brief, I'm busy," he growled 
into the receiver.

"Now, that ain't no way to talk to an old buddy," 
Carlos replied with a smile that didn't make its way 
to his voice.

"I told you never to call me here," Grif snarled.

"What, the FBI tapping its own phones now?  Shuddup, 
I gotta tell ya somthin'.  You got some dipwad 
playing in your playhouse.  Name's Mulder.  He one of 
yours?"

"Shit," Michelin cursed under his breath.  "Fox 
Mulder is FBI but he's not one of my guys.  Where'd 
you hear he was working this case?"

"My guys heard about him.  What's his interest in 
this?  He trying to horn in on your turf?" Carlos 
asked, more curious than ever because of Michelin's 
obvious lack of details on this new agent.  "This guy 
don't work for Internal Affairs or nothin', does he?"

"It's called Office of Professional Responsibility 
and I would dare say Fox Mulder is the last person 
they'd assign to work there," Michelin huffed.  "No, 
he's probably nosing around because his girlfriend is 
supposed to be consulting on the case."

"She that slicer you mentioned?" Carlos asked, but 
then didn't wait for a reply.  "She come up with 
anything?  You know, I get first crack at this 
asshole who's been offin' my boys!"

Michelin shifted the phone to his other ear and 
leaned back in his seat.  "We have a deal, Mendera.  
You keep me in the loop, toss me enough to get me 
that ASAC position and I'll keep you in the loop.  
One hand washes the other."

"Just make sure you don't start lookin' for other 
hands to wash, comprendo, Agent Michelin," Carlos 
growled and slammed the phone back on the receiver.  
"'Cause if you cross me, you end up dead, little 
man!" he said to the silent black phone.

X Files office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
next day
4:56 pm

Mulder was deep in thought as he stared at the 
pictures spread out before him.  Five bodies all 
burned beyond recognition.  All five identified by 
dental records and vehicles not far from the scene of 
the murders.  Two of the victims were found together, 
the others were singled out.  Mulder chewed on his 
thumb and frowned.  So far, all they knew was that 
each man was connected to organized crime.  He leaned 
back and put his hands behind his head, staring at 
the ceiling.  Hell, he mused, maybe this was an 
organized crime hit.  But why did it feel so much 
like an X file?

Murder weapon, his mind shouted back.  Fire.  He 
grimaced slightly.  It was a lot of years since that 
word could cause terror in his heart and he'd faced 
fire a couple of times in the meantime, but the 
thought of fire still gave him the willies.  Not that 
he'd ever admit that to Scully.  Not unless she hog-
tied him, of course.  He smiled at that image.  
Maybe, if he could get some nice nylon rope before 
the weekend . . .  He shook his head to clear his 
mind.  Not the time for fantasies now.  Besides, he 
knew that unless there was a break in this case, 
Scully would likely be working all weekend, going 
over every minute detail of the previous autopsies, 
at the beck and call of 'Grif' Michelin, bastard 
extraordinaire.       

The autopsy photos, although interesting, weren't 
giving him any information.  All three of these men 
had something more in common than 'work associates'.  
They were all killed at night, all within walking 
distance of their cars.  Near their homes?  He 
flipped through some pages of the reports.  No, not 
near their homes.  Near a common place?  Again, it 
appeared that the murders didn't occur at a common 
place or even in the same town.

Mulder tilted back in his chair, propped his feet 
firmly on his desk and stared at the ceiling.  Five 
men, all in the same line of work, criminal 
activities, and all dead.  What could be the common 
thread?  If they'd all died at the same time, he'd 
have no doubt that it was connected to their 
'associates'.  But they'd died separately, over a 
period of a couple of months.  It appeared to be 
hits, but it was a damned unusual signature.  What 
did men like that do on . . . 

Inspiration struck when he finally found the 
connecting piece.  All the men had died on the same 
night.  Thursday.  The common thread was Thursday.  
Now, all he needed to do was dig a little, make a few 
phone calls and find out what the hell there was to 
do in the greater Washington DC metropolitan area on 
a Thursday night.

Two hours later, his ear was starting to burn and his 
right hand index finger was feeling bruised, but 
Mulder felt triumphant.  It had taken a little 
subterfuge, a few white lies and a whole lot of moxie 
on his part, but he now had the schedule of a weekly 
traveling poker game and the names of some of the 
participants.  

With his list firmly in his pocket, he headed out the 
door in search of a killer.

One hour later

Scully pushed open the door to the office, noticing 
immediately that it was empty.  Where the hell had 
Mulder gone now?  

She'd just returned from another go round with SIC 
Michelin.  The man had gone from insufferable to 
potential homicide victim in the space of ten 
minutes, a new record for Scully.  She could take his 
arrogance; she could even take his demeaning attitude 
toward her and her profession.  What was really 
making her look for places to stick her scalpel where 
his severed artery wouldn't stain her lab coat was 
the way he kept invading her personal space every 
time he was around her.  

Sure, they hadn't taken out an ad in the Bureau 
employee newsletter, but her relationship with Mulder 
had been office canon for years even before they 
_had_ a relationship, at least in a physical sense.  
She knew Grif was simply finding new and inventive 
ways to push her buttons but that realization did 
nothing to dampen her anger.

She wanted nothing more than to go to her apartment 
and soak in a hot tub.  But Michelin wanted a 
detailed report on the tox screenings of all five 
victims and she'd stuck her foot in her mouth, 
telling him she'd have it to him first thing in the 
morning.  That meant at least another two or three 
hours in the office.  She closed her eyes and cursed 
the day Grif Michelin's mother looked at his father.  
And then her cell phone rang.

"Scully, where are you?" Mulder asked.

"I'm in the office.  Where the hell are you?" she 
shot right back.

"I'm on my way to a poker game, actually," he said 
with a smile she could detect even through the phone 
line.

"Poker game?  Mulder, do you even know how to play 
poker?" she asked, trying shake the 'fishwife' image 
from her mind.

"I'll have you know I won the money for my plane 
ticket back to the states one summer from an all 
night poker game after orals," he said with a sniff.

"Playing a bunch of rich, spoiled preppies, Mulder.  
I'm not surprised.  But why did you decide to take up 
the sport right now?"  

"I'm pretty sure that's the connection between your 
victims."

"Tell me you aren't going to this game to find the 
killer," Scully said with a heavy sigh.  "Mulder, 
we've had this conversation too many times . . ."

"Hey, this does not count as a ditch," he defended 
himself.  "I'm calling you right now, at 7:35 pm, to 
tell you the exact location and the nature of my 
meeting."

"You make it sound like I'm your appointments 
secretary," she growled.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely.  "I know you worry, 
Scully and I also know that in the past I've given 
you just cause . . ."

"In the past?  Try last week," she huffed but he 
ignored her comment and continued on.

"I'm telling you where I'm going and what I'm doing.  
I'm just checking the place out.  It's a traveling 
poker game.  I'll sit in, play a few hands and unless 
I lose my paycheck early, I'll be home by 11, Scouts 
Honor!"

"Once again, Mulder, you were an Indian Guide," 
Scully ground out through clenched teeth.

"Whatever," Mulder quipped.  "Scully, I have my gun, 
I have my cell phone, I'll be fine.  Now, are you 
going over to my place or should I come to yours?"

She sighed, remembering the report she had yet to 
start.  "I'll be at the office, more than likely," 
she said dejectedly.  "I promised Michelin a report 
first thing tomorrow."

"Want I should kick his ass?" Mulder asked 
innocently.  

"No, I'm more than capable of handling that 
particular assignment, thank you," she replied 
happily.

"Well, I guess I have to give you first dibs, then.  
So, keep the bed warm, or I'll keep the bed warm, 
hey, did we ever decide what bed we're warming 
tonight?" he asked in a slightly befuddled voice.

"My turn tonight."

"Then I better stop by the apartment and feed the 
fish," he reminded himself absently.  "I'll catch you 
later, G-woman."

"Just don't lose the rent, G-man."

"Affirmative," he replied crisply.  "Hey, did you 
know that I'm madly in love with my partner?"

Her whole face broke into a broad smile.  "I heard 
that years ago.  That's old news."

"Yeah, well, I hear she's madly in love with me, 
too," he taunted.

"Now, _that_ you can take to the bank, Mulder.  Try 
to get home in one piece."

"I promise," he answered.  "As an Indian Guide."  
Before she could make any response, he'd hung up.

Scully shook her head and slipped her phone back in 
her pocket.  While talking to Mulder she'd booted up 
the computer and now she sat staring at the desktop 
icons.  Double clicking on the little blue 'e', she 
waited for the FBI homepage to appear.  Now, where to 
start?

Nero's Palace Italian Restaurant
Tyson's Corner, Virginia
11:57 pm

Benito Orlando glared at the two men sitting in front 
of him.

"Whaddya mean you got no idea who's doin' this?  
Either it's Mendera or some new slob but I don't pay 
you goons to sit on your asses doin' nothin'!" the 
olive skinned man said, strangling his knife and fork 
in each hand.  Orlando wasn't a tall man, but what he 
lacked in stature he made up in sheer meanness.  In 
his youth he'd been known as 'pollo de muerte', 
little chicken of death.  It was a nickname he was 
proud to hold.

The taller of the two men licked his lip nervously.  
"It ain't Mendera, boss.  He's as pissed off as you."

"Then it's a new bunch, some outsiders.  Has anyone 
checked with the Banderas up in Baltimore?" Orlando 
demanded.

The second man, small with beady eyes that seemed 
about to burst into tears shook his head 
emphatically.  "Boss, Vito's tellin' the truth.  We 
checked with Banderas, we checked all the way up to 
Atlantic City.  There ain't no new gangs forming.  
This guy, who ever he is, he's workin' alone."

"So we got some mope tryin' to play Wyatt Erp, is 
that what you're sayin'?" Orlando asked, calming down 
enough to put his knife and fork gently back on the 
table.

Both men nodded in unison, a freakish imitation of 
two life-sized bobbleheads.

Orlando leaned back in his chair, an oily smile on 
his face.  "So, he's alone.  That just makes our job 
easier."

"But boss, we got no idea who he is!" cried beady-
eyes.

"And we ain't the only ones looking for him, 
neither," interjected the tall one.  "The FBI is 
gunnin' for him."

"For what?" Orlando asked, confused.

The taller man shrugged.  "Knockin' off enforcers," 
he said with a bemused expression.  

Orlando chuckled at that.  "Boy, it's gotten a lot 
more confusin' since the days when my granddad used 
to send tortellini and lasagna to J. Edgar for his 
little parties," he huffed.  "But I never thought 
they'd be doing our work for us."

"There's a rumor that he's hittin' guys after poker 
games.  We was gonna check that out," beady-eyes 
jumped in, now that the boss seemed in a better frame 
of mind.

"So what the hell are ya doin' here?" Orlando roared.  
"Get your asses out on the street.  And don't come 
back till you have word on this guy."  

"You wants us to 'erase' him, boss?" beady-eyes 
asked, feeling more secure by the minute.

Orlando considered the remains of his veal scaloppini 
intently before looking up at his two associates.  
"Nah.  You goons had your day.  Now it's time to 
bring in the big guns.  Just tell me where he is, 
I'll do the rest."

The little man deflated slightly but nodded, heading 
out the door with his companion.

"So, who do you think the boss is gonna call?" beady-
eyes asked his friend.

"Ain't gonna call no 'ghostbusters', that's for 
sure!" replied the taller man.  "I'd put my money on 
Benny callin' Vinnie."

Beady-eyes sucked in a breath at the name.  "Vinnie . 
. . the Torch?"

"Hey, ya gotta fight fire with fire, right," the tall 
man reasoned and they both broke into laughter.


FBI Headquarters
The next day
9:15 am

Scully sat staring so hard at the blank screen that 
her eyes began to cross.  She had been through all 
the possible medical sites, and even a few of the 
more in depth crime statistical sites and had come up 
with nothing.  It didn't help matters that she'd 
waited up until well past midnight for her partner, 
cursing his video collection for it's complete lack 
of anything to amuse her while she tried to forget 
about the case.  She'd fallen asleep on his couch and 
he hadn't managed to wake her when he carried her 
into bed.  Even so, she'd awakened 30 minutes late to 
find he was nowhere in the apartment.  Now she was 
tired, grumpy and wanted nothing more than to have 
Skinner call up and tell her they were required on a 
case in Middle of Nowhere, Kansas and their flight 
was to leave in an hour.

Mulder must have sensed her foul mood because he'd 
left a note on his computer screen telling her he had 
some research to do that would take him out of the 
office for most of the day.  Scully was pretty sure 
he was off in a corner of the building using a covert 
computer to find casino sites and practice up on his 
poker abilities, but he turned off his phone to 
escape detection and she hadn't had a chance to call 
him on it.  

Now, she sat where she'd sat most of the day before.  
The computer screen was still blank, waiting for her 
report.  Mulder had equipped her computer with 
several of his favorite bookmarks, a pastime she had 
repeatedly scolded him about.  As inspiration struck, 
she was glad to have them.  As much as she tried to 
rationalize the bodies she'd seen in the last few 
days, there seemed no logical or plausible 
explanation.  At least, not an easily arrived at 
plausible explanation.  

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she clicked 
on 'favorites' and let her eyes scan the list.  She 
grimaced, but finally clicked on the 'Weird Science 
Database'.  Thank heavens Mulder was not in the room 
to see her at that moment or she would never live it 
down.  Most of the entries were of no merit to the 
case, it wasn't a ghost, she doubted to the extreme 
that it could be attributed to alien abduction.  Two 
words jumped out at her from the screen:  ball 
lightning.

Ball lightning, Scully already knew, was another name 
for plasma electricity balls that seemingly appeared 
out of thin air.  They were sometimes connected with 
storm activity in the atmosphere, but sometimes they 
just appeared with no source and disappeared in an 
equally mysterious manner.  Some accounts considered 
them harmless, but on occasion they had started 
fires, fried televisions and wrecked havoc before 
vanishing into nothing.  For years, scientists had 
doubted the validity of claims of ball lightning, but 
in the last couple of decades, several respected 
scientists had documented some of the eyewitness 
accounts and the phenomena was grudgingly receiving 
official recognition in the scientific community.

Among the pages of scientific explanations of ball 
lightning there were several eyewitness accounts of 
encounters with the plasma balls.  As she clicked on 
each entry and read the stories, each person's ordeal 
began to take on a familiar tone.  Of course, there 
were no cases of people who had actually been touched 
by the balls of floating plasma.  It seemed in most 
cases the witnesses could outdistance the balls or 
the balls actually seemed to 'avoid' contact with 
humans.  

But what if that wasn't the case?

Scully tapped her foot and grabbed the mouse again, 
this time looking for sites on electrical injuries.  
Just from her own observation, she was positive the 
voltage to produce such massive destruction within 
the victims had to be much higher than ordinary 
household current.  Lightning, in whatever form, 
seemed a more plausible explanation.  This was the 
connection, the cause.  And, Scully gleefully mused, 
it had scientific, or at least 'fringe' scientific, 
standing.

After several hours of reading, she opened a clear 
screen and started to type up her report for the Task 
Force.

The X Files office
6:21 pm

When he'd not gotten an answer at her apartment, 
Mulder hadn't bothered calling her cell phone.  She 
was most likely still in the basement, working on her 
report.  That's exactly where he found her.

Her head jerked up when she heard the door swing 
open.  She reached for her gun, but quickly dropped 
her hand and allowed herself to break into a huge 
grin.  "Is that a pepperoni pizza in that box, G-
Man?"

"Either that or I'm really glad to see you," he shot 
back and deposited the pizza box on the flattest pile 
of papers on his desk.  "Pepperoni, half mushrooms 
for the fungus lover."

"Mulder, you old softie!" she exclaimed, opening the 
box and pulling out a slice.  "You didn't wake me 
when you came in last night.  So, how much did you 
lose?" she asked, reaching over to her desk to grab a 
handful of tissues to use as napkins.

"You wound me, Scully!  'How much did you lose?'  
What, have you no confidence in my ability to master 
the simple game of poker?"

"We'll play 'the simple game of poker' with Bill and 
Tara the next time Mom has a family gathering, and 
we'll see how well you've mastered it," she smiled 
coyly.  "How much are you out?"

"Forty-three bucks," he said with a sigh and grabbed 
out his own slice.  "But I could have won it back if 
I'd been able to stay out past curfew," he added with 
a dejected slump to his shoulders.

"You were several hours past curfew in my house, 
sailor.  Any leads on a possible UNSUB?" she asked, 
settling down on her chair.

"Nada.  But I found out there's more than one game.  
There's another one tonight.  Apparently gambling is 
alive and well in Northern Virginia and the Maryland 
Suburbs, Scully.  All that potential tax money and no 
body to collect it."

"Well, I may have stumbled on the murder weapon, so 
to speak," she grinned, pleased that at least she'd 
made some progress on the case.  "Assuming these were 
actually murders," she added, moving to pick up 
sheets from the printer and handing them to her 
partner.

Mulder sat down at his desk and read quickly through 
the printed pages.  When he got to her findings, he 
looked up in surprise, a smile spreading across his 
features.  "Dear Diary, today Dana Scully used the 
words 'ball lightning' in an autopsy report.  My 
heart leapt!"  He skimmed the rest of the report and 
handed it back to her.  "Good work, Scully.  But are 
you sure you want to put that on the record?"

Scully took the pages, straightened them and sat down 
across the desk from Mulder.  "It's the only 
explanation that makes sense, Mulder.  There was no 
'point of contact' burns, the voltage was extreme to 
say the least.  I would say these men were just the 
unfortunate victims of plasma electricity."

Mulder pulled on his lip, staring off toward the 
darkened back of the office.  "You think this was, 
what?  An act of God?"

"Mulder, look at the evidence.  Ball lightning occurs 
naturally, there are hundreds of documented and eye 
witness reports . . ."

"And in all those reports, Scully, how many deaths 
occur each year?"

Scully dropped her eyes and tried not to look 
rattled.  "Well, to be perfectly honest . . ."

"None, if I'm not mistaken.  I've done a little 
homework on ball lightning myself, quite some time 
ago.  I ran across the same websites you found when 
we were investigating some deaths by lightning a few 
years back.  And I distinctly remember that ball 
lightning had accounted for no deaths, according to 
the documentation.  However, I did see evidence of 
several fried TVs and computers."

Scully's face fell.  "You don't think it's ball 
lightning," she said calmly.

He smiled at her.  "You give up too easy, Scully.  
No, I think it's quite probably ball lightning.  I 
just don't think it's 'occurring naturally' as you 
seem to think.  I think it's being directed at these 
men," he poked his pizza slice in the air to make his 
point.  "I think it truly is being used as a murder 
weapon.  That is the only way to explain how five 
different men could die of the same 'naturally 
occurring phenomenon'.  The only remaining question 
is who is committing the murders."

Scully frowned and looked back at the screen.  Mulder 
was correct, five deaths, even by regular lightning, 
would be skirting the edges of extreme possibility.  
And it did feel like a crime was being committed.  "I 
just don't see how we'll be able to find the killer, 
Mulder.  What are we looking for, somebody with a 
really big plasma ball?  They might stand out in a 
crowd," Scully reminded him dryly.

"I'm not giving up on the poker game, Scully.  I 
think there's something there."

She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand while 
clicking off the computer with the other.  "OK, 
Mulder, go play poker.  But I warn you, I don't make 
loans."

He came up behind her, took over the neck rub with 
his own hands and kissed her just under her left 
earlobe.

"I was hoping to get an advance on 'services 
rendered'," he whispered in her ear.

"In your dreams, G-man," she laughed.  She turned her 
head and pressed his fingers to her lips.  "I have a 
task force meeting at 8," she said with a 
disappointed sigh.

"That's OK.  The poker game starts at 9," he said, 
tapping her nose with his index finger.  "We'll meet 
up at your place at . . ."

"God knows when," she supplied.  "Mulder, I'm going 
home and taking a hot bath when this meeting is over.  
If I'm still there when you get in, drain the tub and 
carry me to bed," she requested with a big yawn.

His smile was enough to brighten a darkened city 
block.  "I think I can handle that," he said 
cheerfully.  "See you tonight," he added, snagging 
the last piece of pizza and heading out the door, 
leaving her to finish her report.

K&M Construction
14564 Canal Street
Alexandria, Virginia
11:13 pm

Mulder licked his lips and stared hard at his cards.  
Two eights, two aces, and a six of clubs stared back 
at him.  Dead man's hand.  Scully would not be 
pleased.  He looked around the table and considered 
his options.  "I'm out," he said flatly and threw the 
cards on the table.

"Mr. Ed-u-kay-shun is out, gentlemen," said the 
dealer, a wirey African-American with a gleaming 
smile.  "That brings us to you, Rockie."

Ray Boulder looked nervously at his cards.  Squat.  
Nothing there.  A five, a seven, a jack, and two 
threes.  It was worse than nothing.  And he knew he 
was already in the hole.  There was only one option.  
"I'll raise you ten," he said and stared straight 
across the table into the eyes of the large man with 
a big black moustache.

Four of the men at the table, including Mr. 
Moustache, broke into uproarious laughter.  "Rockie, 
you ain't got squat," bellowed the Moustache.  "Now 
don't go diggin' youself in no hole you can't climb 
outta.  Just lay down the cards and call it a night."

Ray sat there, resisting the urge to squirm.  But 
then he thought about the last several weeks and a 
calm smile came to his face.  "Sure, Al.  What was I 
thinkin'?  Just kiddin' around, ya know how it is."  
He placed his cards face down on the table.  Al's 
smile turned up a hundred watts as he raked his 
winnings into a pile in front of him.

"I'm out," Mulder announced, pushing back his chair.  
The dealer smiled at him as Mulder handed over four 
twenties and a ten, his losses for the evening.  

"Pleasure playin' wid ya, Marty.  Come back anytime," 
the dealer laughed.  He then turned to Ray.  "So, we 
come to the Rock.  Dig out the wallet and cough up 5 
pictures of Mr. Jackson, and be quick about it, we 
got a game to finish."

"Nah, Jake, let's call it a night," Al said with a 
stretch and a yawn.  

The other men looked nervously at Al, but no one said 
a word.  Jake's eyes darted from Ray to Al and back 
again.  

"I'll settle up with Rockie, here," Al said with a 
forced smile.  "Besides, he owes me all the money 
he's out.  Why make everybody else wait, right?"

The table immediately broke into nods and mutters of 
agreement.  Before Mulder had a chance to reach for 
his jacket, most of the men had fled the small 
conference room at the back of the construction 
company office.

"Al, look, I have the money," Ray blurted out.  "It's 
all back at my car.  I don't like comin' into these 
games with too much money on me, ya know?  No tellin' 
what might happen.  Let me go get it and I'll be 
right back," he assured

"Lemme walk ya to your car, Rockie," Al said with an 
oily smile.  "So you don't have to walk all the way 
back."  He turned and glared at Mulder.  "Hey, you, 
rube," he sneered.  "Beat it!"

Mulder looked from Ray to Al and knew immediately 
that he shouldn't get involved.  It was a gambling 
debt; no court in the land would defend the man.  He 
had no business getting involved.  Scully would 
absolutely kill him if he got mangled in a fight over 
a stupid poker game.

"Um, I need a ride," Mulder said calmly, 
unobtrusively rubbing his ankle against his other 
ankle, checking to make sure his spare gun was indeed 
still in place.  He could hear Scully's sigh as if 
she was standing right behind him.

"Bus stops half a block down to the left," Al said 
with a frown.

"Oh, yeah.  Well, trouble is, I'm tapped out," Mulder 
continued.  His hand was itching to reach down to his 
gun, but he forced himself to stand tall and look 
straight into Al's eyes.  His mind flashed a strange 
image of staring down a cobra.

Al regarded Mulder coolly and then swiftly dug in his 
pocket, coming up with a handful of coins.  He tossed 
the coins down on the table, just inches from where 
Mulder stood.

"Now, I repeat, beat it!"

"Sure thing.  Nice playing with you," Mulder said 
quickly, scraping the coins into his hand and 
depositing them in his pocket.  There was no point in 
antagonizing the man, who outweighed him by at least 
150 pounds.  Mulder shrugged on his jacket and left 
by the door he'd come in.

'Go home, go home, go home,' a voice that sounded 
incredibly like his partner's sang in his head, but 
Mulder looked around the industrial park and spotted 
a good hiding place, a darkened alcove across the 
street.  Sure, Ray had tried to cheat, that much was 
obvious.  Mulder had watched as the little man palmed 
cards during the night, and he was certain Ray was 
trying hard to skip out on the money he owed.  But 
Mulder knew he couldn't go home with a clear 
conscious if the man was beaten.  Besides, Mulder 
reasoned, maybe Ray could give him some information 
about the games and the players that could lead to 
their killer.

'Right,' Scully's little voice growled sarcastically 
in his head.

Al and Ray wasted no time coming out of the 
construction office.  Ray was a few feet ahead and Al 
was staring holes in the man's back.  When they 
arrived at Ray's beat up old Caprice, Al didn't wait 
any longer.  He grabbed Ray by the collar and lifted 
him up into the air, slamming the smaller man down on 
the hood of the car before raising his fist to pummel 
Ray's head.

Mulder reached down and unholstered his gun, 
preparing to step out and break up the melee, when he 
heard a loud noise, like a giant balloon popping.  
Suddenly, from nowhere, a ball of blue light at least 
three feet in diameter appeared behind Al.  As the 
giant man stepped back to renew his assault on Ray, 
he was engulfed in the ball and static electricity 
danced off every hair on his body.  He was lifted off 
the ground at least four feet into the air and with a 
noise that rivaled a sonic boom, he sailed a dozen 
feet and landed in a smoking heap in the middle of 
the deserted street.

Before Mulder could move, Ray was jumping in the 
front seat of his car and shoving the key in the 
ignition.  Coming to his senses after witnessing such 
a display, Mulder ran to the passenger side of the 
car and pounded on the window.  

"Open up, Ray.  I'm with the FBI!" he shouted through 
the glass of the passenger side window.  His gun 
still plainly in sight, he pulled out his 
identification wallet and plastered it against the 
window.

Ray's eyes grew wide, but he dropped his hands from 
the steering wheel.  Slowly, he leaned over and 
unlocked the car door, allowing Mulder to open it.  
Mulder slid in the seat and looked at Ray.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said in a rush.  "I 
think you know something about some deaths that have 
been occurring lately.  I just want to talk to you."

"I ain't done nuthin' wrong," Ray cried out, shaking 
his head and beating his fists on the steering wheel.  
"I didn't do that, there's no way in hell I could do 
that," he stammered, looking terrified out at where 
Al's body still smoldered in the wane light of the 
street lamp half a block away.  "I didn't do it," he 
said, spent from his panic and laid his head on the 
steering wheel.

Mulder considered his options.  "Look, will you come 
with me?  I think I can help you."

Ray turned his head and peered at Mulder.  "You said 
you were FBI.  Why do you want to help me?"

Mulder smiled.  "Because I think you have a unique 
ability that you don't even know and I think we need 
to figure out how you can control it."  Then he grew 
serious.  "And you were present at the deaths of six 
individuals."

"Scumbags!" Ray spit out without lifting his head.  
"They were nothin' but scum!"

"That might be the case, Ray, but they were killed by 
something you say you had no part of.  What if the 
next time it decides to turn on you?"

It was obvious to Mulder and the thought had crossed 
Ray's mind.  He raised his head and nodded in 
agreement.

"So, where you wanta go?" Ray asked.  "I don't got 
much gas."

Mulder refrained from chuckling.  "My apartment is 
just on the other side of town.  We can go there, 
relax and you can tell me how all this came about."

Ray shrugged and started the engine.  As he pulled 
away from the curb, neither man noticed a black Lexus 
SUV a block down the street, which waited until Ray 
turned and then followed them, not even slowing down 
as it passed the smoldering remains of Big Al.

Mulder pulled out his cell phone and punched a couple 
of buttons.  The phone rang a few times and then 
voice mail picked up.  "This is Dana Scully.  Please 
leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I 
can."

Mulder cursed softly and then straightened in his 
seat.  "Scully, it's me.  Look, I think I found a 
really big lead.  But I need you to do something for 
me.  Call the Alexandria PD and tell them there's 
another stiff outside K & M Construction at 145th and 
Canal.  Don't bother with the autopsy just yet, I can 
give an eyewitness account.  Call me when you get 
this, OK?"  He shut off the phone and looked over at 
Ray.

"You were there, right?  At all six deaths?"

Ray nodded, concentrating on the road ahead.  "What 
was the address?"

Mulder shook his head and looked out the window.  
"2630 Hegal Place.  Just take this road another 
couple of miles and you'll run into Hegal.  Then take 
a left."  The rest of the ride was in silence.

Act III

FBI Headquarters
11:45 pm
Conference room 4B

Scully sat quietly at the back of the room of agents, 
glaring at Grif Michelin who was calmly listening to 
each man or woman's report.  The meeting had started 
at 8 and she was certain she'd be on the way to 
Mulder's apartment by 10 at the latest, but Grif 
seemed to relish in particularly long meetings.  Her 
ass had fallen asleep at least 45 minutes ago.

"And that brings us to our 'consultant', Agent 
Scully.  Come on up and tell the folks about your 
'revelation', Agent Scully," Michelin crowed as he 
waved Scully up to the front of the room.

Scully tamped down the rage boiling within her and 
stood, collecting her papers with measured 
deliberativeness.  With head held high, she made her 
way to the front of the room.  Surveying the gathered 
agents, she looked them each in the eye and began her 
report.

"You're out of the friggin' mind, Scully!"  

"I thought we had the 'sane' half of the partnership 
working on this task force!"  

"What a minute, didn't I see something about ball 
lightning on the Sci Fi channel last night?"  

"So what are you trying to tell us, Scully?  We're to 
be on the lookout for a really big thundercloud?"

A full ten minutes after the break up of the meeting 
and her mind was still reeling from the taunts and 
accusations flung at her.  She was angry enough to 
break into tears, but that was one thing living with 
an asshole brother like Bill had taught her - never 
let them see you cry.  She collected her papers from 
the podium and headed for the elevator.  She'd go 
down to the basement, toss her report in the garbage, 
drive to her apartment and bring that bottle of 
chardonnay into the bathtub with her.  If she didn't 
drown herself in a drunken stupor, maybe Mulder would 
come home and take her to bed.  Maybe, just maybe, 
she'd let him keep her in bed for the next month.

The last person she wanted to see was Grif Michelin 
leaning against the wall next to the elevators.

"Quite a show you put on in there tonight, Scully.  
Do you do matinees on the weekends?" he asked with a 
smirk.  Scully wanted nothing more than to knock out 
his two perfectly matched and artificially white 
front teeth.

"I gave my report, Agent Michelin.  And now, I'm 
going home," she replied through gritted teeth.  

She started to stab at the elevator button, but 
Michelin's hand shot out and grabbed her at the 
sleeve.  "Scully, when you get home tonight, do us 
all a favor and tie a bell around your partner's 
dick.  Or better yet, cuff him to the bed for a 
while."

"Remove your hand right now or I'll have you up on 
harassment," she seethed.

"Oh, I don't think so," Michelin purred.  "If 
anybody's been 'sexually harassing' you, that would 
be Mulder.  But I want you to listen to me and listen 
good.  Your partner is in deep shit if he thinks he's 
going to work on this case behind my back.  I can 
have you both exiled to some field office in 
Nebraska, if I so desire."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scully 
ground out, ripping her arm from Michelin's grasp.  
She hit the button to call for the next car with a 
little more force than necessary, almost breaking a 
nail in the process.

"Just tell old Foxy boy to keep his dick where it 
belongs and out of my investigation.  Or I can't be 
held responsible.  Got it?"  He turned on his heel 
and swaggered down the hallway.

"Fuck off," Scully muttered, but Michelin was already 
out of earshot.  

It didn't take long to toss the report, grab her coat 
and purse and start for the door.  But in her haste, 
her purse strap caught on the edge of her desk, 
causing her purse to tilt and the contents to spill 
all over the floor.

"Goddammit," she shouted to the walls and stooped 
down to pick up the mess.  As she was putting her 
cell phone back in its holder, she noticed the 
message symbol was blinking.  Punching in the 
appropriate numbers, she listened to Mulder's 
message.

"Goddammit to hell!" she shouted louder.  As usual, 
Mulder had run off and left her with all the dirty 
work.  Angrily she punched in the number for the 
Alexandria Police Department as she headed out to her 
car.  In minutes she was on the way to 145th and 
Canal.  She was mad enough that she wanted to tell 
him off, but when she dialed his cell phone, she got 
his voice mail.  Refusing to give up the satisfaction 
of yelling at him in person, she disconnected the 
call without leaving a message and threw the phone on 
the passenger seat.  The rest of the ride to the 
crime scene was spent devising tortures for both her 
partner and Agent Grif Michelin, each more gruesome 
than the last.

2630 Hegal Place
11:45 pm

Mulder unlocked the door to his apartment, ushering 
Ray into the darkened foyer.  He flipped on a light 
and nodded toward the sofa.  "Take a load off.  Want 
something to drink?"

"Beer?" Ray requested innocently.

Mulder just stared back at the man with crossed arms.

"Ice water," Ray relented and perched nervously on 
the edge of the seat.  "So, you gonna arrest me?"

Mulder got the water and heading back into the living 
room.  "I'm not altogether convinced that you've 
committed a crime, Mr. . . . um . . ."

"Boulder, Ray Boulder," Ray said, taking the glass 
from Mulder's hand. 

"Ah," Mulder said with a knowing smile.  "That's 
where all the 'Rockie' references were coming from."

"Yeah, well it ain't because I was a heavyweight 
champ," Ray snorted.  "It's usually a put down."

Mulder nodded again.  "Ray, how long have you, uh, 
been witnessing this . . ."

"The blue ball?" Ray offered.  He stared down at the 
glass of water as if hoping it would supply an 
answer.  "Shit, I don't know.  A couple of months 
now, I guess.  It started right after I got 
electrocuted."

"You were electrocuted?" Mulder asked in surprise.  
"You look pretty good for . . ."

"Nah, I was just shocked real bad, that's all.  Made 
my hair stand on end, that sort of stuff.  Didn't 
even lose a full day of work, dammit," Ray groused.  
"But it was that night, after a poker game, that I 
saw it for the first time."

"Tell me about it, Ray," Mulder prodded.

"Well, see, these two goons were gonna rough me up."

"Like tonight," Mulder interjected.

"Yeah, like tonight.  And all of a sudden, I hear 
this noise and this big blue ball of light and the 
two goons go up like a cheap roman candle.  I mean, I 
couldn't do nothin', ya know.  I ain't no doctor!"

"No, of course not," Mulder said dryly.  "So you had 
nothing to do with the 'big blue ball of light's 
appearance?"

"What, like 'summon' it or something?  Christ, no!  I 
mean, it scared the shit out of me!  I didn't want 
nothin' to do with it."

"But you have been, shall we say, using it, haven't 
you, Ray?" Mulder nudged.  "Sort of like a 
'bodyguard', maybe?"

Ray tilted his chin up in defiance, but refused to 
meet Mulder's eyes.  "Look, it ain't my fault if it 
happens to not like it when some two-bit goomba is 
trying to bust my nuts.  For all I know, it's my 
goddam guardian angel."

"Or fairy godmother," Mulder deadpanned.  "Look, Ray, 
you had to know that this thing was lethal.  And yet 
you continued to put yourself in situations that 
caused it to respond.  That could be considered 
premeditated," Mulder explained.

Ray bristled immediately.  "Hey, we ain't talkin' 
about no murder charges, are we?  Coz, I don't think 
I'm in too much danger o' that!  Who's gonna believe 
this shit?  No cop I know.  An' besides, it ain't 
like I was takin' out 'upstanding model citizens'.  
These pukes had rap sheets as long as your arm!  If I 
had any part in this, I was doin' a public service!"

"Ray, Justice isn't _that_ blind," Mulder said 
tersely.  "But you realize, you've been stepping on 
some big toes.  Aren't you afraid somebody's going to 
come after you?"

The small man laughed at that.  "You saw what this 
thing can do tonight.  Bring 'em on!  I ain't afraid 
of nothin'!"

There's a bang behind them, like a gunshot, but when 
Mulder reached for his weapon and looked around, he 
realized it was the lock on his door giving way as it 
was kicked inward.  A man was standing in the now 
open doorway, a sawed off shotgun straddling his 
arms.  "Maybe you better start being afraid, now, 
Ray," Mulder whispered.

145th and Canal
Alexandria, VA
12:10 am

"What the hell did that?" demanded the Alexandria 
Police detective who had arrived at the scene just 
minutes before Scully.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Scully 
answered tersely.  "Did you call the M.E. already?"

The detective frowned at her but nodded.  "Yeah.  
They should be here in about half an hour."

Scully closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere 
else but the middle of a deserted street in an 
industrial park waiting for a morgue wagon.  Finally, 
she opened her eyes and looked around.  A few cars 
were scattered up and down the street.  One about 
two-thirds of a block down looked awfully familiar.  
She jogged down the street and looked in the driver's 
side window.  

"Mulder?" she called out, but it was apparent the car 
was abandoned.  If he'd left his car, where was he, 
she wondered.

The disgruntled detective caught up with her, 
touching her shoulder to get her attention.  "You 
wanta come here and give me something to go on?" he 
pleaded.

"Sure, just as soon as I call my partner," Scully 
said, but stopped as she was pulling her phone out.  
Several other cars had arrived and even from half a 
block away she recognized one man out of the rest.  
Grif Michelin.  Foregoing her call, she stormed over 
to the head of the task force.

"Come to see for yourself, Agent Michelin?" she spat 
out as she approached him.

Michelin turned toward her, eyes ablaze.  "And why 
the hell didn't I get a call from you, Agent Scully.  
You look like you've been here a while.  I had to 
hear about this from the Alexandria PD."

"I called the Alexandria PD," Scully shot back.  "And 
I'm here because Mulder witnessed the killing.  He 
left me a message while I was in the meeting tonight 
and directed me to find the dead man here."

"So why didn't he stick around?  Where is the 
Spookster?" Michelin asked, eyes scanning the 
assembled crowd.

"He said he thought he was going to have an 
explanation."

Scully could almost see a blue vein bulging out on 
the agent's neck.  "I thought I made it clear that 
Spooky Mulder was to have no part in this 
investigation!" he roared.

"And you also made it clear that you were unwilling 
to listen to any explanation that didn't fit into 
your limited world view," Scully shouted right back.  

It took some effort, but Michelin brought himself 
under control.  "So, you still think this was done by 
ball lightning?" he smirked.

"Yeah, I do," Scully sneered.  "And I bet it had 
something to do with the poker game that took place 
in that building right there," she added, pointing to 
the construction company office.

"That's an office building," Michelin said 
dismissively.

"And a traveling poker game meets there on Thursday 
nights," Scully explained.  "Or at least it did 
tonight."

Michelin's eyes grew wide and Scully saw something in 
them, something the agent was hiding.  Before she 
could question him on it, another agent shouted at 
them from the curb.

"Agent Michelin, we found something!"

Michelin glared at Scully for a moment and then 
trotted over to the agent.  "What is it?"

"It's a wallet.  Belongs to a Raymond Boulder, Tysons 
Corners."

Michelin took the wallet and stared at the license, 
then walked over and looked at the burned corpse 
still lying in the street.  "Unless he really gained 
weight, not to mention grew a few inches, this 
license doesn't belong to this guy."

Scully was beside him in an instant, taking the 
wallet from his hands.  "Then it must belong to the 
killer," she deduced.

"Do you think Mulder took him in?" Michelin asked.  
It was the first time he'd asked a question honestly 
all night.

"I don't know.  He might have.  But I don't think he 
would have taken him to the police station.  I was 
about to call him when you arrived."

"Call him.  We need to track down this Mr. Boulder 
and ask a few pointed questions."  

2630 Hegal Place
12:15 am

"Put that little peashooter down, Mr. FBI," the 
incredibly big man drawled as he walked into the 
apartment.  "I just want the little pebble there."

"You don't wanta do this," Ray said quietly, looking 
anxiously over the big man's shoulder.

"You ain't gettin' no help from above this time, 
pipsqueak," the man growled and with one hand he 
cocked the shotgun.

"Um, I really wouldn't do that," Mulder said, 
watching the same spot Ray was so fixated on right 
behind the big man with the gun.

"No Fibbie gonna tell me what ta do!" the man sneered 
and took aim at both men as they sat on the sofa.

What happened next, Mulder would be hard pressed to 
say.  The minute the man's fingers tightened on the 
trigger, Ray launched himself at his tree trunk-like 
legs, bringing him down.  Almost simultaneously, 
there was an enormous pop and crack and a glowing 
blue ball, six to eight feet in diameter appeared, 
engulfing the man, Ray and half Mulder's living room 
in its center.  There was a second where all the 
light bulbs in the room popped from the electric 
surge.  There was a sizzling sound and the room 
exploded in fire.  

Mulder was mesmerized, unable to move.  He could feel 
the heat of the blaze as it blistered his skin, could 
see the bodies writhing on the floor within the 
flame, but was frozen to his spot.

'Get out!  Get out NOW!'  It was Scully, but it 
wasn't Scully.  It was that little voice in his head 
that always said what Scully would say to him at just 
the moment he needed to hear it.  He looked over at 
the door.  The flames had quickly spread across the 
hard wood, licking up the varnish like it was 
saltwater taffy.  There was a wall of fire between 
him and the door.  Smoke was choking all the air out 
of the room and he crouched down, trying to decide 
whether to run through the fire or just lay down and 
die.

'Water!'

He squinted through the smoky haze and could make out 
the way to his kitchen.  Picking around the small 
dinette that was already smoldering and caught fire 
as he approached, he ran the last few feet to the 
sink and grabbed the towel from the oven door handle.  
He doused the towel in water and hurriedly wrapped it 
around his face, covering his nose and mouth.  As an 
after thought, he seized the sprayer attachment to 
his faucet and soaked his body liberally.  Without 
bothering to turn the water off, he huddled down as 
far as he could and crab walked toward the door.

It was no use, the last ten feet would be through 
flame.  He could just make out the hallway, and saw 
the flames licking the walls out there.  Making sure 
of his direction, he closed his eyes and ran as fast 
as he could.

It was one of his worst nightmares revisited.  The 
hallway was going up as quickly as his apartment.  
For a moment he was lost in a sea of smoke, fire and 
panic, but again, that little voice called to him.  
'Left, the stairway is left'.  He didn't even think 
to doubt it, he just turned left and ran like hell.

The stairs were crowded with other tenants fleeing 
the inferno.  His heart was racing, his flight 
instinct taking control of his actions.  It was a 
struggle to not climb over the other people as 
desperate to escape as he was.  On the landing of the 
second floor, he caught sight of one of his 
neighbors, straining to get her father, who was in a 
wheelchair, down the stairs.  His heart almost burst 
in his chest, but he knew what had to be done.  
Clutching the arm of the most able bodied man next to 
him, he pointed toward the woman and her father.  "We 
have to help them get out!"

The man, Mulder recognized him as the new tenant 
above him, glared at him for a moment, but nodded and 
hurried down the last few steps to the landing.  
Together, they hoisted the old man out of the 
wheelchair and began carrying him down the remaining 
two flights.  Mulder looked over his shoulder and 
could see the daughter, still fighting to get the 
wheelchair down the stairs.  "Leave it, don't block 
the stairs," he shouted up to her.  A moment of 
indecision and the woman shoved the wheelchair into 
the hallway and joined them as they hastened to the 
exit.

Mulder didn't even notice they'd reached the bottom 
until the cold air hit him like high tide hitting the 
beach.  It completely knocked what little oxygen he 
had out of his lungs.  He was coughing, gasping for 
breath that refused to come.  His lungs felt on fire.  
The last thing he remembered was seeing a creature in 
yellow snatch his arm and then all was darkness.

4:45 am
Dana Scully's car

It was too hard.  She didn't want to go in.  She'd 
called both morgues and neither had been able to 
identify the bodies taken from the scene of the fire.  
She'd gone to George Washington University Medical 
Center and had barged into the morgue, demanding 
access to the victims.  One by one, she examined each 
corpse, each time going through the dread of lifting 
the sheet, only to find a moment of relief, then 
pounding fear when she realized that she hadn't found 
her partner yet.  He was still out there.  She had to 
keep searching.

She looked up and saw the familiar Emergency 
Department entrance to Northeast Georgetown Memorial 
Hospital.  Not here, could they have taken the body 
here, just blocks from her apartment?  What cruel 
irony to find Mulder so close and yet gone.  She 
parked the car in a spot she knew wouldn't be towed 
and dragged her feet all the way to the door.

The Emergency Department was bright and hectic.  
People sat in the chairs or stood shivering nearby, 
some wrapped in blankets.  She walked with heavy 
heart to the information desk, drawing out her badge 
to display it for the receptionist.

A friendly face greeted her.  "Agent Scully!  I 
wondered when you'd get here," exclaimed the young 
woman behind the desk.  "Cathie Mosely, you remember 
me from your partner's last visit with us?"

"Oh, Cathie, yes."  Scully fought to find her 
composure.  "About my partner . . ."

"I think they have him settled in a room.  Let me 
check," Cathie said, turning to her computer.  
"Mulder, right?"

Scully almost collapsed with relief and elation.  
"Yes, Mulder, Fox.  Can you tell me the room, 
please?"  She didn't even care that she made it sound 
so dire that she find him.

"Room 713, right across from the nurses' station."

Cathie didn't even have time to write the room number 
down on a card, Scully was already running to the 
elevators.

Epilogue

Northeast Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Room 713
12:31 pm

He coughed, long and hard.  It made his ribs rattle 
and his head ache.  But it woke him up as effectively 
as a bucket of cold water.  He glanced around.  Oh, 
yeah, hospital.  Had he had this room before?  But 
there was a scraping of a chair and he turned his 
head.  Ahh, much better!  Scully!  Before he could 
enjoy the view, he started hacking up a lung again.

"Try to relax, Mulder.  Here," she handed him a cup 
of water.  "Just sips.  We don't want you to choke on 
top of everything else!"

"I found the killer, or rather what killed those 
men," he rasped out, allowing her to press him back 
against the pillows.

"Raymond James Boulder.  1347 East Elm, Tysons 
Corners, Virginia.  Thirty-six years old, worked for 
Fairfax Power and Light Company.  Deceased, or at 
least I'm almost certain that was him the firemen 
found in your apartment."

"He was the source of ball lightning, Scully," he 
said, his voice trailing off into another coughing 
fit.

Scully waited patiently for him to recover before she 
spoke.  "Yes, Mr. Boulder was a victim of an 
industrial accident at his job the day of the first 
death.  Apparently he became a conduit for ball 
lightning."

"There was another guy, a hit man," Mulder choked out 
the words and took another sip of water gratefully.

"Vincent Pallano, a.k.a. Vinnie the Enforcer, a.k.a. 
Vinnie the Fist, a.k.a. Vinnie the Torch.  Before he 
was burned to a crisp tonight, he was a member of the 
Orlando Crime Family.  Apparently he was following 
Ray or you, or both."

Mulder looked over at the clock on the wall.  "Was I 
out of it for days again?  You sure seem to know a 
lot of stuff for just a little after lunch!"

That earned him a smile that lit her whole face.  "I 
did spend a considerable amount of time piecing 
together the facts about Ray this morning.  But as 
far as Vinnie is concerned, a little bird told me.  
Or rather, told the D.A.  One of the Orlando gang was 
pulled over for a routine traffic violation.  When 
they realized he'd also violated parole, he started 
singing like the first robin of spring."

"He's giving up his family?  Guy won't last long," 
Mulder said around a cough.

"He's going WPP.  New name, new identity.  But among 
the people he gave up was a certain FBI Agent with 
strong ties to all the major organized crime families 
in the Metro DC area," she said with a smug grin.

Mulder eyes grew to the size of saucers.  "Michelin?  
Get outta here!"

"Grif Michelin is currently suspended from duty, 
without pay and is under house arrest.  His career, 
from the looks of it, is over!"

"And they say there is no Santa Claus," Mulder 
grinned.  "OK, so that's the good news, what's the 
bad news.  How long is my sentence here?"

"Actually, you can leave as soon as we find you 
something to wear.  You did suffer some smoke 
inhalation, as you might have guessed from the 
coughing.  You have second degree burns on your 
exposed skin, but the firemen were quite impressed 
that you had the presence of mind to get your clothes 
wet before braving the fire in the hallway.  They 
think you were incredibly stupid to try running 
through the fire, but it was that or jump, so you 
took the better route.  For that matter, I was quite 
impressed.  Mulder, you've come a long way since the 
Venerable Plaza," she said proudly, caressing his 
cheek.

"I can honestly say I owe it all to you, Scully.  I 
kept hearing you tell me what to do.  It was like you 
were right beside me.  You saved my life."

Tears were sparkling in her eyes as she let him kiss 
her palm.  "I wish I had been with you.  It would 
have saved me several hours of panicked worry," she 
whispered.  Giving them just a moment to revel in 
this one more escape from the clutches of death, she 
slipped her hand from his grasp and ruffled his hair.  
"Your apartment, on the other hand, did not fare so 
well."

Mulder closed his eyes.  "How bad?"

"Total loss, Mulder.  The whole building.  I went by 
there this morning, when the doctor assured me that 
you were fine but just needed to sleep.  Two of the 
exterior walls are still standing, but the building 
owner was there and said he has no intention of 
rebuliding.  He's going to demolish what is left and 
sell the lot.  It will probably become a parking lot 
for the apartment complex next door."

"Great," Mulder said with a heavy sigh.  "So, I have 
no where to go.  Think Skinner would notice if I 
crashed on the sofa outside his office at night?" he 
asked with a wry grin.

"I think I have a better idea," Scully said, leaning 
over to kiss him.

Dana Scully's Apartment
Georgetown
9:45 pm

"This is just 'til I find a new place, Scully.  We 
work together, we spend a lot of time together, I 
don't want us to get on each other's nerves," he 
said, helping her move clothes from one of the 
dresser drawers to make room for the contents of the 
Joseph A. Banks sacks sitting on the bed.  He picked 
up the sacks and dumped them in the drawers, missing 
Scully's look of total dismay at his 'organizational 
skills'.  

"Mulder, it's fine.  We won't get on each other's 
nerves.  If you haven't managed to get on my nerves 
yet, I think we're fairly safe."

"But we've never . . . cohabited before, Scully.  I 
tell ya, this is more than either of us intended.  
I'll start looking for apartments tomorrow."

"The doctor let you out of the hospital because I 
assured him you would rest.  Instead, we spent three 
hours in the mall restocking your wardrobe.  The only 
thing you're going to do tomorrow is sleep in," she 
said firmly.  "I'm going to call for the pizza.  
Anything special you want on it?"

"Is requesting hot peppers too much?" he asked 
sweetly.

"No, as long as they don't sneak over to my half of 
the pizza," she said with a smile.

A few minutes later, she found him on her sofa, 
trying to lie down.  His legs were bent at the knees 
and he looked totally miserable.

"It's a little short," he said, sitting up.

"You've been on it before, Mulder," she scolded.

"Only to sit.  To sleep, you always let me take the 
bed.  Hope you don't make me sleep on the couch," he 
said, drawing her down onto his lap.

"Behave and you can stay in the bed," she promised, 
kissing his forehead.  She ran her hand over his 
head, brushing his hair back at the same time.  
"Mulder, are you OK with all this?  You lost all your 
clothes . . ."

"I can't believe I'm going to work wearing Joseph 
Banks," he said with a groan.

"All those videos you don't own . . ."

"More Frohike's loss than mine.  I haven't watched 
them in years."

"You lost your sofa . . ."

"I know, Scully.  I'm feeling that right now," he 
said sadly.

"And your poor fish."

He sighed deeply.  "Yeah, those guys had been with me 
a while.  That one molly was close to a year old.  
And the tank, did I ever tell you I got that tank the 
week after I graduated from the Academy?  I bought it 
when I moved in to that apartment."

She kissed him tenderly on the forehead.  "I'm just 
glad you didn't share its fate."

He shrugged and she could see he was struggling with 
his emotions.  Then he tightened his arms around her.  
"I didn't lose anything I can't replace, Scully.  All 
I really need is right here in my arms."

"Good answer," she said, leaning down to capture his 
lips in a kiss.  "And one of these days, we'll get 
you some more fish."

the end.