Title: The Firestorm
 
Author: The IMTP Producers
 
Rating: PG
 
Category: X
 
Keywords: Case file, MSR, M/S/Sk friendship
 
Spoilers: Fire, VS9
 
Archive: Two weeks exclusively on VS9, then 
Ephemeral. Others, please contact any of the 
producers for permission.
 
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and Skinner belong to 
Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. For the moment.<g> No 
copyright infringement intended.
 
Summary: "Where there's smoke, there's fire" takes on 
a whole new meaning when Skinner joins Mulder and 
Scully on a case.
 
Feedback: A note in the IMTP VS9 guestbook would be 
greatly appreciated!
 
Authors' Notes: This special producers' offering is a 
team effort written by Vickie Moseley, Susan Proto, 
Sally Bahnsen, Theresa Filardo and dtg. Many thanks
to Dawn for her spot-on beta delivered at light 
speed, and to Suzanne and Michelle for their timely 
suggestions. If you have even half as much fun 
reading this as we did putting it together, it will 
be time well spent!
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
The Firestorm by The IMTP Producers
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
Teaser 
Clifford Heights, IL
Early June, 2002 

 
Kara Brooks looked around her newly painted bedroom 
and sighed. She'd just been moved from the only home 
she'd ever known, and Kara was still having trouble 
reconciling herself to it. She tried to imagine what 
it was going to look like once she'd unpacked all of 
her belongings. The robin's egg blue was a soothing 
shade that coordinated perfectly with the bright, 
royal blue carpet. Kara loved the feeling of her toes 
sinking into its plush, deep pile. But no matter how 
lovely it might be, it still wasn't "home". 
 
She stood up and opened another cardboard box. She 
couldn't believe how many boxes were scattered around 
the room. "When the heck did I get all this junk 
anyway?" she asked herself aloud. When she finished 
digging out the top layer of crumpled newspapers, she 
discovered the box of stuffed animals that had always 
graced her bed. Her mother used to joke that there 
was barely enough room for Kara amidst all of her 
"loveys". She wondered if she should bother taking 
them out of the box. After all, she was a teenager 
now, and she wasn't sure it was still cool to have a 
bevy of stuffed animals lodging on her bed. 
 
She heard a knock on her door. "Kara, are you 
hungry?" It was her dad.
 
"No," she replied. "Not right now. Maybe later." 
 
"Okay, well, we're gonna call in for a pizza in a 
little while, okay?" 
 
"Sure, Dad. Sounds great." She knew her tone said 
otherwise. Her dad must have heard it, too, because 
he opened the door.
 
"Kara, are you okay, hon?" 
 
"Yeah, I'm good. Just a lot to do here, that's all." 
 
"Well, Bonnie and I offered to help -" 
 
"Dad, I know. But I gotta go through this stuff 
myself and decide where I want it all, ya know?" 
 
"Yes, but if you're going to sit in your room all day 
getting bummed out over having to unpack 
everything..." he began, but stopped when he saw her 
withdraw even more. "Okay, okay. I'll leave you alone 
for now. But when the pizza comes, I expect you to 
join the family, understand?" 
 
She nodded and watched him finally leave, closing the 
door behind him. 
 
"Family?" Kara muttered aloud to herself. She'd never 
heard him refer to them as a family. Sure, her dad 
had invited her to join him and Bonnie for a meal, 
but never to join 'the family'. "Oh, yeah... we're a 
family," she whispered to herself. 
 
Now the question was, did she believe it? 
 
She returned her attention to the box of gray, furry 
elephants; brown-spotted puppies and soft, multi-
striped snakes. She smiled at the small, gray seal 
pup that her mom had bought for her at the aquarium 
gift shop on their last vacation together. It had 
always been one of her favorites; it held a good
memory for her. 
 
But now she had to decide what to do with all of the 
junk in these boxes. 
 
"God! I don't want to do this now!" she cried out in 
frustration. 
 
Being thirteen years old and figuring out stuff was 
hard enough without adding a new house, new school, 
new friends, and a new stepmother into the mix. In 
all honesty, Kara liked the house. Her room was 
bigger than the one she'd had at the old house. And 
she did get to paint it whatever color she'd wanted. 
 
And she knew school wasn't going to pose a problem. 
Sure she was a freshman at Clifford Heights High 
School, but she was taking all advanced courses and 
she was sure that she'd be able to keep up with her 
studies. That had never been a problem, even when 
she'd had to get through the time her mom was in the 
hospital. When she was dying. She'd still managed to 
ace all of her classes. 
 
Friends. Well, that was a bit more of a cause for 
concern. Kara had always been seen as an egghead and 
therefore not cool to hang around with. She'd managed 
to nurture one friendship with Anna Lynn Collins, who 
was as big a nerd as Kara. The two girls hung out 
together and got along well. Best of all, no one 
bothered them, for which Kara was very grateful. It 
wasn't uncommon for those who were deemed uncool to 
be bullied by certain cliques at her old school. She 
hoped to avoid that at Clifford Heights. 
 
Okay, then there was the matter of her stepmother. It 
wasn't that Bonnie was a bad person; she was actually 
a very nice person and her dad was obviously very 
much in love with her. But she wasn't her momma, a 
fact that had been heavy on her mind for the last 
year, ever since Bonnie had come into their lives. 
 
From the time her dad had started dating Bonnie to 
the moment they'd said their "I Do's" at St. Mary's 
Church, Kara could not escape the thought that Bonnie 
might actually take her momma's place. It was crazy; 
Kara knew it was crazy because she loved her mom and 
always would. But Kara liked Bonnie; she liked having 
a woman to talk to about...women things. She was more 
than grateful for Bonnie's assistance when 
'womanhood' had hit with a vengeance that first time. 
Kara still blushed with embarrassment at the idea of 
asking her dad to buy her "personal care" products. 
 
And now they were in the new house, and Kara had to 
decide which of the things from her old life to 
include in her new one. Hard decisions for a 
thirteen-year-old. She wished her momma were here 
now. 
 
She left the box of stuffed animals and moved to 
another box. Not finding what she was looking for, 
she opened yet another carton, and then another. 
 
"There you are," she said, relieved. Kara pulled out 
the carefully-wrapped item, and removed the 
newspaper wrapping. She looked at the silver photo 
frame and breathed warm air onto it. She buffed it 
with her cotton sleeve and smiled as she saw its 
shine reappear. Kara set the framed photo of Lisa 
Brooks on her nightstand. "Welcome to your new home, 
Momma." 
 
Then Kara scrunched up the strewn, crumpled 
newsprint and jammed it into the wastebasket. She 
looked over at her mom's photo and stared at it. 
 
And stared at it. 
 
And stared. 
 
Downstairs, Kevin and Bonnie Brooks were in the midst 
of a somewhat heated and sadly familiar discussion. 
 
"Kevin, I think you're overreacting." 
 
"You didn't know her before. She was never like 
this." 
 
"Like what? A thirteen-year-old girl who's going 
through enough physical and emotional changes to send 
any normal human being into a straight jacket?" 
retorted Bonnie. 
 
"No! It's just that she's never been this withdrawn 
before." 
 
"Kev, she's got a lot to deal with. She's never 
exactly been Miss Popularity, has she?" 
 
"No, but--" 
 
Bonnie cut him off. "Listen to me. She's a good kid. 
C'mon, how ridiculous is this? I'm supposed to be the 
evil stepmother complaining about the stepchild, not 
defending her! What's wrong with this picture, 
Kevin?" 
 
He had to smile at that. "Okay, maybe I am being a 
worrywart over nothing. You know what? I'm starving. 
Let's call for that pizza now, okay?" 
 
Bonnie nodded and dialed the number on the pizza-
shaped refrigerator magnet that had come in their 
"welcome" kit. After calling in the order, she said, 
"Why don't you go up and let Kara know I'm gonna have 
dinner whipped up in about twenty minutes." 
 
Kevin laughed. "Emeril, eat your heart out!" He 
turned and started up the stairs to his daughter's 
bedroom. 
 
Kara was gazing so intently at her mother's 
photograph that when her door opened and her father 
called out to her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. 
 
"Kara! What the hell are you doing?" 
 
"What?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion. 
 
"Jesus Christ, Kara! We just moved in for God's 
sake!" 
 
"Daddy, what's wrong?" she cried out as she saw him 
rush over to the wastebasket. 
 
The crumpled wads of newsprint were aflame in the 
basket, sending glowing bits of paper floating lazily 
to the carpet at her feet. 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
 
Act I 

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C. 
Six months later
Monday, 4:40 p.m. 


One minute, forty-five seconds from portal to portal. 
Down the hall to the elevator, up three floors, then 
twenty-three paces to the A.D.'s office door. How 
many trips did it take to start earning frequent-ass-
chewing miles? And what did it say about him that he 
had this level of detail in his head?
 
"Mulder? If you go in there with that look on your 
face, you'll guarantee us an extra ten minutes on the 
carpet." 
 
The picture that popped into his head had nothing to 
do with their boss's floor covering. Visions of a 
recent Saturday afternoon in front of Scully's 
fireplace and a well-earned complement of rug burns 
put a grin on his face. "Nothing like a few extra 
minutes on the carpet with the one you love."
 
The elevator doors opened onto a small crowd of their 
fellow agents, cutting off her snappy comeback, but 
Mulder saw the smile before she turned her face away. 
 
Kimberly looked up and smiled as they entered. "He's 
waiting for you. Go right in."
 
Scully and Mulder exchanged glances. Kimberly's 
greeting was generally a pretty fair indication of 
her boss's mood. Whatever he'd called them up here 
for, it wasn't something he'd been ranting about to 
his assistant. That could mean that the report Mulder 
had turned in Friday afternoon, the one Scully had 
been so concerned about, had made it past the first 
hurdle.
 
Mulder leaned down and put his lips close to his 
partner's ear. "You owe me a buck." He gave her an I-
told-you-so wink and turned to Skinner's door, 
pushing it open as he knocked.
 
"Come in, agents." Skinner glanced up quickly, then 
returned his attention to the folder in front of him. 
 
Mulder tried to assess the A.D.'s mood. 'Awkward' was 
as close as he could come, and his burst of optimism 
took a sudden downturn. Scully apparently felt it, 
too, judging by the look she gave him as they took 
their seats.
 
The man wasted no time getting to the point. "I'll be 
accompanying you on this next case. Let's just get 
that out of the way so we can move on." He folded his 
hands and looked directly at Mulder.
 
His statement was greeted with stunned silence. 
Mulder was actually at a loss for words. His partner 
was not.
 
"Sir, may I ask why?"
 
Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose with two 
fingers, then readjusted his glasses and refolded his 
hands. "Expenditure validation was, I believe, the 
term that was used. What it boils down to is that 
your creative record-keeping has finally surpassed my 
tap dancing ability." He turned his focus to Mulder. 
"It was either agree to accompany you on the next 
case personally, or allow your favorite bean counter 
to go in my place. Which would you have preferred?"
 
Mulder found his voice. "And what is this supposed to 
accomplish? Teach us not to have that second snifter 
of brandy after dinner? What the hell do they think 
we're doing out there?" He was leaning forward, both 
hands clenched around the arms of his chair.
 
Scully touched his arm. "Mulder--"
 
"We already have our names in the roach motel hall of 
fame. I've replaced three cell phones out of my own 
pocket this year alone, not to mention the suits that 
haven't survived their first trip into the field. I 
know I don't need to tell you of all people that what 
we do is a little outside the norm. So, what's this 
really about? Another lame--"
 
Skinner held up one hand and Mulder stopped. "It's a 
formality. Let's not read anymore into it. I'll 
verify that your expenses are valid, and that will be 
the end of it." He opened the case file and pulled 
out a stack of photographs. "A postal employee in 
Clifford Heights, Illinois is recovering from burns 
suffered when his backpack caught--" 
 
Mulder heard Skinner stop in mid-sentence, but his 
focus was elsewhere. The silent debate he was engaged 
in with his partner required his full attention. 
 
"Agents?"
 
Scully's eyes flashed a parting shot and she turned 
to face their boss. "Yes, sir?"
 
"If I could have your full attention?" The corner of 
his mouth was twitching in what, on anyone else, 
Mulder would have seen as a smirk.
 
"Yes, sir." They answered in unison, and this time 
the smirk almost got away from Skinner, but the stern 
mask quickly returned.
 
"The victim was burned over sixty percent of his 
body by what at first appeared to be a letter bomb. 
He insists that his entire pack burst into flame as 
he was leaving the last house on his route. Not just 
the contents, the canvas bag as well."
 
Scully reached for the photographs and began to leaf 
through the stack. "Why couldn't it still have been a 
letter bomb of some kind?" She leaned to her right 
and held the photographs so Mulder could see them. 
 
"I can see why this would fall under Federal 
jurisdiction, but why assign it to us? What makes it 
an X file?" That was usually Scully's line. He saw 
her glance up at him, stifling the same smirk he'd 
seen on Skinner a moment ago.
 
"The victim claims that the letters in his hand 
ignited at the same time."
 
Mulder looked up. "Spontaneous combustion with two 
separate points of origin?"
 
"The initial forensic evidence would seem to bear him 
out. There's also the fact that the house he was 
leaving when the incident occurred has had four 
unexplained fires in the six months since the new 
owners moved in. The only common factor in all of 
these incidents, including the attack on the postal 
employee, appears to be the owners' thirteen-year-old 
daughter, who seems to have been present each time."
 
That got his attention. "Has the girl ever shown any 
telekinetic ability before this?"
 
Scully dropped the photographs in her lap. "Who said 
anything about telekinesis?"
 
"At the moment, it's as plausible an explanation as 
any. Unless you prefer spontaneous combustion?"
 
"Mulder, the evidence is inconclusive. That does not 
automatically open the door to something paranormal."
 
Skinner cleared his throat, and both agents turned to 
face him. "We leave for Chicago tomorrow morning. 
Clifford Heights is an hour's drive south. I'll pick 
Scully up at 6:30. Mulder, we'll be by for you at 
7:00." 
 
Scully stood up and handed the photos back to him. 
Mulder remained in his chair.
 
"Was there something you wanted to say, Agent 
Mulder?"
 
"Sir, will this trip answer any questions regarding 
the... legitimacy of our budget, or--"
 
"Or will I be tagging along on future assignments?" 
Skinner's jaw tightened, and Mulder could swear there 
was another smirk in there somewhere. "Not if I can 
help it." He closed the folder and held it out to 
Mulder. "I'll see you in the morning."
 
Scully opened the door and turned to wait for her 
partner. Mulder tucked the folder under his arm and 
followed her out, closing the door behind him.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~
 

The Brooks Household
Monday, 4:54 p.m. 

Kara sat in the center of her bed, waggling her 
number two pencil between her fingers. If she moved 
her hand up and down at just the right speed, the 
stiff yellow piece of wood and graphite would begin 
to look rubbery. After about five minutes of zoning 
out on the "flaccid" pencil, she finally dropped it 
onto her open textbook. It bounced once, then settled 
into the crack between the pages.
 
Word problems. It wasn't that she disliked Math. It 
was just that the problems never seemed to relate to 
anything useful. She stared at the open page which 
displayed a color photo of an Amtrak train zooming 
across the great plains somewhere in America. It was 
always a train, wasn't it? Who cared if two trains 
raced from New York to Boston? If anyone really 
wanted to get somewhere sooner, they should have 
taken an earlier train.
 
She sighed heavily and noticed a smell just on the 
farthest edges of her perception. It was not quite 
sweet, and it carried a hint of garlic and herbs 
along with it. Mmm... food. Her tummy reacted with an 
elongated creaking sound. She glanced down at her 
assignment: five more problems to go. Kara wondered 
if she had time to finish those before...
 
"Kara?"
 
Nope.
 
"Kara, dear, would you be able to take a break and 
set the table for me?" Bonnie called from downstairs.
 
"Be right down!" she groaned, loathing the choice 
between pointless story problems and chores. She 
didn't like her options.
 
It was nice, though, to be able to reclaim the role 
of "daughter" again. At least she was no longer the 
one juggling both homework and cooking until her 
father came home from work. Bonnie seemed to be 
getting into the Holly Homemaker thing. "Let's see 
how long it takes her to get tired of it," Kara 
thought darkly.
 
As she hopped off the last step and rounded the 
corner into the kitchen, Kara was hit with the full 
olfactory onslaught of Bonnie's experimentations. She 
gasped at the hanging sting of onion acid in the air.
 
She had to smirk as she let her mind return for the 
briefest moment to her homework upstairs. If Bonnie 
were to use three more vegetables and two more cubes 
of tofu in her "Bonnie's Special Veggie Surprise", 
how much more time would I have to spend in the 
bathroom from all the fiber intake?
 
"What's that, K?" Bonnie asked. Kara hadn't realized 
she was muttering under her breath.
 
"Oh, smells great, Bonnie. Um, what did you want me 
to do first?"
 
Her stepmother turned from the sink, wet hands 
cupping a dripping mound of soaked beans. She blew a 
stray clump of curly brown hair from her forehead and 
pointed her chin in the direction of the hutch. "Why 
don't you start by setting the table? I think we'll 
eat in the kitchen tonight."
 
Kara strolled over to the china closet and found her 
Dad's Aztec-patterned dinnerware, the ones he had 
bought especially for his weird culinary excursions. 
When he was feeling brave, he used to invite Bonnie 
over to try out Emeril's "hot dish of the week." The 
plates were his special guest-ware, because he wanted 
the "perfect canvas" to present his masterpiece. They 
seemed fitting, seeing as how Bonnie was in an 
experimental mood.
 
She grabbed three plates, some napkins and 
silverware, then carried everything over to the 
kitchen table.
 
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder as she piled the 
beans onto a bed of green leaf lettuce. "Oh, no, 
dear, use the everyday Corelle dishes. This is 
nothing fancy we have to bother over."
 
Kara bit back an urge to argue. Did she want her to 
help or not? What difference did it make which dishes 
they used? She held the plates a moment longer, 
feeling a little defiant, almost setting the table 
her way anyway. Instead, she pursed her lips and 
said, "Fine," and carried the Aztec guest-ware back 
where she found it.
 
It was a funny thing, Kara realized. They had never 
used the everyday plates before the wedding. Since 
Bonnie had been living with them and had settled 
herself into their lives, it felt weirdly intimate -- 
like telling someone what kind of deodorant you use. 
People weren't supposed to know stuff like that. And 
guests weren't supposed to see the everyday dishes. 
Now Bonnie was telling her, in her own house, to use 
them... just like it was any normal weekday evening -
- nothing special. She wasn't sure, but when Kara 
thought about it, she almost enjoyed that idea.
 
She found the white Corelle plates in the cabinet 
next to the refrigerator, and was about to pull one 
down, when her finger snagged on a rough spot, right 
on the edge of the plate. She jerked her hand back 
from the sharp pinch, pulling down the plate in the 
process. It crashed to the floor and seemed to 
explode in a hundred pieces all over the linoleum.
 
Bonnie gasped, and Kara flinched, expecting the usual 
barrage of anger thrown in her direction. Instead, 
her step-mom rushed over to her; agitated, yes, but 
more concerned than anything. "Kara, are you all 
right? Let me see."
 
She presented her cut finger like a little girl. She 
half expected Bonnie to kiss it, the way she was 
hovering.
 
"I'll be right back with a Band-Aid and some 
antiseptic. Run it under some water to clean it out."
 
Kara did as she was told, a little shaken just from 
the noise of the crashing plate. She noticed one of 
the larger pieces of debris -- the one that actually 
had the chip that cut her. She remembered that 
accident as well. She'd been washing the dishes for 
her *real* mom, helping her because she *wanted* to. 
The little bump against the porcelain sink had 
sounded like she broke the whole plate. Her mother 
instantly began yelling at her for her clumsiness. 
Kara knew she'd had a bad day at the doctor's. That 
was the reason she was helping. She tried to remind 
herself while her mother unloaded on her that it was 
the stress talking, but she'd finished the chore in 
miserable silence.
 
And now, the plate had actually broken but Bonnie was 
showing nothing but concern for her, like her mom 
used to before she'd gotten so sick. Before Kara had 
had to grow up too early and become the caregiver. 
Before everything--
 
Her stepmother returned and nursed her wound. "You 
OK? You know, it can happen to anyone. Let's clean 
this up before your father gets home."
 
Bonnie grabbed a dustpan and they were both sweeping 
up the tiny pieces when a whiff of something foul-
smelling wafted past their noses.
 
"My tofu!" Bonnie yelled in distress, and dropped the 
dustpan, scattering the pieces again.
 
At the same moment, Kara heard the front door open 
and her father called into the house, "I'm back!" As 
she bent down toward the mess on the floor, she heard 
him walk through the dining room.
 
"Whew! I must have just saved this! Funny, nothing 
seems to be burned..." Bonnie mused, but got cut off 
by a very angry sounding man.
 
"What the hell!"
 
Suddenly a flurry of motion swept through the 
kitchen. Kara vaguely processed the image of her 
father diving across the kitchen for the fire 
extinguisher and flying back into the dining room. 
Bonnie followed after him, and Kara heard her scream. 
A smoky smell filled the air, and it definitely 
wasn't Bonnie's bad cooking.
 
Kara felt dread sink into the pit of her stomach, for 
she knew it was happening again. She slowly got up 
and inched around the corner of the doorway to peer 
into the dining room. White foam splattered the 
floral wallpaper and covered a smoldering rectangular 
object on the wall. Her father put down the red tank 
and wiped at the wall, revealing a singed wooden 
frame, and a very charred, slightly melted image 
behind the cracked glass.
 
She knew that photograph well: her father in a brand 
new blue suit, his hands resting on the shoulders of 
his two "best girls." One wore her white chiffon gown 
and held a large bouquet of daisies. The other in her 
first formal gown, powder blue with short sleeves. 
Kara loved that dress.
 
She could see the image of his and Bonnie's wedding 
day with her eyes closed, which was the *only* way 
she'd ever be able to see it now, for it was forever 
stained with burn marks from the flames that her 
father had just extinguished.
 
He turned toward her slowly. "Kara, I don't know what 
you're trying to do here, but it's got to stop now!"
 
"Kevin, she was with me the whole-- " Bonnie stopped 
in mid-sentence. She glanced quickly at her 
stepdaughter. Kara could see her processing the 
information behind saddened eyes. She hadn't been 
with her the whole time. So, she was taking her 
father's side!
 
Kevin Brooks slapped his hand against his thigh in 
frustration, wiping sticky foam over his suit-pants. 
"Her bedroom, the videotapes. . . now this?"
 
Kara was jolted by the anger in his voice. She opened 
her mouth once, then ran upstairs, slammed the door 
shut, and flung herself onto the bed.
 
"It wasn't me..." she whimpered into her pillow. She 
stared blurry-eyed at her mother's picture. "Momma, I 
wish you were still here."
 
~~~~~~~
 

Mulder's Apartment 
Monday, 10:35 p.m.  
 
Mulder was attempting to stuff another pair of black 
socks into the already straining-at-the-seams side 
pocket of his two-suiter while juggling the phone 
between his right shoulder and ear. 
 
"I'm telling you, Scully, he made this whole thing 
up," he said with as much conviction as he could 
muster while grunting at the uncooperative footwear. 
 
"Why, Mulder? Why on earth would the man make up a 
story like that? Besides, you know as well as I do 
that Accounting has been on the warpath lately. I'm 
surprised we haven't been brought before the OPR on 
some of your expense reports! So how can you say 
Skinner is making this up? Do you think he's just 
bored behind that desk and wants to come out and 
play?" 
 
"I think he suspects something. I think he's on to 
us." 
 
There, it was out in the open. Mulder could 
practically *feel* the little frown line forming 
between her eyebrows.
 
"So why not just come out and ask?" she countered.
"Why all the game playing?" 
 
"Because he wants to be sure," Mulder shot back. At 
that precise moment, the socks slipped into the 
pocket and he was able to zip it shut. Another sign 
that he was right about their boss and his sudden 
interest in what went on out in the field. At least 
to Mulder it was. 
 
"I just think you're being . . ." 
 
"If you say 'paranoid' that's TWO back rubs you owe 
me," he interjected before she could finish her 
thought. 
 
"I was going to say 'overly concerned'," she replied 
dryly. 
 
"Same thing. Two back rubs. Payable upon demand." 
 
"Sure, fine, whatever." Her voice had the quality 
that came from being strained through gritted teeth.
"I still think you're making too much of this." 
 
"Then explain to me why I'm sleeping on my couch, 
without my favorite 'blanket' and that same 'blanket' 
is going to be across town, sleeping in her awfully 
big and cold bed tonight?" 
 
"Because our boss is picking me up at 6:30 and you at 
7:00," she reminded him. 
 
"I could have been out before he got there," he shot 
back. 
 
Her snort was most unladylike. "Mulder, you have 
never managed to wake up before 7:30 any time we've 
slept together." 
 
"Face it, Scully. You're thinking the same thing. 
Skinner is going to be watching us like a hawk. We 
have to be very careful." 
 
She sighed, and he knew she was about to change the 
subject to something he wouldn't like. "It's fire, 
Mulder," she said quietly. 
 
A shiver went down his spine. "I know." He couldn't 
have said more if he'd tried. 
 
"Are you OK with this? I mean, with Skinner there and 
everything..." 
 
"I managed to get Thor out of that building, Scully," 
he reminded her. It still caused a little pang in his 
heart to think of the huge, loveable mutt, even if he 
couldn't recall all of their time together. Maybe 
some memories were better left buried. 
 
"When you found Thor, the fire was out, Mulder. This 
time the fires seem to be ongoing. And spontaneous. 
We won't have any warning. I just don't like the 
thought of you--" 
 
"If you're there, I'll be fine," he said with more 
confidence than he felt. 
 
"I'll be there, but Skinner will be, too. And he'll 
be watching," 
 
"See! You do think he's up to something! You just 
don't want to admit it," Mulder taunted. 
 
"Whether he's 'up to something' or not, we have to be 
very careful. We've managed to keep this from him so 
far, and I want it to stay that way." 
 
"I know, Scully. I know. I'll promise to be on my 
best behavior. I mean, how bad can it be? It's not 
like I have to room with the guy." 
 
She chuckled lightly into the phone. "He'd be asking 
for another room the minute you started to snore," 
she teased. 
 
"I do not snore!" he exclaimed, putting on his best 
'I'm offended' voice. 
 
"Yeah. Must be that other guy I sleep with," she 
teased. 
 
"Scully, keep this up and I'm coming over..." They 
both knew he was only half kidding. 
 
"Sweet dreams, G-man. I'll see you in the morning." 
 
"Back at ya. Hey, and Scully?" 
 
"Yes, Mulder?" 
 
"If I do have to room with Skinner, would you shoot 
me? I usually get private rooms in the hospital." 
 
"Good night, Mulder." 
 

~~~~~~~~~~
 
Act II 

404 Millbrook Lane
Clifford Heights, IL
Tuesday, 12:20 p.m. 

There were certain privileges that came with being an 
Assistant Director in the FBI, Mulder knew. A big 
office, a polished oak desk, a personal assistant 
who could be summoned with the flick an intercom 
switch. 
 
And it apparently also included the power to 
commandeer the front seat of a car and take over the 
driving.
 
Sometimes protocol sucked, Mulder mused to himself 
from his assigned spot in the back seat.
 
"Scully will be my navigator, Mulder," Skinner had 
announced. "It's a documented fact that you couldn't 
navigate your way out of a paper bag."
 
Squished into the tiny space behind his boss, long 
legs alternately slung into the space behind Scully 
and then back to his own side where his size-13 feet 
were jammed underneath the seat in front. (It would 
seem that being an Assistant Director didn't extend 
to having enough influence to obtain a bigger rental 
car.) Mulder had even toyed with the idea of sticking 
his toes up so they would form a hard lump underneath 
his boss's rear end, but he'd opted instead for the 
more constructive activity of flipping through the 
case file to familiarize himself with the police and 
fire reports before they arrived at the Brooks' 
residence.
 
Telekenisis. Mulder's skin positively tingled with 
the thought of pursuing such a possibility. It was 
only the fact that Skinner was tagging along like a 
bad impersonation of someone's kid brother that had 
thrown cold water on his excitement. Well, that and 
the obvious problems inherent whenever Mulder and 
fire came into close proximity. But he'd been okay 
with that, knowing Scully would be at his side. *His* 
side.
 
Currently ensconced in the Brooks living room, Mulder 
glared silently at his boss. 
 
It should have been him sitting beside Scully during 
the long drive from Chicago, not Skinner. Just as it 
should be him now, leaning back in the two-seater 
couch, ankle crossed over knee and elbow brushing 
against Scully's as he conducted the interview. Not 
Skinner! A.D. Skinner, the observer. Mr. "Its-just-a-
formality". 
 
If eyeballs were bullets, Skinner would be a dead 
man.
 
Mulder forcibly reined in his hostility. No use 
dwelling on what couldn't be helped. Maybe if he just 
ignored Skinner, pretended he wasn't there, he might 
be able to handle this unwanted invasion of his 
investigative privacy without resorting to violence. 
Sighing quietly to himself, Mulder sat up straight in 
the chair and pulled a notebook and pen from his 
pocket. 
 
They had dispensed with the formalities earlier and 
been led into a very comfortable living room 
furnished in the American version of an English 
country house: elegant dark oak tables, faux open 
beam ceilings and floral print overstuffed furniture. 
A large bowl of potpourri waged a futile battle to 
hide the lingering smell of smoke and burnt timber 
that hung in the air.
 
No matter how hard he tried not to stare, Mulder's 
gaze kept returning to the blackened hole in the wall 
beside the dining room table. The affected area 
looked as if an acetylene torch had been held against 
it until the wallboard turned to charcoal. He 
wondered what could have ignited that would allow the 
damage to be so contained. 
 
When Scully started to speak, Mulder turned his 
attention back to the two people sitting diagonally 
across from him. A man and woman who held their 
bodies too rigid, whose strained expressions told him 
that they would rather be doing anything else other 
than sitting here talking to the FBI.
 
"Mr. Brooks, as my partner explained when we arrived, 
we're here investigating an incident that nearly 
killed an employee of the U.S. Postal Service in your 
front yard. Do you recall the incident?"
 
Kevin Brooks huffed a humorless laugh, "It's not 
something we're likely to forget in a hurry. But as I 
told the police, Bonnie and I were in the kitchen. We 
had just sat down to lunch, so we really didn't see 
anything." He leaned over and laid a reassuring hand 
on his wife's arm.
 
"Do you normally come home from work to eat lunch?" 
Mulder asked, keeping his expression bland and non-
threatening.
 
"I work from home. My office is out back."
 
"What do you do, Mr. Brooks?"
 
"I'm an electrical engineer."
 
Mulder nodded thoughtfully, leaned back in his chair 
and made a note in his book.
 
Scully picked up on Mulder's cue and resumed her line 
of questioning. "Did either of you hear anything?"
 
"Of course. The man was screaming for help not twenty 
feet from our front door," Kevin answered testily.
 
"What did you do?"
 
Kevin shrugged, "We went to see what the hell was 
going on. When I opened the front door and saw that 
man rolling on the ground with his clothes in flames, 
I yelled out to Bonnie to call 911."
 
"Did you do anything to help the victim?"
 
"I grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and 
tried to smother the flames." Kevin's brown eyes lost 
focus, his expression dark and serious as his 
thoughts seemed to turn inward, perhaps reliving the 
horror of watching a man burning to death in front of 
him. 
 
"Mr. Brooks, where was your daughter at the time of 
the incident?" Mulder asked. 
 
Kevin Brooks snapped back to the present as if he had 
been doused in icy water.
 
"What?" He couldn't have sounded more outraged if 
they'd asked him to consider selling his daughter 
into the white slave trade.
 
"We have eye witness testimony that puts your 
daughter at the scene just before the postal worker's 
bag ignited," Mulder said, holding the man's angry 
gaze. 
 
"What the hell has that got to do with anything? Just 
what are you implying?"
 
Scully gave Mulder a look that told him she wondered 
where he was going with this. When it became obvious 
that he wasn't going to answer the man's question, 
she said, "We're interviewing all witnesses, Mr. 
Brooks. We are not implying anything about your 
daughter. If she is able to help..."
 
"Leave her out of this!" Kevin snapped.
 
Mulder saw Bonnie take her husband's hand and entwine 
her fingers with his, rubbing soothing circles over 
the knuckles with her other hand. Scully was 
watching, too, he noted. It was the same gesture she 
often used to comfort him, and Mulder could see the 
shared memories in her eyes. How at the end of the 
day they would lay in each others arms, safe and 
protected for a few short hours from a world that 
sometimes felt as if all that existed in it were 
unimaginable horrors. Mulder knew that his partner 
wasn't conscious of the angry look she was shooting 
in Skinner's direction. If it wasn't for him, they 
would be sharing a bed tonight as usual. She was as 
upset about this as he was.
 
"Kara didn't see anything. The police have already 
questioned her. They've questioned us. *We* didn't 
see anything. I don't understand why you're here. 
What do you want from us?" Bonnie turned pleading 
eyes to her husband.
 
Mulder studied the couple for a second, trying to 
make sense of the defensive stance they were taking. 
He wondered what his boss was making of this and 
glanced quickly at Skinner. He tried to gauge the 
expression on his boss's face, but the A.D. was 
giving no indication of what was going on in his 
head.
 
Scully spoke up again, her voice calm and soothing. 
"Mrs. Brooks, we are simply trying to get to the 
bottom of this. A man is in the hospital with burns 
over sixty percent of his body. We need to find out 
what caused this, and to do that we have to talk to 
anyone who might have seen what happened."
 
Breathing deeply, Bonnie Brooks nodded and gave 
Kevin's hand a gentle squeeze.
 
"I believe you've been the victims of several house 
fires yourselves over the past few months." Mulder 
said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.
 
"Who told you that?" Kevin asked, slipping his hand 
out from his wife's grip and folding both arms across 
his chest.
 
Scully flipped through her note pad, the pages 
rustling loudly in the still room. "We have four 
reports from the fire department documenting their 
attendance at four separate fires here. The police 
report also says that neighbors mentioned several 
smaller outbreaks around the home. What do you think 
is causing them, Mr. Brooks?"
 
Mulder didn't miss the way Kevin dug his fingers into 
the flesh of his upper arms, a small muscle twitching 
along his jaw line. Nor did he miss the flash of fear 
that sparked for just a second in Bonnie's eyes.
 
"Mr. Brooks, can you think of anyone who might hold a 
grudge against you, or your wife and daughter?" This 
from Skinner. 
 
Mulder had wondered when it would become too much for 
Skinner to remain the silent observer.
 
"A grudge? You think someone is doing this 
deliberately?" Kevin's hostility receded a little, 
genuine surprise coloring his words.
 
"It's a possibility we need to consider," Scully 
said.
 
"What about your line of work?" Skinner asked, "Any 
disgruntled clients, bad debts?" 
 
One field trip in how many months and suddenly he 
thinks he's Magnum, PI. The A.D. was really starting 
to get under Mulder's skin. Not content to simply 
take over the car, the driving, and his partner, now 
the man was muscling in on his investigation. There's 
gotta be a way of ditching him, Mulder thought as he 
stared daggers at his boss.
 
"No. No unhappy customers and no bad debtors."
 
"Any problems with the neighbors?" Mulder asked, 
determined to reel this investigation back into his 
own lap.
 
"None. Mostly, we all keep to ourselves. We say hey 
every now and then, and we talk about the weather, 
but that's about it."
 
"Can you think of anyone that might want to hurt you, 
Mrs. Brooks?" Scully asked.
 
"No, nobody. We've never had anything like this 
happen before, it's only since we moved here. The 
first fire got started on the day we moved in. There 
hadn't been time to make enemies."
 
"Is there a history of this happening with the 
previous owners?" Scully asked.
 
"I wouldn't think so. The house wasn't in great shape 
when we bought it, but there was no sign of fire 
damage. We've pulled up carpets and put new ones 
down, and painted the house inside and out. I'm sure 
we would have seen *something*," Bonnie answered.
 
Mulder scribbled in his notebook, then looked up and 
asked, "How has your daughter settled into her new 
neighborhood? Is there any possibility that these 
fires might be directed at her?"
 
"Of course not. She's thirteen, for God's sake, what 
the hell kind of a question is that?" Kevin's eyes 
burned and his nostrils flared as his anger started 
to climb again.
 
Ignoring Kevin's outburst, Mulder pressed on. "Any 
problems at school? How are her grades?"
 
Kevin ran a hand over his face, sighing loudly before 
answering. "Kara is a good kid. An 'A' student. When 
her mother passed away nearly two years ago it was 
really hard on her..."
 
"I...I'm sorry. Mrs. Brooks," Mulder turned to 
Bonnie, "you're not Kara's mother?"
 
Kevin answered for his wife, taking one of her hands 
in both of his before doing so, "Bonnie and I married 
seven months ago. When Lisa, Kara's mom, died of 
breast cancer, Kara took it pretty hard. It wasn't 
easy for either of us, but we got through it. 
Together. Kara took on the role of homemaker. It 
seemed to help her cope." Kevin shook his head and 
chuffed a soft laugh. "She would always make sure 
there was a meal on the table at night, that I had 
clean clothes to wear...she's a good kid, Agent 
Mulder. I can't for the life of me imagine her making 
enemies anywhere."
 
"How did she react to you marrying again?"
 
"Kev, let me answer that." Bonnie smiled at her 
husband. "When Kev and I first started dating, I 
could detect a note of resentment from her. But as 
time went on and she realized I was in for the long 
haul, she started to relax. We got along fine, we 
*do* get along fine. I try to be there for her, and I 
think she appreciates having another woman in the 
house to talk to. I don't try to take the place of 
her mom; I couldn't be what Lisa was to her, I know 
that. We take one day at a time, and I really think 
she is starting to accept me as part of the family."
 
Scully asked, "Mr. Brooks, would you agree with 
that?" 
 
A slight hesitation, a quick lick of his lips, an 
almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow, but 
Mulder noted them all. "Kara likes Bonnie. We don't 
have anything to worry about there."
 
"How do you account for the fact that Kara has been 
the only one present at all the fires that have 
broken out around your house?" Mulder asked, deciding 
a change of tack was in order.
 
But before either of the Brooks could answer, there 
was a soft popping sound followed by a hiss and a 
crackle. A bright orange light ignited in Mulder's 
hand.
 
"Oh my God!" Scully and Skinner raced to where Mulder 
was sitting. The A.D. began stamping his foot on the 
flames as the small notebook Mulder had been holding 
lay burning on the floor. 
 
"Shit!" Mulder jumped to his feet, too, but his focus 
was on his arm, frantically batting the flames 
licking at the sleeve of his jacket. 
 
"Here!" Bonnie helped Scully wrap a throw blanket 
around Mulder's hand and arm, effectively smothering 
the flames.
 
"Get me some water, hurry." Scully said to Bonnie, 
not bothering with the niceties of "please and thank 
you".
 
"Mulder, sit down." But Mulder had other ideas. He 
stood, hunched over his injured left hand, cradling 
it in his right and cursing softly. 
 
"Sit, Mulder. Let me take a look." A bucket appeared 
at Scully's side. She took it and carefully lowered 
Mulder's hand into the cool water over his hisses of 
protest. 
 
Mulder sat on the edge of the chair, right forearm 
leaning on his knee and left hand submerged in the 
bucket between his legs. His whole body felt as if 
all its nerve endings were centered around his 
burnt hand. It both throbbed and stung, intense heat 
resonating from fingertips to wrist. The pain sent 
his stomach into nauseous spasms.
 
"Agent Scully, is there anything I can do?" Skinner 
was crouched beside her, eyebrows pulled into a tight 
frown, voice strained with concern. 
 
"Yes, help me remove his watch. Be careful of any 
clothing that might be stuck to the skin. Don't pull 
on it if it is."
 
Skinner gently pried Mulder's watch loose, stifling a 
gasp as a small strip of skin came away with it.
 
"Should I call 911?" Kevin Brooks asked, a slight 
tremble to his voice.
 
"NO! No. It's okay." Mulder said, eyes darting 
between Kevin and Scully.
 
But it was obvious he was anything but okay. His face 
was pale, the features drawn and pinched, and his 
lips were pressed so tightly together they almost 
appeared bloodless. Scully reached up and pressed two 
fingers to the pulse point in Mulder's neck, frowning 
at what she found.
 
"We need to get him to the Emergency Room." Then 
turning to the Brooks, who were helplessly looking 
on, "Where's the nearest hospital?"
 
"It's Clifford County Medical Center. I'll draw you a 
map." Kevin Brooks hurried off to find a pencil and 
paper, obviously glad to have something constructive 
to do.
 
"Bonnie, could you get me a clean sheet? An old one 
will do. I need you to wet it with cold water. And I 
need some ice in a plastic bag." 
 
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Bonnie's apology followed 
her out of the room as she left to find the sheet and 
ice. 
 
Scully turned back to Mulder, her expression deeply 
concerned. He sat hunched forward in the chair, head 
now propped on his right hand, teeth biting into the 
fleshy area under his thumb. 
 
Ignoring the fact that their boss was squatting right 
beside her, Scully reached up and cupped Mulder's 
jaw. Gently stroking his cheek with her index finger. 
"How are you holding up, partner?"
 
"'m 'kay." But he couldn't help a low groan as the 
intense pain in his hand drove all pretense of being 
"fine" right out of his head. "I think I need to get 
out of here, Scully. I don't feel so good." Mulder 
swallowed thickly as his stomach gave him a not-so-
gentle reminder that it wasn't doing too well either.
 
"Here you go, Agent Scully." Bonnie Brooks handed her 
the wet sheet and a bag of ice.
 
"Thanks."
 
Carefully, Scully pulled Mulder's hand from the 
bucket of water and wrapped it lightly in the cool, 
wet sheet, wincing at the red, blistered skin 
covering his fingers, palm and wrist. She laid the 
bag of ice across the sheet.
 
Scully turned to Skinner, "Sir, can you help me get 
him to the car?"
 
Skinner hooked his left arm under Mulder's right and 
helped him to his feet, stumbling slightly when 
Mulder's knees seemed to give a little. "Easy, 
Mulder. I've got you."
 
Scully supported his left arm, making sure the wet 
sheet and ice didn't slip and that his hand was 
elevated above his heart.
 
"I'll get the door." Kevin went ahead of them, making 
sure the path was clear.
 
Back in the living room, Bonnie stood alone. Arms 
hugging her chest as she watched the three FBI agents 
leave her home. Her eyes strayed to the ruined 
notebook lying on the floor, reduced to nothing more 
than a small pile of ash. She scanned the dining 
room, eyes coming to rest on the blackened wall where 
their wedding photo had hung. She thought of the 
various other fires that had broken out around the 
house during the past six months. "God, why is this 
happening?" She pleaded quietly to herself.
 
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. A stifled sob, 
then a blur of red and blue clothing whizzed through 
the dining room and disappeared into the kitchen. 
 
"Kara?" Bonnie called after her stepdaughter, but the 
only answer she received was the creak of hinges and 
the sound of the back door slamming shut.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Skinner had helped get Mulder out to the car, then 
had stood back and watched while Scully helped her 
partner situate himself in the front seat. He had 
sensed their awkwardness; her need to touch him was 
as obvious as his need to be touched. This was the 
first opportunity they'd had to hold on to one 
another legitimately in front of him. Helluv an 
excuse, he thought to himself. The careful distance 
the two of them continued to maintain in his presence 
only reinforced his recent decision to have a talk 
with them about their...situation. 
 
After his agents drove off, the A.D. turned and 
started to walk back to the house. A flash of color 
drew his attention to a tree behind the house. There 
was a tree house near the top, and he realized that 
he'd just seen someone moving around in it.
 
Skinner moved to the large oak and called upward. 
"Hello? Who's up there?" He wasn't surprised by the 
lack of a response, but the idea of having to climb 
up the somewhat rickety-looking ladder didn't sit 
well with him either. 
 
"Kara? Is that you?" Once again, silence prevailed, 
and Skinner played his trump card. "Kara, I know that 
it's you up there. If I have to, I'll climb up to 
speak with you, but I don't know if your ladder is 
going to hold me. So how about making it easy on the 
old guy and come down here so we can chat?" He waited 
a moment and added, "Honey, I just want to talk to 
you. Please."
 
The small, almost mousy-looking child peered out from 
the treetop framework, and appeared to be debating 
what to do next. Finally, as if deciding to face the 
inevitable, she backed out of the doorway and climbed 
down the ladder.
 
"Thank you, Kara, for coming down to speak with me." 
She remained mute, standing with her head down. "Do 
you have any idea what's going on?"
 
She shook her head without saying a word.
 
"Kara, I bet it's pretty scary to have to move to a 
new neighborhood after living all those years in your 
old one. Probably a little frightening to have to 
start a new school, too, I guess." He waited for a 
response, a small reaction at the very least, but got 
nothing.
 
"Kara, I have to ask you-- what's going on? How come 
there's been all of these fires lately?"
 
At this the child looked up, and her eyes searched 
his. Finally, she said, in a small, almost weary 
voice, "I don't know. I don't know how they start or 
why."
 
"Is it possible, Kara, that you-- "
 
She cut him off immediately. "--No! I haven't done 
anything! It's not my fault! It's not-- Oh, no!"
 
The young teenager's eyes widened; fear evident all 
over her face. Skinner's eyes turned to what had 
caught hers, and immediately jumped to his side as 
heat and flames danced uncomfortably close to his 
body.
 
"Jesus!" he yelled out, but once he was a safe 
distance from the fire, he quickly ascertained the 
situation. 
 
A damned rose bush just burst into flames, he thought 
incredulously. 
 
He moved quickly to look for something to put the 
fire out, and noticed a garden hose that lay near the 
foundation of the building. He squeezed the trigger 
nozzle, and was relieved to see water spout out. He 
pulled the hose along with him and sprayed the bush, 
effectively putting the fire out almost as quickly as 
it had started.
 
Skinner took a deep breath and allowed his heart rate 
to return to normal. Damnedest thing, he thought. At 
that moment it dawned on him that he was standing out 
there alone. "Kara? Where are you?" He received no 
answer. "Damnedest thing."
 
He looked up and once again perceived movement, only 
this time it was by the back door. "Kara?" he called 
out.
 
"Please don't talk to my daughter without her 
stepmother or me present, Mr. Skinner. You've upset 
her greatly." Kevin Brooks' tone matched the stern 
look on his face. 
 
Skinner wondered, exactly when had Mr. Brooks 
appeared at the back door?
 
~~~~~~~~~
 
Motel 6
Tuesday, 6:20 p.m. 
 

After his aborted interview with the girl, Skinner 
had attempted to get back on track with her father 
and stepmother. The atmosphere had become decidedly 
chilly and, although the Brooks grudgingly took him 
through the house and described the fires they'd 
experienced, it became abundantly clear that he had 
worn out his welcome. He'd eventually decided that a 
cooling off period was needed, and called a taxi to 
take him back to wait for his agents. His cab pulled 
up in front of the motel just in time to see Scully 
kneeling next to the passenger side of the rental 
car, talking softly with her partner. Skinner paid 
his fare and moved quickly to join them. Scully 
started to rise when she saw him, but he motioned for 
her to stay where she was.
 
"You stay here and keep an eye on the patient, 
Agent." As he turned to go register their rooms, he 
couldn't help the small smile that found its way to 
his face. This was not going to be easy on any of 
them, he mused to himself, not easy at all. 
 
"Hurts like hell, doesn't it?" she asked, once 
Skinner was out of earshot.
 
"You know, Scully, you'd make a helluv an FBI agent, 
what with your astute powers of observation," he 
replied with obvious weariness. "I still can't 
believe this happened."
 
"At least it's not your right hand."
 
"God, Scully, it really does hurt like hell. You sure 
the doc said it wasn't too serious?"
 
"Just have to watch for infection, that's all. So as 
soon as we get you settled, you're going to take your 
nice little pink pills and lay down and rest for a 
while." Her expression brooked no nonsense. "No 
arguments, Mulder."
 
"Okay. Right now, the idea of a nap actually sounds 
pretty good."
 
She murmured some sounds of sympathy but quieted as 
she saw Skinner leave the front entrance of the 
motel. "Well, now the fun really begins, doesn't it?" 
she mused aloud.
 
Skinner returned to the car and climbed into the 
driver's seat. He handed Scully a keycard, then put 
the car into gear and drove them around the back. As 
he pulled into the parking space, he remarked, "I got 
us a first floor, Mulder. Scully, yours is the corner 
unit."
 
"Corner?" asked Scully. 
 
"Us?" piped up Mulder.
 
"Agents, I'm traveling with you so I can make 
recommendations regarding cost-cutting measures on 
your trips. Did you honestly think I was going to get 
us three separate rooms? Besides," he muttered, 
almost as an afterthought, "I figured Mulder would 
need a nursemaid to watch for a fever or something." 
 
Once Scully found her voice, she said, "Let's get our 
things inside," and she got out of the car. Skinner 
popped the trunk, and she hauled out her and Mulder's 
bags.
 
"I can carry my bag, Scully." She handed it to him. 
"Drop your things off and then come to my... our--" 
Mulder hesitated and looked at his superior with a 
hint of disbelief, and then continued "--room so we 
can discuss Skinner's findings." He then turned to 
his boss when he realized that he was essentially 
giving the orders. "Um, assuming that's okay with 
you, sir."
 
"Mulder, this is still your case to run." He gestured 
to both of them. "I'm here as a third wheel, an 
observer. But I do have something to discuss with you 
regarding the Brooks family. I think it might be very 
relevant to the investigation."
 
"Very well, sir. I'll be there momentarily." Scully 
then looked briefly at Mulder, and silently urged him 
to "hang in there". He nodded slightly in response, 
and she left to drop her bag off and freshen up.
 
Mulder then followed Skinner to their room. He 
wondered how in hell he was going to deal with being 
roomies with his boss; it was certainly a far cry 
from rooming with his partner. They entered the 
small, somewhat antiquated room and dropped their 
bags on their respective beds. Both men sighed at the 
short length of the full-sized beds, resigned to the 
necessity of keeping expenses in line for their 
friends in Accounting.
 
Mulder tried to unzip his suit bag but was having 
difficulty manipulating the zipper with only one 
hand. As he became more and more frustrated with his 
limitations, he began muttering under his breath. 
 
"You got a problem, agent?" asked Skinner.
 
Mulder stopped momentarily and then looked at the 
Assistant Director. He nodded and simply pointed to 
his "problem". Skinner nodded and quickly unzipped 
the suit bag so Mulder could hang his extra suits up 
in the closet. He then pulled out the underwear that 
was at the bottom of the bag and placed them in a 
drawer. The shaving kit bag was moved to the bathroom 
vanity.
 
"How's the hand, Mulder?" asked Skinner.
 
"Throbs a bit," he answered honestly.
 
"You scheduled to take anything for it yet?"
 
Mulder checked his watch and shook his head. "Got 
another hour or so before I'm due, unfortunately. 
Don't worry; I'll survive."
 
Skinner shook his head slightly and muttered 
something about "having enough practice at it" when 
he heard a knock at the door. He walked over and let 
Scully into the room.
 
"Sorry I took so long. I had to call the front desk. 
Our lovely accommodations include my very own petting 
zoo," she said irritably.
 
"Petting zoo?" both men echoed.
 
"There was a mouse in the bathroom. She and her 
family will be removed while they find me another 
room. They're checking to see what's available," she 
explained.
 
"Hard to believe that they have to 'check' what's 
available in this rat trap...um, no pun intended," 
commented Skinner. Mulder and Scully both smiled at 
the remark; even Skinner broke into something akin to 
a grin.
 
"Well, sir, why don't you fill us in on your 
information?" suggested Scully.
 
Skinner nodded. "Well, something rather odd happened 
while you were at the ER," he began, somewhat 
hesitantly. He then filled them in on the incident, 
doing his best not to color the facts with opinion. 
The reaction was immediate.
 
"Are you all right, sir?" asked Scully, assuming her 
physician's demeanor.
 
"Yes, Scully, I'm fine."
 
"Do you think the girl is somehow responsible?" she 
asked.
 
"No," replied Skinner quickly. "No, actually, I 
don't. She just looked too surprised for me to 
believe that she actually had a hand in setting that 
bush on fire."
 
"But there's precedent for just this type of 
behavior, sir. Remember Cecil L'ively?" Scully began, 
then noted Mulder's slight shudder at the memory she 
had just evoked. She touched his arm in gently. "I'm 
sorry, Mulder."
 
"It's okay, Scully. But to be honest, I don't think 
it's the same thing."
 
"Mulder, she's got to be the one setting the fires. 
She's always present," Scully insisted.
 
"No, Scully, I don't think it's her," interjected 
Skinner.
 
"Then who?"
 
"The father. He's an electrical engineer, people. And 
he works at home. He very well may have a hand in 
this. I'm not sure how, but the man's background 
suggests that he could have the expertise to rig up 
some kind of incendiary device."
 
"But why? I mean, I can understand a disturbed 
teenager seeking the attention. She just lost her 
mother and her father remarried, all within the last 
two years. What possible reason could the father 
have?"
 
"I suspect it goes back to the mother's illness. 
There would have been large medical bills to pay. 
Since the man is self-employed, it's possible that 
his insurance was inadequate to meet all of those 
bills."
 
"He's doing it for the insurance?" she asked. "I 
don't know, sir. I find it hard to believe that the 
man would go to the trouble of selling his old house, 
buying a new one, and then constantly setting fire to 
it. It seems to me that's an awful lot of effort for 
comparatively little return."
 
"He most likely sold the old house to help pay off 
the medical bills. Their former house was apparently 
a real showcase, Scully."
 
Mulder was observing the exchange silently, but with 
obvious interest.
 
"I'm reasonably certain that you have a theory, Agent 
Mulder. Would you care to share it with us?" asked 
Skinner.
 
Mulder looked a little surprised at being addressed 
directly. "Sorry. To be honest, I don't think it's 
either one of them."
 
"Mulder? How can you say that?" asked Scully. "If 
this isn't a repeat of Cecil L'ively, I don't know 
what is."
 
"I don't think you can discount the father as a 
possible suspect either," offered Skinner. 
 
"I understand what you're both saying, and I haven't 
rejected anyone at this point. It's just that it 
doesn't add up when I put either of those two into 
the equation," explained Mulder.
 
"So? Who do you think it is? Surely not the mother?" 
asked Scully.
 
"Depends which one you mean, Scully." Mulder watched 
as two pairs of eyes rolled simultaneously, just as 
he'd anticipated they would. "Let's just wait and 
see, okay?" he countered. "I think I'm ready for a 
pain pill, and taking that catnap sounds like a 
really good idea," he announced with a yawn. The 
trauma to his hand was catching up with him.
 
"I guess I should go see if they found me another 
room... though I should really check your hand out to 
make sure there's no infection, Mulder." She was 
aiming for her cool, professional tone and not quite 
making it.
 
"Why don't *I* go and see if they've found you a room 
Agent Scully? In the meantime, you can check 
Mulder's hand," offered the AD.
 
"Oh, thank you, sir. That would make a lot of sense. 
Thank you. Thank you very much," she said, though she 
realized it was probably one or two times too many.
 
Skinner looked at her with a curious expression, 
shrugged his shoulders slightly, and left to go to 
the front office. As soon as the door closed, Scully 
immediately moved to Mulder's side. "You know, this 
is going to drive me crazy."
 
"You? I'm the one who's rooming with him, Scully. 
Besides, you promised to shoot me if I had to room 
with him, remember?" Mulder smiled and tried to 
stifle a yawn, but he wasn't successful.
 
"Doesn't look like I'd be getting any tonight 
anyway," she said with a grin, but when she leaned in 
to kiss him, she brushed against his injured hand. 
 
"Damn," he hissed. 
 
"Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I'll get you a pain pill." 
She rose, got the painkillers and some water. "Take a 
nap. You'll feel better when you wake up." She 
quickly planted a kiss upon his lips and was about to 
get up when she felt herself grabbed and dragged down 
on top of him.
 
"Mulder, your hand!"
 
"I've got my hand way over there, Scully," he said, 
indicating the protective posture he had assumed. 
 
"And if Skinner walks in on us?"
 
"Well, then maybe he'll realize we'd appreciate it if 
he took the other room and left you in here with me," 
he retorted with a small chuckle.
 
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure that would be the first thing 
Skinner would offer to do-- after he drummed our 
sorry asses out of the FBI, that is."
 
"Well, at least I wouldn't have to play 'musical 
roommates' any longer," proclaimed Mulder.
 
"Oh, stop whining and get some rest. If any one of 
us is in the ballpark with respect to a possible 
suspect, I have a feeling that means we'll be paying 
another visit to the Brooks' home all too soon."
 
~~~~~~~
 
The pale blue wall silhouetted Kara's shadow as she 
lay in bed, huddled under the multicolored afghan her 
mother had made for her so long ago. It had been 
knitted from all of the remnants of her past 
projects, and it served as a reminder of all the 
sweaters and blankets her mom made for her and her 
dad. "Momma," she murmured in her sleep. Tears ran 
down the teenager's cheeks as she dreamed of times 
long passed.
 
Gentle fingers tried to wipe away evidence of sadness 
on the child's face without waking her, but Kara woke 
up with a start. "Who's there?" Kara looked around, 
but saw no one. She felt her heart race at the 
possibilities, and sat up straight in her bed. 
"Please, if anyone is here, answer me!" She paused 
momentarily and then called out, "Bonnie?"
 
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the room 
accompanied by a brilliant flash of light. "Who's 
there? Please, who's there?" she pleaded with a 
trembling voice.
 
Kara felt a light probing touch on her face, the 
tears that continued to fall seemingly absorbed by 
something unseen. She thought she should feel afraid, 
but the gentle touch was actually very soothing. Kara 
closed her eyes and allowed herself to be washed in 
the comfort of it, unlike anything she had 
experienced since--
 
"Momma?" she whispered aloud.
 
Kara felt warmth pressing against her forehead...a 
kiss. 
 
"Momma, I miss you so much. I want to be with you, 
Momma. Please, take me with you."
 
Kara felt a sudden chill and she cried out, "Don't 
leave me! I'll stay here, but don't leave me yet!"
 
The chill was instantly replaced by a sweet warmth, 
as if loving arms were embracing her. Kara nuzzled 
into that warmth and fell peacefully asleep.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
Act III 

Motel 6
Tuesday, 11:00 p.m. 


"Agent, is that absolutely necessary?" Skinner lifted 
his face from the pillow and waved in the general 
direction of the television.
 
Mulder immediately muted the sound. "Sorry. It's the 
only way I can sleep. Do you want me to turn it off?"
 
Skinner rolled to his side and propped himself up on 
one elbow. He gave Mulder a speculative look. "If you 
can live without the sound, I can live with the 
light." He punched the pillow into shape, stretched 
out on his stomach, and buried his face in the crook 
of his arm. "Get some sleep."
 
"Yes, sir." Mulder settled back against the headboard 
and tried, without much success, to find a position 
for his hand that didn't make it throb like a 
toothache. As pathetic as it sounded, all he wanted 
to do was sneak down to Scully's room so she could 
fuss over him. He pushed the thought away and 
concentrated on the silent flickering screen.
 
An hour later, his erstwhile roommate was snoring 
softly, and Mulder was ready to climb the walls. He 
glanced balefully at the brown plastic bottle on the 
nightstand. Childproof caps. He couldn't get a pill 
out if his life depended on it. 
 
But Scully could open the bottle for him. What better 
excuse for a trip down the hall? Except that it 
wasn't a hall, it was an outside walkway. And he 
couldn't get his shoes on without help, let alone tie 
the laces. He considered the possibilities for all of 
twenty seconds before climbing carefully out of bed. 
He was almost to the door before he remembered the 
pill bottle, and crept quietly back to get it. His 
hand had just touched the doorknob for the second 
time when Skinner's voice froze him in his tracks.
 
"Where are you going?" 
 
He felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house 
after curfew. "I, um-- I need some ice. For my hand." 
It was the best he could come up with on such short 
notice.
 
Skinner sat up and squinted at him, then grabbed his 
glasses from the nightstand and looked again. "You 
won't get much ice in that little bottle."
 
When had the man developed this propensity for 
smirking? It was beginning to get on his nerves. "Oh. 
Right. Guess I was half asleep." He headed for the 
dresser and exchanged the pill bottle for the ice 
bucket.
 
"You're going outside in your bare feet?" 
 
While Mulder was casting around for a suitable 
response, Skinner reached for his shoes and began 
putting them on. "I'll get it." 
 
"No, no-- that's not necessary, I'll just--"
 
"Sit down, Mulder. I said I'll get it." And with 
that, he took the ice bucket and was gone.
 
*Great*
 
Skinner reappeared a few moments later with a full 
load of ice. He put it down on the dresser, picked up 
one of the unused pillows and stripped off the 
pillowcase. "Can you take the bandages off yourself 
or do you need some help?" He snagged the plastic 
laundry bag from the closet and began to fill it with 
ice.
 
"I'll just hold the ice against it like this. It'll 
be fine."
 
"You'll get the bandages wet." 
 
For the next few minutes, Mulder sat in embarrassed 
silence while his boss gently unwrapped his hand and 
placed the makeshift ice pack against it.
 
"Do you want a pain pill?" Skinner jerked his head 
toward the plastic bottle now on the dresser.
 
Ah, the damn bottle that started all this. "No, this 
is fine. Really." Oddly enough, the ice *was* 
helping.
 
That earned him another speculative look. "If you 
change your mind, wake me up. We'll redo the bandage 
in the morning." He put his glasses back on the 
nightstand and got back under the covers.
 
"Thank you, sir." He was beginning to feel more than 
a little ashamed of the dark thoughts he'd been 
sending Skinner's way all afternoon. "I'll be fine. 
Scully can put a new bandage on tomorrow."
 
The A.D. raised his head and gave Mulder a look that 
was once again too close to a smirk for comfort. "I'm 
sure she can." He rolled over with his back to his 
'patient'. "Good night, Mulder."
 
"Good night, sir." If he didn't known better, he'd 
have to wonder if the man might not be on to their 
little secret. Yes, it was going to be an interesting 
couple of days...
 
~~~~~
 
Wednesday, 8:40 a.m. 


They were on their way back to Clifford County 
Medical Center, this time to interview George 
Bostleman, the injured mail carrier. The man's 
physician had refused their request to see him 
yesterday, citing traumatic shock. The police 
interview had done enough damage, he'd said. The 
F.B.I. would have to wait until Bostleman was 
stronger. Otherwise, they would have been here 
yesterday rather than in the Brooks' living room 
getting Mulder's hand barbequed.
 
Breakfast had consisted of burned coffee and stale 
bagels with a strangely reticent Skinner. He'd 
insisted that they handle the interview without him, 
claiming to have a number of phone calls to return. 
Scully had found his behavior very puzzling until 
Mulder shared last night's events with her after they 
got in the car.
 
"Mulder, are you out of your mind?" She gave him a 
look that said she'd already answered her own 
question. "What were you thinking?"
 
"Obviously, I *wasn't*."
 
The contrition in his voice was sincere, and she 
turned back to him with a much softer expression. "I 
wanted to see you, too, Mulder. But it was a foolish 
risk. That's why we need to make a new rule--" at his 
knowing grin, she continued, "--and *stick* to it 
this time. No fraternizing in the field." She pulled 
into a parking space and shut off the engine. 
 
"But look at the money we could save by just getting 
one room." Mulder added his patented eyebrow waggle, 
and wisely prepared to duck.
 
She shot him a look. "Let's stick to business for the 
remainder of this trip, shall we?" But her eyes were 
twinkling.
 
Mr. Bostleman was sitting propped in his hospital 
bed, his blistered face, and arms glistening with 
ointment. His attention was focused on the 
television, and he didn't look at his visitors until 
Mulder spoke.
 
"Mr. Bostleman? I'm Special Agent Mulder with the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, 
Special Agent Scully. We have a few questions, if you 
feel up to it." 
 
"Oh, I'm up to it, all right. The cops in this town 
seem to think I'm imagining things. I'm hoping for a 
slightly more open mind from the Feds."
 
Mulder glanced quickly at Scully . The corners of her 
mouth twitched dangerously for an instant before 
her cool, professional mask returned. "Yes, Mr. 
Bostleman, I think you'll find Agent Mulder in 
particular to be quite open minded." When she looked 
back at Mulder, her eyes were positively dancing with 
amusement.
 
"Uh, yes, Mr. Bostleman. What is it that the police 
think you're imagining?" Mulder shot back a look that 
he hoped would convey just how amusing he thought 
this all was. Scully's expression remained impassive, 
but the merriment in her eyes actually kicked up a 
notch.
 
"Well, to start with: they don't believe there's 
anything unusual going on in that house. Hell, any 
fool in town can tell you these new people are very 
strange." At the "any fool in town" comment, the 
postman made a sweeping gesture and winced as the 
movement stretched the burned skin. "Their neighbors 
told me that there have been a half-dozen unexplained 
fires since the Brooks moved in."
 
Scully called him on that one. "Our information makes 
it four fires, Mr. Bostleman, not six."
 
"Four, six, what's the difference? Besides, they 
haven't called the fire department every time, if 
that's where you're getting your *information*." He 
almost sneered the last word.
 
Buddy, you do *not* want to get into a verbal 
fencing match with this woman, Mulder thought. "So, 
what is it that you think is causing the fires?"
 
The man turned his attention back to Mulder. "I think 
these people are in deep financial difficulty and 
they're making it look like there's a poltergeist or 
something in the house. Setting little fires so that 
when the big one finally *happens*, they won't be 
under suspicion. They got a pretty large insurance 
windfall coming if they torch the place, but only if 
no one suspects them of arson."
 
"What makes you think the Brooks are in financial 
trouble?" Mulder had been resting his hand in his 
overcoat pocket, but hanging down like that was 
making it throb again. He quickly tucked it into his 
jacket in a Napoleonic pose. 
 
"Hey, what happened to your hand? Was it *another* 
fire?" He gave Scully a triumphant glance before 
eyeing Mulder carefully. "Did you get that in the 
house?"
 
Mulder ignored the question. "I asked why you think 
the Brooks have money problems."
 
Bostleman shrugged as much as his injuries permitted. 
"It's not hard to figure out when you deliver them a 
mitt-full of bills every day of the week. And not 
just bills, *past due* bills. Lots of them, from 
two hospitals and a shitload of credit card 
companies, not to mention three or four collection 
agencies. My sister-in-law, Ruthie, works at the 
Publix supermarket. Said Mrs. Brooks was in there a 
few weeks ago trying to charge her groceries with a 
Visa Gold card. Not only got declined, but the credit 
card company made Ruthie take the card away from 
her."
 
"That doesn't necessarily add up to arson."
 
"No, ma'am, it doesn't. But there's just an... *aura* 
around that house. I can feel it whenever I'm there."
 
Predictably, Mulder jumped in. "An aura? Is this 
something you see, or just a general feeling?"
 
Scully shot him a *don't go there* look. "Mr. 
Bostleman, can you tell us what happened when you 
were injured?"
 
"Not much to tell. I dropped off their day's crop of 
bills and picked up a couple of outgoing pieces. 
Before I made it ten feet from the mailbox, every 
piece of mail I had on me went up in flames. I 
dropped the pack and ran, but the letters in my hands 
set my coat on fire. By the time I got it off and 
rolled on the ground, everything above my waist 
looked like this." He raised his arms slowly and 
gestured at his torso and face.
 
"Was there anything unusual about the mail you picked 
up from the Brooks?" 
 
"No, ma'am. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a few 
letter-size envelopes. No wires, no suspicious white 
powder. Nothing. The daughter was at the door to get 
the mail from me. She handed me the outgoing mail and 
shut the door. Didn't even come out when I started 
screaming my head off."
 
"This *feeling* you said you had about the house." 
Two pairs of eyes turned to Mulder. "Can you describe 
it?"
 
Another careful shrug. "Creepy. Like someone's 
standing behind you but you can't turn around fast 
enough to catch them there."
 
Scully nodded and wrote a few lines in her notepad. 
"Thank you, Mr. Bostleman. That's all the questions I 
have for now." She looked over at Mulder. "Agent 
Mulder?"
 
"Not at this time." He placed a business card on 
Bostleman's tray table. "If you think of anything 
else, call the number on the card."
 
They were halfway out the door when Bostleman called 
out, the strain of his injuries finally apparent in 
his subdued voice. "I'll give you the same advice I 
gave the police: Believe me, don't believe me-- 
that's up to you. But watch yourself." His burst of 
adrenaline depleted, Bostleman closed his eyes and 
sagged back against the pillows, asleep before his 
visitors could respond.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Clifford Heights Police Station 
Wednesday, 12:15 p.m.  
 
Scully's cell phone had rung as she and Mulder were 
getting back into the car after their interview with 
Mr. Bostleman. It was Skinner, wanting to rejoin the 
party. He had made no progress trying to work from 
his motel room and suggested they try the local 
police department's resources. The Chief of Police 
had been more than accommodating, handing over his 
own conference room, barely bigger than a supply 
closet, but equipped with a fax machine and modem. 
 
Scully glanced at her partner sitting next to her 
when she heard the growl. Mulder's famous stomach. 
Better than an alarm clock when it came to 
determining lunch time. But as she looked at his 
unconcerned face, glasses perched on his nose, going 
over the credit reports on Kevin Brooks, her ears 
heard the sound again, coming from a different 
direction. She looked across the small conference 
room table and just caught the embarrassed look on 
their boss's face. 
 
"Sorry," Skinner mumbled. 
 
Mulder was too engrossed to hear anything, but Scully 
shot a quick look at the clock on the wall, noting it 
was a quarter past 12. That made it an hour past 
lunch to their East Coast appetites.
 
"Mulder, I think it's time we feed the A.D.," Scully 
said calmly, but her eyes were sparkling with her 
amusement. 
 
"Hmm?" came the reply for her partner. He still 
hadn't bothered to look up. From the moment they had 
arrived at the police station, Mulder had been buried 
in every scrap of paper he could find about the 
Brooks family and the other fires. He'd been calling, 
faxing and downloading local newspaper accounts for 
over two hours and even her stomach was starting to 
protest a lack of real food. 
 
"I'm hungry. Let's stop this and get some lunch," she 
said slowly, as if trying to talk her partner off a 
ledge. 
 
He finally looked up, seemed confused that she'd 
interrupted him. This time, he noticed when his 
stomach made the now familiar sound. 
 
"Let's get some lunch," he declared, as if he were 
the first one to think of it. 
 
"Great idea," Skinner said dryly. 
 
"Yeah, wish I'd thought of it," Scully shot back, 
smiling when her boss tried hard not to chuckle. 
 
They walked out of the police station, which was 
situated just off the main street of beautiful 
downtown Clifford Heights, and headed for the car. 
Mulder turned abruptly in the other direction. 
 
"Where's he . . ." Skinner started to ask, but Scully 
was way ahead of him. She looked in the direction 
Mulder was heading and groaned loudly. 
 
"Mulder. No!" she cried out and ran after him, 
catching up to him in just a few steps. 
 
"Scully, it's right here. We don't have to drive; 
we'll be able to get back inside and get some work 
done. We can even get the stuff to go and get back at 
it," he reasoned, not slowing his pace one bit. 
 
"Mulder, I will not have greasy wrappers littering 
the same table top I'm trying to write notes on," 
Scully shot back. Then she tried to touch his hand, 
but remembered the bandages and let her arm drop to 
her side. "Please. Can't we try to find someplace-- 
*anyplace* else?" 
 
"You rode through this one-horse town just like the 
rest of us, Scully. There is no 'anyplace else' here. 
Unless you want a stale sandwich from the same gas 
station we got our stale bagels from this morning?" 
 
By this time Skinner had caught up with them and even 
figured out their destination. "Hey, look! They have 
99-cent Whoppers!" 
 
"And Two for Two fries," Mulder pointed out 
enthusiastically. 
 
Scully looked for any chance of escape, but realized 
she was doomed. "Sure, fine, whatever," she sighed 
and trod grudgingly toward Clifford Heights newest 
eating establishment--a shiny new Burger King. 
 
She watched in horror as Mulder ordered a Whopper and 
two fries. Skinner ordered just one Whopper, but 
added cheese. It appeared to be an unspoken agreement 
between the two of them that they'd split the two 
fries between them. It was her turn. "Grilled chicken 
sandwich, no mayo, and a glass of water, please." 
 
The waitress, an older woman at least 70 if a day, 
winked at her. "Keep that girlish figure, honey. 
Their eyes start to wander before you know it." The 
older woman nodded in the direction of Mulder and 
Skinner. "And you're one lucky little lady with those 
two!" 
 
"Don't I know it," Scully said with less enthusiasm 
than the comment would normally warrant. 
 
By the time she sat down, after getting her water, 
Mulder was struggling to figure out a way to pick up 
his sandwich without the mayonnaise-slick tomato and 
lettuce squirting out the bottom. He was just about 
to get ketchup all over his bandage when she pulled 
the sandwich away from him, dug her pocketknife out 
of her purse, and cut the sandwich into more 
manageable quarters. He smiled his thanks and went 
back to eating. 
 
"So, what have we got?" Skinner asked, breaking the 
silence. 
 
"This isn't the first occurrence of unexplained fires 
breaking out in Illinois," Scully started, putting 
her sandwich down and taking out her notebook. 
"Alton, Illinois, late 1920s. A young girl's family 
was terrorized by unexplained fires that broke out 
almost constantly. The girl was thirteen years old, 
was emotionally disturbed by family accounts. When 
she passed puberty, the fires stopped. No reason was 
ever found." 
 
"I think I saw those movies," Mulder said with a grin 
as he popped a few more fries into his mouth. 
"They're heeeeere," he mimicked. 
 
Scully shot him a look. "We still don't know all the 
chemical changes a body goes through when it reaches 
puberty, Mulder," she chided. "I would think that was 
the one explanation you'd jump at." 
 
"Close, Scully, but I really don't think it's like 
the Alton case. In that case the girl had been 
'emotionally disturbed', as you put it, for years. 
And the fires were usually small in nature, although 
you are right; they were going on almost continually 
during the year it happened. As a matter of fact, the 
family started placing buckets of water every few 
steps around the house to put them out as they broke 
out. The fire department just threw up it's hands 
after a few months." 
 
"So why is this different?" Scully asked, sipping 
from her water. 
 
"It just doesn't feel like it's that easy," Mulder 
said with a shrug. 
 
"I think I'm beginning to agree with you, Agent 
Mulder," Skinner said, with an almost surprised look 
on his face. 
 
"But sir, I thought you were going with the father 
setting the arson fires, using his electrical skills 
to set them off?" Scully turned to him with a raised 
eyebrow. 
 
"How could he have started Mulder's notebook on 
fire?" Skinner countered. "That's been bothering me 
since it happened. Kevin Brooks had no access to that 
notebook. It was in Mulder's pocket or in his hands 
the entire time, and the analysis of the remains 
showed no sign of accelerant." 
 
"But why not think it's Kara, as Scully just 
explained?" Mulder asked, holding back a grin. C'mon, 
Walt, you can do it, he mentally encouraged. 
 
Skinner was quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally he 
looked over at Mulder. "Her eyes. I looked at that 
little girl when the rose bush caught fire and there 
was fear in her eyes. She didn't know what started 
that fire, and she was afraid of it." 
 
"It could still be puberty," Scully countered. 
"Remember what it was like as a teenager. Your body 
betraying you at every turn. You wake up one morning 
and your face is broken out, your hair won't comb 
right, your feet are too big and you stumble a lot, 
your legs are suddenly too long for your body . . ." 
 
"I feel like that every morning, Scully," Mulder 
interjected. She rewarded him with a smirk. "I think 
you're on to something, sir. I don't think it was 
Kara." 
 
"Then who?" Scully asked, sitting back and crossing 
her arms, ready to duke it out, if necessary.
 
"Kara's mom," Mulder said, wiping some ketchup off 
his tie one-handed. 
 
"Bonnie?" Scully asked, her forehead knotted in 
confusion. 
 
"No, Lisa. Kara's natural mother." 
 
"Back from the dead?" Scully asked with a smirk. 
 
"Not everyone has all the loose threads tied up when 
they die, Scully. We've seen this before, at an Air 
Force Base not that far from here." 
 
"Mulder, that was a murder victim. And I'm still not 
entirely convinced that the ghost of Rebecca Barnes 
helped solve that case. Besides, there is no murder 
here. Lisa Brooks died of cancer." 
 
"Maybe she still has issues," Mulder said with a 
shrug. 
 
Skinner looked from one agent to the other. "Well, I 
think until we have some way to prove that, we better 
get back to checking out the evidence we can prove," 
he said, picking up his tray and carrying it to the 
trash. 
 
"What? No dessert?" Mulder whined, but picked up his 
tray and followed suit.
 
~~~~~~~~~
 
The Brooks Household
Wednesday, 6:05 p.m. 

"I really love this arrangement you made today in 
school, K.," Bonnie commented as she admired the pine 
needle and orchid centerpiece.
 
Kara shook a colander full of fresh string beans 
above the sink, and shut off the faucet. She tore off 
two paper towels, brought everything over to the 
table and sat next to her stepmother.
 
"Thanks. It was a Japanese flower-arrangement 
workshop. We have workshops like that all week before 
this weekend's 'International Picnic.'" The two began 
taking string beans one by one from the colander, 
snapping the ends off onto the paper towels and 
tossing the results into a glass bowl.
 
"So what kind of food should we bring to the picnic?" 
Bonnie asked, trying to jump-start a new project with 
her stepdaughter. Perhaps taking more of an interest 
in her social activities would bring them closer.
 
"Don't want a hibachi," the girl said with some 
solemnity weighing her voice down.
 
"No fires, that's for sure," Bonnie said warily. "We 
don't want to have to bring buckets of water with us. 
Unless you want to show off with a wet t-shirt 
contest!"
 
The girl gasped and blushed bright red. "You! You, 
wouldn't..." then she saw that Bonnie's face was beet 
red as well, trying to hold back her giggles. The two 
of them broke out into a laughing fit instantly. "I 
have... nothing to show... for it anyway," Kara 
continued between deep breaths and laughter.
 
"Oh, you'll get there," Bonnie encouraged in a more 
serious tone. "Don't worry, you're perfectly normal, 
K. I didn't start 'blooming' until I was seventeen." 
They resumed snapping the string beans, giggles 
breaking out every so often.
 
"So, really, Kara. What should we bring for the 
picnic? A new recipe?"
 
"Actually, we had to sign up for a country to 
contribute to. There will be several tables there in 
the field, something like food-stands for different 
ethnic foods."
 
"Did you choose Germany, for your Dad's origin?"
 
"No, USA."
 
"Well, that's not very international..."
 
"No, but our family right now is from the US. I mean, 
you, me and Dad," she mumbled quietly, a little 
embarrassed at revealing such a personal feeling 
toward Bonnie. She really didn't do that too often. 
When she looked up from her pile of green pointy ends 
she saw that Bonnie still had some tears from the 
laughing fits, making her eyes glassy. Wait a 
minute... that wasn't the laughing doing that.
 
"That's really nice to hear, Kara. I think it's a 
wonderful idea."
 
Kara responded with a wide grin, and grabbed another 
handful of beans.
 
Bonnie cleared her throat and shook her curly locks 
slightly before she changed the subject back. "So, 
you have anything in mind? We're committed to 
bringing something now, since you had to sign up."
 
"I figured we could make something that reminds me of 
home. Momma used to make this spicy fried chicken."
 
Bonnie shifted slightly in her seat. "Is that 
healthy?" she said, a little strained.
 
"C'mon, how often do we go to a picnic? Besides, we 
always used to have that at big family events. I'm 
sure Dad still has the recipe," Kara prodded.
 
The older woman nodded her head. 
 
It was quiet for a while as they finished up the 
vegetables. Kara could feel a little creeping 
sensation up her spine. There was suddenly some kind 
of tension in the air. Had she said the wrong thing 
by praising Momma's recipe? But it was true; she did 
feel like Bonnie was family. Even with all the 
longing she had felt for her mother popping up here 
and there. She couldn't forget her, and she would 
never stop loving her, but Bonnie really cared for 
her, too. And she really liked the feeling of having 
a mom again, in the flesh.
 
She thought back to that moment in her room when her 
momma's kiss and hug felt so real. She was so sure it 
wasn't a dream. But how could she tell? Dreams felt 
real sometimes, and it did happen in her room, while 
she was falling asleep.
 
It really wasn't a choice she was making. She just 
needed someone to talk to. Bonnie was taking that 
role for her now. She had to tell her how she felt. 
And the tension felt as if it were growing thicker 
with every second she let pass by.
 
"Bonnie?" Kara gently began. Her stepmother looked up 
at her, waiting for her to continue. "Do you think 
it's okay to call you something else? I mean, 
'Bonnie' sounds like I'm talking to a friend, which 
is okay..."
 
"I am your friend, K," Bonnie responded, and put down 
the last of her string beans to cover Kara's hand.
 
"Yes, but..." Kara fought to keep her emotions in 
check. "You've really, um, gone out of your way to 
take care of me and... it's not like I want to forget 
her... EVER... but..." Bonnie's grasp loosened a 
little. Kara continued, "...I used to call her 
'Momma.' I was thinking, maybe, if it's okay with 
you, that I could call you 'Ma.' You know, something 
a little shorter."
 
"Oh, Kara, of course you may!" Bonnie got up from her 
seat and embraced her stepdaughter tightly. They both 
held onto each other that way for a while. It was 
comforting, it was warm and nice...
 
...And it was ruined when the orchid centerpiece on 
the table suddenly burst into flame! Bonnie pushed 
Kara away from the table and grabbed one of the fire 
extinguishers they now kept in strategic places all 
over the house.
 
The flames ate at the stems of the flowers, making 
them seem to melt. Kara panicked as her mind began to 
replay all of the fires she had seen in the last 
months. It was like a slide show, flashing before her 
eyes. So many of them... and all of them trying to 
burn out symbols of the new life she and her father, 
and now Bonnie, all shared together.
 
The tension in the room seemed to double. Kara was a 
little surprised. She'd gone through so many 
spontaneous fires lately that she was almost numb to 
them. Sure, the initial shock was intense, but it 
felt like there was something else -- a lingering 
spirit about the room...
 
A spirit...
 
Kara raced up to her room and slammed the door, the 
sound of Bonnie calling after her muffled behind the 
wood panel. She sat on her bed and waited. And 
waited.
 
Anger and distress and sadness were building up 
inside her -- a jumble of emotions as she waited for 
that presence to appear. And it did, but very 
cautiously, like it was standing in the corner, 
watching her.
 
"Momma." the girl said with a quavering voice. 
"Momma, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I still love you! 
Please, Momma, let us be a family. I still love--" 
her words cracked in her throat, tears inched down 
her cheeks.
 
"Momma, please..."
 
*****
 
Act IV 

Brooks Household, Kitchen
Wednesday, 6:28 p.m. 

Bonnie unwrapped another disposable sponge and filled 
the cleaning bucket with water. Dealing with the 
foamy mess of a newly-extinguished fire had become 
disturbingly routine.
 
She began by removing the remains of Kara's Japanese 
centerpiece, now nothing more than a melted plastic 
pot with some sticks jutting out from the burnt foam 
block.
 
As she started to wipe the mess off the table, she 
heard the front door close. Kevin was home. She could 
hear him pause in the entrance hall and curse under 
his breath. He recognized the smell that accompanied 
another combustible outbreak, as they all had learned 
to do. Next she heard the keys in the glass bowl, 
then the heavy, exhausted footsteps through the 
dining room. She continued her work.
 
"I can't believe this," he grumbled in frustration. 
"She's doing it for attention, you know. That's got 
to be it!" His voice became louder as he went on.
 
"Kevin, just stop it!" Bonnie snapped, splashing the 
soaked sponge into the cloudy water.
 
"I don't know what to do anymore, Bonnie! I've been a 
good father to her! This is just revenge for the fact 
that we moved away. I have no other ideas!"
 
"Well, you can start by talking instead of yelling!"
 
"I AM NOT YELL - - " Kevin gritted his teeth, then 
lowered his voice. "One of these days someone is 
going to get killed. There's only one thing left to 
do." He went over to the wall-mounted phone in the 
kitchen and began dialing.
 
"Who are you calling?"
 
"The FBI agents."
 
"Kevin, your own daughter!?"
 
"She has to be stopped! I can't do anything anymore. 
She just won't--"
 
A shrieking scream cut through their argument. It 
stopped Kevin's heart. He let the receiver drop and 
it swung by its cord as the two parents raced to the 
second floor.
 
An orange glow filled the staircase and smoke hid the 
ceiling from view, as if a bad storm were brewing 
inside the house. It was, and the heat of the storm 
was centered around Kara's bedroom door. Kevin pulled 
the sleeve of his sweater around his fist and banged 
on the door.
 
"Kara, open the door, baby! Kara, we have to get you 
out of there!"
 
All they could hear was Kara hiccupping and sobbing 
inside. Every few seconds a high-pitched squeal would 
escape. Kevin banged on the door harder with 
increasing urgency, but it was no use. The strength 
of the door was otherworldly, and he could do nothing 
to save his baby girl.
 
He coughed and shouted in frustration. Bonnie pulled 
at his arm to get him downstairs, away from the 
danger.
 
"We have to call for help or she'll die in there!"
 
"No! I have to save her! I'm her father!"
 
"And now, I'm her mother. I'm calling for help." She 
left his side and ran down the stairs, covering her 
mouth against the thickening smoke as she went.
 
When she got downstairs, the phone was still dangling 
from its cord, and she heard a faint voice calling 
from the receiver.
 
"Mr. and Mrs. Brooks? Kara? Hello? Can anyone hear 
me? Hello. . .?"
 
Bonnie grabbed the phone, "Hello?"
 
"Mrs. Brooks, thank God!"
 
"Agent Scully, please hurry, there's a fire! Bigger 
than before and we can't get to Kara! She's trapped!"
 
"We're already on our way."
 
Bonnie hung up the phone. It probably wouldn't matter 
in a few minutes. She stumbled over to the staircase 
again, crouching below the growing clouds of smoke.
 
She called up the stairs, into the obscurity, "Kevin! 
We have to try from the outside! The agents are on 
the way!"
 
It took a moment before her husband's heavy footsteps 
tramped down the stairs. He sought her hand and they 
rushed out to the front yard together.
 
~~~~~~~
 
Wednesday, 6:40 p.m. 
 
Clifford Heights wasn't a particularly large town, so 
the three agents arrived at the house in record time, 
even managing to beat the volunteer fire department 
to the scene. Skinner pulled haphazardly to the curb 
and jumped out of the car. 
 
Mulder had to reach awkwardly across his body with 
his right hand in order to open the passenger door, 
so Scully climbed quickly out of the front seat to 
help him. Both agents then made a dash for the 
Brooks' front door. 
 
Skinner was banging his fist urgently against the 
wood. Just as Mulder and Scully joined him, Bonnie 
Brooks opened the door, crying hysterically. 
 
"She's in her room. We can't get her out! We can't 
get her out!" 
 
"Where the hell is the fire department?" asked 
Scully. 
 
"We called; they said they'd get here as soon as they 
could. Another emergency across town... Oh, God! Help 
me, get her out, please!" she cried. 
 
"Do you have a ladder?" Skinner had grabbed Bonnie 
gently but firmly by the shoulders, speaking intently 
into her face. 
 
"We can't get her out!" she cried again, oblivious to 
the A.D.'s question. 
 
"Mrs. Brooks! A ladder-- do you have a ladder?" He 
shook her slightly and her eyes snapped into focus. 
 
"Ladder? Yes, yes, out back." She brushed by Skinner 
and rushed out to the backyard, pointing frantically 
at the rickety treehouse ladder. "This is all we 
have. Will it do?"
 
Skinner gave the ladder a swift appraisal and hoisted 
it over his head. "Show me Kara's window!" Whether 
the thing would support him or not was a question 
that would be answered soon enough.
 
Bonnie pointed to a window on the side of the house, 
and Skinner sprinted for it with the panicked woman 
right on his heels. 
 
Meanwhile, Mulder and Scully had dashed into the 
house, where they immediately heard Kevin Brooks' 
screams coming from the second floor. 
 
Scully spotted a fire extinguisher on the coffee 
table to her left and grabbed it before heading up 
the stairs with Mulder right behind her.
 
"Kara! Kara, please, sweetheart, open the door! 
Daddy's not angry! Please, just open the door!" They 
found Kevin Brooks screaming desperately toward 
Kara's door as the flames danced around it, blocking 
his path. Scully pointed the extinguisher nozzle and 
sprayed the foamy white substance along the floor and 
at the door, emptying the container in moments. The 
fire raged on unabated.
 
"Is the door stuck? Is that why she's not coming 
out?" Scully shouted above the roar of the flames. 
 
"I don't know! A few minutes ago I was able to get 
over to it, but I couldn't turn the handle. It felt 
like it was jammed or maybe locked. I don't know! But 
now I can't get near it because the whole damn 
hallway is on fire!" he cried out in frustration. 
Brooks turned back towards the door and pleaded with 
his daughter. "Kara, please, open the door!" 
 
Scully turned to ask Mulder where the hell the fire 
department was, but he was nowhere in sight. "Mulder! 
Where are you?" 
 
Their situation was all too similar to the L'ively 
case, and she wondered for an instant if Mulder was 
reliving the fear he'd felt that night. She could 
only imagine what he must be feeling. 
 
Then suddenly he reappeared, awkwardly hauling a 
wastebasket filled with water that spilled over the 
lip with every step. "Move away, Scully. Let me try 
this." His grip was precarious, trying to spare his 
injured hand, but he managed to toss the contents 
toward the bedroom door. 
 
Miraculously, it made a path large enough for him to 
pass through, which he quickly did before Scully or 
Brooks could react. He pushed against the door once 
with little success and then, bracing himself, plowed 
his way through on the second try. 
 
He was momentarily relieved to find the room filled 
with smoke but free of flames, until he tried to take 
a breath to call for the child and the acrid fumes 
seared his throat. He choked and immediately got down 
on his knees, balancing on his right hand. It was 
impossible to crawl and cover his mouth at the same 
time, so he opted for forward movement and tried to 
take shallow breaths.
 
"Kara? Kara, it's okay. Where are you?" Mulder called 
out, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. 
The smoke was overwhelming and blinding. He had to 
find the child quickly, or they'd both be dead in 
minutes. 
 
Images of the hotel fire years ago flashed through 
his mind as he crept through the choking darkness. He 
hadn't made it to the children that time, though the 
arsonist had. And this was far worse than that night 
had been. 
 
"Kara, please, say something so I can figure out 
where you are!" he called out again. 
 
"Here," she whimpered. 
 
"Again, Kara. Where are you?" 
 
"Here. I'm over here," she cried out a little more 
loudly, then began to cough helplessly. 
 
Mulder crawled toward the sound of the child's voice, 
eyes streaming from the smoke. He could hear Scully 
calling frantically from the hall, but he couldn't 
draw in enough air to make his voice carry that far. 
 
He crawled around the end of the bed and bumped 
directly into the girl crouched low on the floor.
 
"Kara! Grab onto my coat and stay low. We're going to 
get out of here. Do you know where the window is?" He 
peered through the thick smoke, searching for the 
light.
 
"I think it's that way, but I can't see!" She pointed 
over his shoulder. 
 
Mulder could now hear sirens in the distance but the 
sound of shattering glass was even more welcomed, as 
was the resulting draft, which made it easier to 
breathe, but not to see.
 
"Kara! Kara, are you in there?" It was Skinner's 
voice, and Mulder crawled toward it, dragging Kara 
with him.
 
"Sir! I've got her. We're coming!" 
 
Within a few feet, Mulder's hand encountered broken 
glass from the window and he turned to Kara. "Stand 
up, Kara. We're here." They came slowly to their feet 
and Mulder reached toward the draft with his right 
hand. He stepped forward and felt a strong hand grasp 
his.
 
"Okay, Kara, time to get you out of here," Mulder 
said to the child. "Here she is, sir." 
 
Skinner reached in and lifted the child up over the 
small, jagged pieces of glass that remained in the 
window frame. He began the slow descent, using one 
hand to hold onto the ladder, and the other to 
support Kara as she followed him down the ladder. 
 
Mulder looked at the ladder and tried to figure out 
how the hell he was going to manage this. His hand 
was throbbing again, and he knew he'd need the 
support of both his hands to get himself safely onto 
the ladder. Once he got to the point where he could 
start descending, he'd be okay. It was maneuvering 
himself out of the window that gave him cause to 
grimace. 
 
"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered to himself. He 
pushed one leg out the window and began to turn. "Oh, 
damn!" he cried out. He'd grabbed onto the ledge of 
the window with both hands for support, and the pain 
shot through the injured hand from the impact. At 
that point he realized the damn thing was going to 
hurt no matter what he did, so he gritted his teeth 
and forced himself out the window and onto the 
ladder. Once outside, he managed to descend without a 
problem. 
 
Once Mulder reached the ground, he turned to find the 
area surrounded by volunteer firemen and a squad car. 
Bonnie was standing, holding her stepdaughter, while 
Kevin was speaking with a member of the local PD. 
Skinner stood nearby as Kevin answered the questions 
posed by the cop. Scully saw Mulder and rushed toward 
him. 
 
"Are you okay?" she asked anxiously. 
 
"Yeah," he replied and immediately began coughing 
uncontrollably. 
 
"Oh, yeah. You're fine." She gathered him in her arms 
and began gently leading him toward the rescue 
vehicles. 
 
One of the EMTs met them and sat Mulder on the bed of 
his rig. He placed an oxygen mask over Mulder's face 
and instructed him to take deep breaths. He felt 
better almost immediately and tried to remove the 
mask. 
 
"Oh no you don't, Mulder. Leave it on for a few 
minutes, or you will find yourself making yet another 
trip to the emergency room," admonished Scully. 
 
He nodded in response and then, rather than attempt 
to speak through the mask, merely pointed toward the 
Brooks family. 
 
"Kara's fine, Mulder, though she's obviously upset. 
But physically, she's fine." 
 
Just as Scully gave Mulder her assessment of the 
situation, as if on cue, Kara screamed loudly, "No, 
please, let me go!" She twisted out of Bonnie's 
embrace and ran directly into the house, leaving her 
stepmother frozen with shock. 
 
Almost instantly the flames that had mere seconds ago 
threatened to engulf the structure simply winked out, 
leaving only puffs of smoke wafting from the doors 
and windows. The firemen stared open-mouthed. A fire 
that extinguished itself was completely impossible. 
And so they stared.
 
Bonnie recovered almost immediately and ran after the 
teenager. Kevin and Skinner both tried to stop her, 
but Bonnie would have none of it. She escaped their 
grasps and ran into the house. As she entered the 
front door, she heard Kara coming down the stairs. 
 
"Kara?" 
 
"I'm sorry. I had to get it." 
 
"Get what, sweetheart?" 
 
"My momma's picture. I couldn't leave it up there. I 
had to get it." She paused and looked around her, as 
if just now realizing where she was. "Jeez...pretty 
stupid of me, huh?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
"No. Not stupid, Kara. Maybe a little impulsive, but 
not stupid." Bonnie reached out, and Kara tentatively 
placed the silver-framed photo into her stepmother's 
hand. Bonnie used the hem of her tee-shirt to 
carefully wipe the frame, polishing it to its former 
gleam. 
 
"It looks none the worse for the wear, does it?" 
Bonnie asked as she handed it back to the teenager. 
Kara agreed, and fingered the frame with tenderness. 
"Maybe we should get ourselves back outside into the 
fresh air. It's a bit of a mess in here, isn't it?" 
 
Kara looked around her again, nodded, but then said, 
"But it'll be okay, won't it Bonnie? We'll be able to 
come back and live here, right?" 
 
Bonnie's expression couldn't hide the surprise at 
hearing her stepdaughter's words. "You want to come 
back here?" she asked incredulously. 
 
"Yeah. I like it here, Ma," she replied shyly. 
 
"I don't understand...with all of this craziness 
going on..." She hesitated. 
 
"It wasn't me; it was my momma. She was the one that 
wasn't sure. She was the one who thought I'd 
forgotten her. But she does understand now. It's 
okay. She knows I really do love her, and that you 
and Dad are both okay with that." Kara finally 
managed a small smile. 
 
"Oh, Kara, it really is, you know. Neither your dad 
nor I would ever want you to forget about her." 
Bonnie reached over to embrace Kara. "And you're 
right, kiddo, for a place that was up in flames just 
a little while ago, it doesn't look like it's in too 
bad shape. I think with a lot of elbow grease, this 
place is going to become our home again." The two of 
them walked out the front door arm in arm. 

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue 

Motel 6
Thursday, 9:12 a.m. 

"Is this everything?" Scully dropped a stack of 
shirts onto the bed next to Mulder's open suitcase.
 
"Scully, you don't have to do this. I can--" Then he 
proceeded to prove otherwise by dropping the shaving 
kit he had been balancing on his one good hand.
 
She flashed him an indulgent smile. "So I see. Would 
you rather have Skinner pack for you?" Mulder winced 
at the prospect, and Scully nodded in agreement. 
"That's what I thought."
 
He retrieved the shaving kit from the floor and 
placed it on the bed. "First aid in the middle of the 
night and tying my shoes for me was weird enough. I 
drew the line at zipping my pants, although he did 
offer."
 
Scully's expression was priceless. Then she began to 
giggle, which never failed to get Mulder going right 
along with her. They were soon holding each other up, 
tears running down faces crinkled with mirth.
 
"Agents?" 
 
They hadn't even heard the door open. Skinner was 
back from checking them out of the motel. He stood 
just inside the door with his hand on the knob, 
seemingly frozen by the vision before him. The solemn 
X-Files division, dissolving into mild hysterics.
 
They straightened up immediately.
 
"Yes, sir." Scully found her voice first. "I was just 
helping Mulder pack." She sidestepped so he could see 
the suitcase and clothing on the bed, then turned 
back to complete her task.
 
Mulder busied himself with opening drawers and closet 
doors, checking for anything left behind. Skinner 
watched from the door.
 
"I can finish that for you, Agent Scully. Don't you 
have to pack your own things?"
 
Mulder wasn't sure he could maintain a straight face, 
so he carefully avoided meeting Scully's eyes. She 
shook her head, apparently feeling the same urge to 
snicker that was tickling his own throat.
 
"It's no trouble. I'll just be another minute." She 
literally stuffed the last items into the case and 
zipped it shut, with a little assistance from 
Mulder's good hand. "There."
 
She seemed to be avoiding eye contact with Skinner, 
too. "I'll meet you at the car." She nearly ran from 
the room, leaving Mulder struggling to keep his 
expression neutral.
 
Skinner stepped quickly out of the way to let her 
pass. When she was out of earshot, he turned back to 
Mulder. "I don't suppose there's any point in asking 
what that was all about?"
 
Mulder could feel the flush in his face. "It was... 
we were just--"
 
His boss held up one hand and shook his head. "That's 
okay. I'm sorry I asked," but there was a glint of 
amusement in his eyes.
 
In desperate need of a diversion, Mulder gestured 
toward the pile of sooty gabardine in the corner. "I 
don't think this is quite what accounting had in mind 
when they sent you out here, sir. I would have only 
wrecked *one* suit." 
 
Skinner gave him a rueful smile. "They wanted me to 
'validate the expenditures'. I think I've done that." 
His expression sobered. "Mulder, is this the way it 
always is? Leaving a case with so many questions 
unanswered?"
 
"You don't buy my theory?"
 
"That the fires were caused by Kara Brooks' dead 
mother? That there won't be any more now because Kara 
has convinced a ghost that she's still loved? I guess 
I'd have to say that I don't accept that as the most 
logical answer."
 
Mulder smiled. "You sound just like someone else I 
know." 
 
"I'll take that as a compliment." He picked up his 
own packed suitcase and grabbed Mulder's from the 
bed.
 
"Sir, you don't have to do that. I--"
 
"At ease, agent. You can get the door." He shouldered 
his way past Mulder and headed for the door. "And you 
can write the expense report for this trip."
 
"Two suits and a toasted notebook? Piece o' cake." 
 
~~~ 
END