Summary: Some cases just never seem to stay closed, as Mulder and Scully 
discover, almost too late. 

Rated: PG-13 gross and disgusting violence is discussed 

Category: X A UST 

Fourth Season Spoiler Alert--but just a touch. Violence warning, not for 
the weak of heart or stomach. No MSR, a liberal sprinkling of UST, but 
mostly an X File. 

Disclaimer: I disclaim everything. They aren't my kids, he isn't my 
husband, not my house, not my car, not my dog, not my name. Oh, and not 
my characters, either. But then, it's not my money, so there. 

Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com. 

Once More with Feeling
 By Vickie Moseley 

She awoke to the cold breeze whistling through the opening and uncurled 
from her sleeping position. She blinked around in the half-light. It was 
dark and too soon to be awake. Then she realized what had awakened her. 
He was gone! 

She searched frantically but in the small space, it was easy to see what 
had happened. When she found the blood, she broke down into sobs. He was 
dead. And from the looks of things, he had been murdered. Someone had 
taken away her life. 

She needed him. He had provided her with everything. He had given her 
life. Now that he was gone, she knew she would be following him. She only 
had a little time left. 

But she was different than he was. He killed for sustenance. He killed to 
survive. Before she died, only one thought would sustain her. She would 
kill for revenge. 

FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC 
Monday, 9:55 am 

He tapped his pencil impatiently, phone tucked under his chin, waiting 
for the line to be picked up. 

"Path Department," came the businesslike greeting into his ear. 

"May I speak with Agent Dana Scully, please," he said, chewing on the end 
of the pencil now. He heard a muffling of voices in the background and 
finally, a familiar voice in his ear. 

"OK, Mulder, what is it *now*?" Scully asked. Her impatience was showing. 
This was the third call from her partner this morning. 

"Scully, where did you put the Montana Sightings file? I can't find it 
anywhere," Fox Mulder said, riffling through the pile of folders on his 
desk, almost as if she could see him actually make the attempt to find 
the missing file. 

"Did you look in the file drawer, Mulder?" she asked dryly. 

"Yes, I looked in the file drawer," he replied tersely. "And it's not 
there. And it's not on my desk, and not in my briefcase and not on the 
bookshelf and not in your out box and not on the floor. So I give up, 
Scully. What did *you* do with it?" he demanded. 

Scully counted to ten silently before she mentally melted the phone 
wires. He was driving her crazy. She had agreed to help out at Quantico 
because they were between cases and they had been on each others nerves, 
both chomping at the bit to get out in the field. Since the trip to 
Canada and Mrs. Mulder's incredible recovery, her partner had been more 
anxious than ever to locate the threads that might lead him to his 
sister. But they had been stuck in the basement, every 302 coming back 
with a big black 'denied' stamped on it. Scully knew the Assistant 
Director was simply impressing upon the two agents that 'desecration' was 
the better part of investigation. She now felt the lesson should be 
coming to an end, but no end appeared in sight. The frustration was 
taking it's toll. 

"Mulder, while I'm on the phone, go over and look in the basket on top of 
the file drawer." She heard him grunt and the chair squeak. There was 
rustling and scraping. 

"OK, Scully, how did you know that was where it was?" he asked, somewhat 
amazed. 

"I'm psychic," she shot back with good nature. "And that's where you put 
everything you don't want to file. Remember? It's your own private cache 
of files. Now, can I go back to this autopsy, or are you going to call me 
in another 30 minutes with some other bizarre request?" She regretted her 
words almost before they left her mouth. 

"Well, I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I had no idea I was being so bothersome," 
he said evenly, but she could tell she'd drawn blood. She knew he was 
probably just missing another human being at the moment and she had just 
called him on it. Good one, Starbuck, she chided herself. He needs a 
friend right now and you keep kicking him in the teeth. 

"Mulder, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm sorry," she 
apologized. "Hey, tell you what. I'm just about done here--another hour 
tops. If I hit the lights right, I can be in town in about two hours. 
That would make it noon. What say I treat to pizza. You know how I hate 
the cafeteria out here in the sticks." 

She could hear his grin over the line. "That's an awfully long lunch 
hour, Agent Scully. What will the head of Pathology say?" he purred. 

"Oh, I've got him wrapped around my little finger, Agent Mulder. As a 
matter of fact, he's almost as much of a push over as you are," she added 
with a wide grin and then laughed at the choking noises she heard on his 
end of the line. "Just meet me in the garage, OK? And be ready when I get 
there. If I have to come into the building and waste the extra time that 
I could be eating, I will hurt you, Mulder. I promise." 

"Promises, promises, Scully," he laughed. "See you at noon." Mulder hung 
up the phone with a smile. I don't miss her, he reminded himself. I don't 
really miss her. God, it has only been a day and already I hate this. No, 
scratch that, only a morning. I'm not gonna last this week, he decided 
and went back to the file he had now opened on his desk. 

Once engrossed in the folder, he was oblivious to the quiet screeching of 
metal on metal as the tiny screws in the heating vent seemed to turn of 
their own volition. Nor did he hear the almost silent thud as they fell 
to the ground below. 

FBI Parking Garage 
12:05 pm 

Scully screwed up her face and glared at the elevators. He wasn't coming. 
"Damn it, Mulder," she growled, pulling out her cell phone and dialing 
the number speed dial. It rang 6 times and then rolled over to the main 
switchboard. "Federal Bureau of Investigations" came the quick greeting. 

Scully recognized the voice. "Hi, Maris. This is Agent Scully. I can't 
find Agent Mulder. The line rolled over to you. Has he been out of the 
office long?" It was a preposterous question of any other operator, but 
Scully knew Maris kept much closer track of the agents in the building 
than anyone else on the switchboard. 

"I've been taking his calls since about 10:30, Agent Scully. I'm not sure 
where he's gotten off to. You know how he gets when he's in the stacks. 
You might call down there, I can put you through if you want." 

"Thanks, Maris, if you don't mind," Scully said and chewed on her lip 
some more. Mulder was always running off, even in the building. It would 
be just like him to see a connection, then run down to the stacks to dig 
through some old records that no one had uncovered in twenty or more 
years. "He'll be covered with dust and sneezing all through lunch," she 
muttered, waiting for the Agent who acted as Stacks Supervisor to pick up 
the line. 

By the time she had gone through the list, first with stacks, then 
microfilm reading room, then Danny's office and finally, in desperation, 
Agent Pendrell at the lab, Scully was ready to strangle her partner with 
her bare hands. It was a 12:30 and she knew the lunch crowd at their 
favorite pizza parlor would have the place jam packed by the time they 
got there. "If we ever get there," she snarled, and decided she might as 
well go into the building and look for him herself. 

"Might as well start where I know he was last time I talked to him," she 
muttered as she rode the elevator to the basement. Sometimes, though very 
seldom, he was capable of leaving clues as to his whereabouts. They were 
clues that usually only she could decipher, but she wasn't beyond hope at 
this point. If all else failed, she would check AD Skinner's office. "But 
only as a last resort," she assured herself. 

Dana's steps slowed as she approached the office. The door was open. 
Mulder never left the door open, especially when he knew she wasn't in 
the building. Maybe he finally came back, she reasoned silently. She 
pushed the door open enough to let herself through and gasped, drawing 
her gun on instinct. 

The room was a mess. Even more so than usual. File folders were open and 
strewn across the floor. Mulder's chair was turned over and it looked 
like a file drawer had been pulled out of the cabinet. "With some force," 
Scully muttered. 

"Geez, Scully, I was only a little late, you didn't have to trash the 
place." 

The sound of her partner's voice caused her to jump and twirl, quickly 
holding her gune floor for now," Scully directed, all business like. As 
she retrieved a box to put the papers in, she stopped and sniffed the 
air. "Mulder, do you smell something?" she asked, a curious expression 
crossing her face. 

Mulder stopped scooping up papers and regarded his partner. "Not with the 
smell stuff again, Scully," he whined. She returned his remark with a 
stern glare and he complied by sampling the air. "I can't smell anything. 
But then, I've had this cold since last month. I think I'm allergic to 
something in the building." Now, his curiosity was up. "So what did it 
smell like?" 

"I don't know, Mulder. It smelled . . . bad. Like something rotten. I 
don't like it. Something is fishy here." 

"Well, if we find any paper bags on fire, *you* get to stomp them out, 
Scully," he joked and went back to gathering the documents. 

Office of the Assistant Director 
2:00 pm 

"And you have no idea who did this?" Assistant Director Skinner asked, 
but he already knew the answer. "Nothing turned up on fingerprint?" 

"I suspect that whoever we're dealing with used gloves, sir. The only 
prints we found were our own," Scully assured him. 

"No idea if anything was taken?" the AD asked. 

"We're in the process of sorting the scattered files, sir. I should be 
able to answer that question later this evening," Mulder interjected. 
Skinner suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically. Only Fox Mulder, with 
his eidetic memory, could ever hope to assess if something, however 
minute was missing from all the myriad of files in his office. "I can 
tell you that nothing big or valuable was taken. Agent Scully left her 
lap top on her desk and it was still there. As was my cell phone, which I 
left in my jacket pocket, hanging on the coat tree." 

"Which explains why I couldn't find you," Scully muttered loud enough so 
her partner could hear. He flashed her a sheepish smile in apology. She 
simply rolled her eyes to the ceiling, in a silent prayer for patience. 

Skinner sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk in front 
of him. "Well, until we can determine who did this, I want you to go 
through that office thoroughly. And make certain the door is locked *at 
all times*. I want a full report before you leave tonight. Security will 
be watching your hallway. I don't like the idea that someone in this 
building has targeted you for some form of 'hazing', but that is what it 
appears at first sight. If that is the case, the responsible party is 
bound to let it slip soon enough. This place is leakier than a sieve when 
it comes to internal secrets. If I hear anything through my 'channels', 
I'll alert you immediately and take the necessary action. I want you to 
do the same for me. Now, you better get going, it sounds like you have a 
full afternoon ahead of you." 

"Sir, I'd like to notify Quantico that I'm needed here. I'm sure the task 
is beyond even Agent Mulder's well known organizational skills," Scully 
said, with a totally straight face that almost caused the AD to lose his 
composure completely. 

"That goes without saying, Agent Scully. I'll call the head of Path. 
Consider yourself back in the office until further notice. Now, that will 
be all," he said and turned to a file folder on his desk. 

"Thanks for the dig, Scully," Mulder groused as they made their way out 
of the office and into the bull pen. 

"My pleasure, Mulder. Besides, at least you don't have to clean up the 
mess by your lonesome now," she reminded him. She noticed his grim 
expression as he glanced around at the agents busy at their desks. She 
waited until they were safely in the elevator to give voice to his 
thoughts. 

"I don't think anyone would do that to us, Mulder. I mean, sure, they 
come up with all those little endearments, like 'Spooky' and 'Mrs. 
Spooky', but I think it stops short of outright damage to property or 
person. They'd be fools to try. Remember, besides being sure to get 
caught, and probably severely reprimanded for it, they might need us 
someday. They'll do a lot behind our backs, but I know every single one 
of them realizes that we might save their ass sometime and they don't 
want to risk that." 

"You're right, Scully, of course. But somebody did it. Somebody who could 
get past security. That doesn't make me feel all that secure, if you know 
what I mean. We have more enemies than just the guys in VC. It could have 
been any one of our other 'acquaintances'--Cancer Man and his buddies. 
But for them to do something in the building, that's what has me freaked 
out. I mean, in the privacy of my apartment, sure, but in public? This is 
taking it to a new level. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit." 

"Then we just have to watch each other's back, right?" she replied, 
sounding a little more confident than she felt. 

"As usual," he smiled back. 


X Files office 
Two days later 
1:30 pm 

"Scully, I think I found another autopsy photo," Mulder sighed, pulling 
the picture out from under the corner of the file cabinet. "I thought it 
would be time consuming, but I never imagined that some of this stuff 
would actually try and *hide* from me," he said, picking up the photo, 
covered in several years of collected dust bunnies. "Hey, I think this 
one's from the Kryder case," he noted, then looked on the back for 
verification before handing it to her. 

"Well, we now have *half* of the file to that one," Scully moaned. 
"Mulder, they really did a number on us. We have 20 files that have only 
a portion of the documents in them. And I can't find any of the 15 cases 
that you listed in your report to Skinner. Is there a connection here, 
something that might lead us to who did this?" 

"None that I've been able to determine. Some abduction cases, some with 
ties to the 'dark force'," he noted wryly. "Hell, I'm missing some plain, 
old ghost story type cases. There is not rhyme or reason. Not even 
alphabetical." 

"Maybe they took a specific one and then took the rest to throw us off," 
Scully mused. 

Mulder ran his hand through his hair, rubbing dust bunnies through it as 
he did so. "Well, it worked. I haven't a clue," he sighed. He settled 
back down into his seat as Scully's phone began to ring. 

"Scully. . . . Oh, hi, Jim. Yeah, long time. Ohmigod, no! No, I hadn't 
heard. When? This morning? At his apartment? Oh, god. No. Well, we 
haven't really talked for a while. No. Jeez, Jim, I'm . . . I'm shocked. 
Yeah. Hey, thanks for calling, I appreciate it. Yeah, I will. My best to 
Karen. Bye." She hung up the phone and sat back, stunned. 

"Dana, is something wrong?" Mulder asked. 

"Yeah. Yeah, something's wrong. That was Jim Foreman. We were in the same 
class at the Academy. He called to tell me Tom Colton was murdered this 
morning. His partner found him when he didn't come into work today. They 
suspect gang activity. Tom was working on a task force or something." She 
rambled and then became silent, her eyes locked on the phone, but not 
seeing it. 

Mulder came over to kneel beside her, taking her hand. "Dana, I'm so 
sorry. I know you and Colton were friends." He looked at her and saw how 
hard she was trying to keep from crying. "Hey, why don't you take the 
rest of the day off? You look like you could use some time." His voice 
was full of understanding and concern. 

She looked at him and willfully pulled herself together. "No, that's all 
right, Mulder. I'm just a little shocked. I mean, Tom and I were close, 
but he never meant, . . ." she stopped herself. It was hurting Mulder 
just to watch her be in so much pain. "We were friends, sure. But after 
the way he treated us on the Tooms case, . . . still, I never wanted him 
d--. . . excuse me," she said and hurried from the room. She returned 
some minutes later, with a fresh coat of eye shadow, Mulder noticed. 

"Scully, I mean it. I remember how it hurt when my friend Jerry died and 
I hadn't talked to him in years. Take some time, there's no reason you 
have to stay here and fight dust bunnies with me," he teased lightly, 
trying to soften the darkness that had invaded their office. 

"Mulder, . . . I just . . . I mean, we were *friends*, you know. And then 
Tom had to go and be such an ass! And I could never bring myself to make 
up. He's called me once or twice since that case. I never returned his 
calls. What if he wanted to make up and I didn't give him the 
opportunity? What if I was the one keeping the door locked?" Her eyes 
were brimming but by sheer force of will, she was keeping the tears 
tightly on her lashes. 

"I know. Sometimes, you think you have all the time in the world. But 
Dana, it wasn't your fault, you know that. And I'm sorry if you feel 
guilty. But once or twice in two years isn't exactly busting down your 
door. There was reluctance on his part, too, I'm sure. It's sad, but that 
happens in human relationships. Maybe you can do both of you some good 
and just say good bye. Like you would with any friend." He stood up and 
pulled her to her feet. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car. No 
arguments, now. Go home, take a bubble bath in the privacy of your own 
home and say good bye to your friend. If you don't, it will only eat you 
up inside. I know this, Scully. Remember, I got really good grades in 
this stuff in college," he quipped at her. His efforts were rewarded with 
a faint smile. 

As they approached her car in the garage, she turned and put her hand on 
his shoulder. "Thanks, Mulder." He started to balk. "No, I mean it. 
You're good people, Fox Mulder." He smiled at her use of his full name. 
"Hey, since I get all this time off, how about I make us some dinner 
tonight. I'd really rather not be alone *all* day, if you can 
understand." 

"You're offering to feed me? I should send you away more often, Scully," 
he grinned. "Sure, it sounds like a great plan. I'll be by about 7:30, 
all right?" He reached up and squeezed her hand on his shoulder, then 
stood by as she unlocked her car. "Oh, and if I lose track of time," he 
added and held up his cell phone so that she could see him turn on the 
power. 

"You're learning, Mulder. There's hope for you, yet," she smiled at him 
and got in her car. 

Dana Scully's Apartment No. 5 
7:45 pm 

She stared at the phone. He was only 15 minutes late. It really wasn't 
long enough to get angry. He could have gotten tied up in traffic. He 
could have lost track of time. 

"Oh, just give it up and call," she ordered herself and she picked up the 
phone and hit the speed dial. The line rang 5 times and she was holding 
her breath with each ring. The images of the mess in the office played in 
her mind. Finally, someone picked up. 

"The Cellular Customer you are trying to reach is not available or is out 
of the service area. Please hang up and try your call again later." 

"Damn it, Mulder" she growled and threw the phone down on the sofa, 
grabbing for her purse and keys. The knock at the door startled her. 

"Where is your cell phone?" she demanded as she pulled her partner into 
the apartment. 

"Hello to you, too, Scully. It's in my pocket, . . ." he stopped and a 
pained expression crossed his face. "The pocket of my jacket. I left it 
at the office. I'm sorry, Scully. I mean, I had it on all afternoon and 
then I just got too warm and when I looked at my watch and saw the time. 
. ." His voice trailed off when he saw the look of concern and relief on 
her face. "Hey, you weren't really worried were you? I'm only fifteen 
minutes late, for cripes sakes!" 

"Mulder, our office was trashed two days ago, a close friend of mine was 
murdered this morning, yeah, I was worried. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have 
snapped at you, but you made a point of telling me to call if you weren't 
here on time and when you didn't answer, I thought . . ." 

He sighed and guided her into the kitchen. "I'm a jerk, Scully. You 
should know that by now. I'm really sorry I worried you. I'll try harder 
to avoid that in the future, OK? Now, what did you make me for dinner, 
I'm starved." 

"Lasagna, but I just took it out of the oven and it needs to 'set' a 
minute or it will fall all over your plate. Go have a seat and I'll get 
you a beer," she told him as she reached into the refrigerator and handed 
him a beer. 

He sat down on the sofa, noticing that she was listening to the radio. He 
usually hated her tastes in music, they were a direct contradiction of 
his own. But this was an all news station. Probably listening for updates 
on Colton's murder, he mused. He knew she had already been in contact 
with the agents in charge of the investigation because they had returned 
her call to her office number. Ever the investigator, he mused silently. 
Then, something on the radio caught his attention. 

"Hey, Scully, did you hear that?" he asked, wandering back into the 
kitchen. 

"Hear what?" she asked, cutting garlic bread into strips. 

"Two Baltimore cops were found murdered last night. They were on a stake 
out near that new shopping mall. They were ripped apart, at least 
according to the report." 

She stopped cutting and stared at him. "What did you say?" she asked, her 
whole body suddenly cold as ice. 

"I said, the report said two Baltimore cops were killed on a stake out 
last night. Ripped apart," he repeated. "Why? What's the matter?" 

"Mulder, did I tell you how Tom died?" she asked, her voice now very low. 

Mulder shook his head. "No and I didn't ask. I figured it was bullet 
wound to the head or chest, that tends to be gang style. Or slit throat. 
Why? How was he killed?" he asked. 

"He was 'ripped apart', Mulder. His vital organs, heart, lungs, liver, 
you name it, ripped from his body. Disemboweled, actually. The organs 
were taken as trophies, they weren't found at the scene." 

"Shit," Mulder replied and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. 

"That's for sure. Sorry to tell you right before dinner. . ." she smiled 
apologetically. 

"Oh, that's OK, Scully. You know I have a cast iron stomach. But, geez, I 
wonder," he trailed off. 

"If there's a connection?" she finished his sentence for him. 

"If there's a connection," he nodded in agreement. 

After two helpings of lasagna, and finishing off the garlic bread, Mulder 
begged off on the offer of ice cream. "I'm stuffed, Scully. You should 
package this stuff. It's lots better than the frozen stuff I pay an arm 
and a leg for at the super market." 

"I'll take that as a compliment, Mulder," she smiled one of her brighter 
smiles at him. 

"Looks like you're feeling a little better tonight," he commented, 
settling down on the sofa with a cup of coffee in his hands. 

She curled up in the arm chair across from him and nodded. "I did as 
prescribed, 'doctor'. I came home, went through some old boxes from my 
Academy days, took a bubble bath, and just let it all rip. Very 
cleansing," she added with a wink over her coffee mug. 

"So I've heard," he smiled back at her. "I am sorry. And don't sweat it 
if you want more time. You know there's nothing pressing at the office 
right now. Take it while you can." 

"No, I'm fine, really. I shouldn't have taken this afternoon as it was. 
You are way too lenient to get very far, Mulder. Most 'soops' would have 
kicked me in the ass and told me to get back to work." She laughed at his 
scrunched up expression. 

"Simon LaGree was never my style. Besides, I've never noticed you 
slacking off unless there was good reason. And this was good reason. 
Friends are hard to come by, it hurts like hell to lose one. Even ones 
that we think are already lost." 

She nodded her head in silence. 

"Look, I'm gonna shove off. If you want that time, just give me a call, 
OK? I mean it. Otherwise, it's you, me and the dust bunnies from hell 
tomorrow again. Hey, maybe I can come down with a 48 hour something and 
we can both skip the office for a while?" he teased. She simply flashed 
him her patented look and he shook his head laughing. "Guess not. But it 
was worth a try, huh?" 

"Go home, Mulder. Get some sleep. This double duty you've taken on, FBI 
agent by day, personal psychologist at night, is starting take it's 
toll," she teased in return and walked him to the door. 

Mulder didn't see the golden glow of the eyes that watched him as he 
moved toward his car. 

"Another one," she said in a whisper. The woman in the apartment was of 
little interest, at least for now. She was more intent on this one before 
her. According to the files she now had memorized, he had been the true 
murderer. And now was the time to act. Her time was running short, this 
one could not wait. 

Apartment 42 
10:15 pm 

Mulder opened the door to his apartment, then tossed his keys on the 
table by the door. "Ah, the beauties of not having to cook for oneself--
no dishes to clean up," he said to the fish as he sprinkled a liberal 
amount of food in the tank. As usual, they ignored him, but went after 
the flakes. He loosened his tie and headed for his bedroom to change. 

He was pulling on his sweatpants when he heard a floorboard creak behind 
him. Spinning on his heel, Mulder brought his hand up just as a form 
rushed him, crashing him into the nightstand. The back of his head 
connected with the solid wood and for a split second he saw stars. 

Before he could move, a hand shot out and stabbed him on his left side, 
right below the ribcage. The pain was agonizing, but he tried with all 
his strength to push the person off him. The hand came out again, this 
time covered with blood and stabbed once more. On instinct, Mulder 
reached down and grabbed the ankle holster on his leg, pulling his weapon 
and firing in one smooth motion. The person, he could now tell it was 
woman, screamed in pain and ran from the room. 

Mulder lay there on the floor of his bedroom, stunned for several 
seconds. Then, the sticky feel of warm blood flowing over his skin and 
down his side brought him to his senses. "I have to get to the phone," he 
ordered himself. He tried to stand, but the pain drove him back to the 
floor. He could see his cordless phone, sitting on his dresser. Crawling 
across the floor, excruciatingly slow, he made it over to the dresser and 
called 911 emergency before he lost consciousness. 


Alexandria, VA 
same night 
10:30 pm 

"This is positively the silliest thing you have ever done, Starbuck," 
Scully taunted herself as she pulled into Alexandria. She had called 
Mulder to tell him that she would take off another day, if just to go to 
the services for Tom. He didn't answer. The phone was busy. There was no 
reason to worry, her sensible mind kept telling her, but her instinctive 
mind was telling her that her partner was in trouble. It took very little 
time for her instinctive mind to force her into her car to drive over to 
check for herself. 

As she turned the corner, the flashing lights of the ambulance strobed 
across her windshield. "Oh God, no!" she prayed and didn't bother 
searching for a parking space. She was out of the car and running over to 
the paramedics, who were bringing a stretcher out of Mulder's building. 

A big fleshy arm grabbed her and held her back. Flashing her badge at the 
uniformed police officer, she demanded to know what was going on. 

"911 got an 'officer down' call. FBI agent. Called it in himself. I got 
here same time as the ambulance. Looked like the guy had been gored by a 
wild animal or somethin'. I never seen anything like it." The police 
officer then turned to discover he was talking to thin air. Scully was 
already over to the stretcher. 

"Mulder, Mulder it's me. Mulder, open your eyes for me, please," Scully 
begged as she walked along side the stretcher. 

"scully. . ." he moaned and his eyelids fluttered to a half mast 
position. 

"Yes, Mulder, it's me. God, what happened?" 

"i think . . . i found the . . . connection," he whispered and his eyes 
slid closed. 

Scully reached for his arm, but they were already loading him onto the 
ambulance. "Ma'am, we're taking him to Northeast Georgetown, if you want 
to follow us. But he's lost a lot of blood and we have to hurry now, all 
right?" one of the paramedics said, taking her arm and leading her out of 
the way of the stretcher. 

"I'm his partner. My name is Dana Scully and I'll be right there," she 
told him. As the medic started toward the ambulance, Scully grabbed his 
arm. "Take good care of him, please," she begged. 

The medic smiled and nodded. "Not to worry Ms. Scully. We'll get him 
there. I promise." 

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 
11:00 pm 

Mulder tried hard to remember where he was. Hospital? Right, his mind 
told him. But why? The image of the woman who had stabbed him flashed 
before his eyes. He tried to remember where he had seen her before. She 
seemed familiar and yet, not. Who the hell was she, anyway? He blinked 
his eyes and saw the overhead lights moving past him. Where's Scully? he 
wondered. She should be here by now. 

As if she heard his thoughts, Scully's face came into view. "Hey, 
Mulder," she smiled and brushed the hair from his forehead. "You're at 
Northeast Georgetown Med Center. I made of point of asking for Dr. Daly. 
Remember, you and he got to be pretty good friends once you quit trying 
to deck him everytime you saw him," she teased. He tried for a smile, but 
didn't have the energy. 

"where now?" he whispered. It hurt like hell to talk. It hurt like hell 
to breath, his diaphragm was on fire. He felt like he had been sliced in 
two. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up when it was all 
better. 

"You're headed for surgery. I'll be waiting outside." She ran a hand up 
to cup his cheek. "Mulder, about your mom, . . ." 

"don't call her," he quickly responded and regretted the effort almost 
immediately. "don't call," he said again. 

Scully nodded. "I understand. We'll call her when you're feeling up to 
it. Until then, I can sign all the necessary papers to ensure the 
hospital gets its money," she finished with a wink. I'm not going to be 
able to hold up this front much longer, she thought. He was far too pale 
and it was terrifying her. 

"scully. it was . . . a woman," he whispered and she leaned in close to 
catch what he was saying. 

"Who, Mulder? Who was a woman?" she asked anxiously 

"the stabber . . . was a woman," he hissed as the gurney hit a doorway 
and jostled him. They were almost to the operating room doors and Scully 
knew she would have to leave him. 

"I'll be right here, Mulder. I'll be waiting. Don't keep me waiting too 
long, OK?" she pleaded, putting more meaning into the words than she 
intended. 

He nodded and closed his eyes as they pushed the gurney through the 
double doors. 

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 
2:30 am 

Walter Skinner came off the elevators and searched the lounge area for 
Agent Scully. He found her, curled up on a loveseat, dozing under a 
hospital issue blanket. He sat down across from her and debated the 
relative merits of waking her up. She beat him to it. 

"Sir, I didn't know you were here," she said sleepily, sitting up and 
stretching. 

"I just got here, Agent Scully. Sorry to wake you. Has there been any 
word?" he asked carefully. If Scully was still in the surgical waiting 
room, and was dozing, the reports must be fairly good. 

Scully glanced at her watch. "The OR nurse came by about 45 minutes ago. 
They were able to repair the damage done to his stomach. There was a 
problem with the spleen. Apparently it was a mess. She told me he'll be 
mostly sutures when they're finished. I have no idea what instrument 
could have done this," she added with a rueful shake of her head. "He's 
lost a lot of blood, but that goes without saying. It will be a couple of 
days before he's out of the woods." She looked over at her supervisor. 
"What did they find at the apartment?" 

Skinner took out a sheet of paper and put on his glasses. "First, Mulder 
must have let the subject in, there was no sign of forced entry." He 
looked over at Scully to see her shake her head no. "He was attacked in 
the bedroom. Judging from the blood and hair found, he must have hit his 
head when the subject attacked him. Blood found at the side of the bed 
was Mulder's, then he must have crawled over to the dresser. His gun, the 
one he keeps on his ankle, was found close to the nightstand, it had been 
fired, once. No bullet in any wall or woodwork, but they did find traces 
of blood, not Mulder's, on a trail into the living room. They dusted for 
prints, but only came up with Mulder's." 

"Smudges anywhere?" Scully interrupted. 

"No. Except for the phone, which had smudges of Mulder's blood. No, the 
unidentified blood was just droplets. They lead into the living room and 
then they stop. No sign of blood on the doorknob or in the hallway." 

"The elevator buttons? Or the door to the stairwell?" she asked, chewing 
on her lip. 

"Both negative. And none of the neighbors saw anything. The manager says 
he was coming home about the same time as the 911 call was made, and 
there wasn't anyone coming out of the building at that time." 

"That isn't very much to go on," Scully said, disappointment glazing her 
words. 

"I know. And it just doesn't jibe that Mulder would let an unknown into 
his apartment. He's too damned paranoid for that. That part bothers me," 
Skinner admitted. 

"He told me it was a woman," Scully said, taking the report out of 
Skinner's hand to look it over for herself. 

Skinner looked dubious. "She'd have to be a pretty good sized woman, 
Agent Scully. I mean, my God, she overpowered a 6 foot FBI agent." 

"*Two* 6 foot FBI agents, sir. When they were loading Mulder on to the 
ambulance, he told me something else. He said he found the connection." 

"The connection to what?" Skinner asked. 

"The Colton murder, sir. And possibly the deaths of two Baltimore 
policemen. In each case, the victim was torn to pieces. It looks like 
Mulder's clumsiness finally worked to his advantage." Scully couldn't 
hide a proud in her grim smile 

"Want to let me in on this joke, Scully," Skinner asked sternly. 

"Sir, Agent Mulder started wearing that ankle holster because he was 
constantly losing his service weapon. If he hadn't had it on him tonight, 
we'd be waiting outside the morgue." 

Skinner patted her knee as he got up to leave. "Get some sleep, Scully. I 
know better than to tell you to go home, but see if they can't let you 
stretch out on a cot or something while you're here," he said kindly. 

"As soon as he's out of recovery, sir. I intend to do just that," she 
assured him. 

Skinner nodded and left. 

7:30 am 

Scully pulled the blanket up under her chin and tried unsuccessfully to 
get comfortable in the reclining chair. Mulder was sleeping in the bed 
next to her, IV's in both arms and oxygen being delivered by a tube under 
his nose. His steady heartbeat was being echoed through the room by the 
heart monitor to the right of his bed. 

It had been a long night for both of them. Once Mulder was out of 
surgery, he was taken to his room. The ICU was full and Dr. Daly had 
decided he was stable enough to admit to an intermediate care room. It 
contained all the monitors to watch him closely, but included the added 
bonus of being semi-private and equipped with a recliner for family 
members. It also allowed Scully to stay with him around the clock, where 
ICU rules usually limited visitors to 10 minutes each hour. 

Mulder had come around to consciousness once, about 5 in the morning, in 
pain and confused by his surroundings and all the tubes and monitor 
leads. Luckily, Scully had been there to calm him down, calling the nurse 
for a stronger sedative and holding his hand and talking to him until he 
slipped back into unconsciousness. After that, she refused to go back to 
sleep, just in case he were to wake up again and need her. 

Finally getting up to stretch the kinks out of her back, Scully heard the 
muffled chirp of her cell phone in her purse. She pulled it out and 
answered it. 

"Scully." 

"Dana, hi. It's Mom. Where are you, honey? I tried your apartment but you 
weren't there. In the office kind of early this morning, aren't you?" her 
mother asked, trying to hide her concern with humor. 

"I'm not in the office, Mom. I'm at Northeast Georgetown," Scully said 
softly. 

"Oh, no. What's happened to Fox?" Maggie sighed tiredly. 

"Mom, I didn't say it was Mulder," Scully said annoyed. 

"Well, I know it's not you, I would have known if anything happened to 
you," Maggie said tersely. "So it has to be Fox. I'm right, aren't I? How 
bad is it? Should I come over?" 

Scully shook her head, amazed at her mother's 'intuition'. "Yes, it's 
Fox. And it's pretty bad. He was, umm, stabbed, last night, in his 
apartment." 

"Oh, dear. Look, I can be there in 45 minutes. Do you need anything? A 
change of clothes, something that doesn't come from a hospital cafeteria 
to eat?" Maggie asked, and even as she was talking, Dana could see her 
mother going through drawers, pulling out spare jeans and sweaters and 
gathering her purse. 

"Mom, you don't have to do this. I'm fine. Mulder's so out of it he 
wouldn't know you were here. It's OK, really," she tried, but knew her 
words were just so much static. Maggie was in full 'mother mode' and 
neither hell nor high water was going to stop her from coming to the aid 
of one of her children. Even if the child was 'unofficially adopted'. 

"Hmm, sweetheart, I didn't hear what you said, I was trying to find my 
car keys in the sofa," Maggie said in a distracted tone. 

"Nothing, Mom. I just said I'll see you in a bit. We're on the fourth 
floor, room 416. You'll see the guard outside the door. I'll let them 
know you're coming." 

"Good idea. I hate to have to argue with them when I get there," Maggie 
replied. "I'll see you soon." Then, as an afterthought, she added "Oh, 
and Dana, tell Fox that I'm on my way. He can hear you, dear. You know 
that." 

"Sure, Mom. Consider it done." Scully pushed the end button and walked 
over to her partner's still form. "Well, Mulder, the second shift is 
about to arrive. Actually, it might be a good idea to have her here. 
Means I can sneak over to the office and see what's shaking with this 
case. There is a connection here. You're absolutely right on that one. 
Now, I just have to find it." 

X Files office 
2:35 pm 

"It's here. I know it's here," Scully said to the laptop in front of her. 
She had tried everything, DNA analysis of the blood found, going back to 
interview the other tenants in the apartment for possible information or 
missed clues. She had dusted his apartment herself for fingerprints. When 
all was said and done, the most she had found was a smudge of blood, 
which Agent Pendrell assured her was her partners, on the grate to the 
radiator. All within the last 6 hours and to no avail. 

"Agent Scully, I'm surprised to find you here," Skinner said from the 
doorway. "I assumed you'd be with your partner." His tone was even, but 
Scully noted the underlying threat there. Something was going on. 

"I was until early this morning, sir. My mother came to the hospital 
about 8:30. She's there with him now. I just spoke with her, he's still 
unconscious. I suspect he'll stay that way, they want him sedated so he 
doesn't move and pull any of the sutures." She folded her arms across her 
chest and regarded him with an equally even gaze. "But that's not what 
you're here about, is it, sir?" 

"Agent Scully, we take assaults on our personnel very seriously," Skinner 
began, in his typical 'lecture' tone. "In this particular case, since we 
have one agent dead and another severely injured, we are putting all our 
efforts into finding the responsible party. But it does not help when 
emotions get involved. I just received word from the evidence retrieval 
team that you want them to remove Agent Mulder's heating duct for 
analysis. Now, Scully, let's be reasonable. What possible evidence could 
be found in the heating duct?" 

Scully pulled out a small white screw from her pocket and handed it to 
the Assistant Director. "I found that in Mulder's apartment. It was on 
the floor next to the radiator grate. And it matches the rest of the 
screws holding the grate in place. The grate is about three inches from 
where the blood trail ended. And there was a smudge of Mulder's blood on 
the grate, but no usable print. Since there wasn't a blood trail that 
matched Mulder's on the living room floor, I can only assume that the 
subject had his blood on her hands and left the smudge there. Sir, I've 
gone over it and over it in my mind. There is no way the UNSUBs blood 
trail could have just stopped. The subject could have stanched the blood, 
but she would have left smudges on the doorknob, the hallway, the 
elevator. There was nothing. Nothing, sir. It was only when I realized 
that there was no other possible means of escape that I suggested we 
examine the heating duct. It's not outside of the realm . . ." She 
stopped at the sight of her superior's smile. "What?" 

"Nothing, Agent Scully. I was just standing here wondering if the concept 
of 'channeling' is really all that far fetched." He shook his head. "I'll 
authorize the examination of the heat duct. But Scully, next time, send 
these requests through me first. Let's not throw too many firecrackers 
into the hornet's nest if we can avoid it." 

"Thank you, sir. I'll remember," she said with a faint smile. 


Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 
3:00 pm 

Mulder was crawling in a tight, dark place. It was dank and damp and the 
smell was making him sick to his stomach, but he crawled on. Through a 
grate, through an ever tighter place, under gears and machinery, over 
cables and discarded pipes. Finally, the small tunnel opened up and he 
was in a larger area, though still too low to stand. There, ahead of him, 
in the darkness, he could just make out . . . something. Almost like a 
wall. It look sticky and yellowish ooze covered it. As he crawled closer, 
he could make out newsprint. Whatever it was, it was made of newspapers. 
Like some demonic sort of paper mache box. Or ball. Or . . . nest. 

There was a little opening in the nest, and Mulder pulled himself up to 
look. In a flash, a slime covered hand grabbed his throat and tried to 
pull him into the nest. He struggled and broke free, crawling back the 
way he had come as fast as he could. But it was no use, the thing--that 
'man'--was right behind him. Gaining on him. Reaching out to catch his 
ankle and pull him back to the nest. 

Scully's voice was ringing in his ears. Calling him. "Mulder, what's 
happening? Mulder, are you all right?" 

He wanted to call out to her, tell her what was happening. That he needed 
her. That the thing, the man they sought, was pulling him back to his 
lair. But all he could get out was one word. 

"TOOMS!" 

Mulder yelled the name again and struggled against the velcro strap 
across his chest. The nurse had put the restraint on, disregarding 
Maggie's fierce scowl, after the last nightmare, when Mulder had narrowly 
missed pulling out several sutures. 

"Fox, Fox, it's all right. It's all right, honey. Lie still, it's just a 
dream. A nightmare. Please, Fox, just go back to sleep, it's all right," 
Maggie crooned in his ear as she stroked his forehead. He was hot, too 
hot. The doctor had been in just a few minutes before and had ordered a 
stronger antibiotic for him along with a stronger sedative. Neither had 
taken affect, yet. Dr. Daly had also said something about his white count 
being elevated. Maggie had called Dana as soon as Dr. Daly had left. 

The door to the room opened and Scully rushed in, looking as flushed as 
her partner. "Mom, how's he doing?" she asked, then all but shoved her 
mother aside so that she could check his vitals for herself. 

"His fever is 101. He's been having nightmares, Dana. Horrible ones. The 
nurse, . . . had the strap placed on the bed because they're afraid he'll 
try to sit up again. He's running from something in his dream. He mumbles 
things, but one word is so clear, he screams it out every time. Dana, I'm 
worried. I mean, this is not good. He's not resting, Dr. Daly thinks an 
infection has set in. It's worse than you thought, isn't it?" Maggie 
asked, her eyes begging her daughter for reassurance, but not expecting 
any. 

Scully was stroking his forehead, unconsciously using the same movements 
that her mother had used just moments before. "What word, Mom? What word 
does he scream?" 

Maggie bit her lip and winced. "That's what has me so worried, 
sweetheart. I mean, I hope against hope that it's not what I think it 
is." Dana turned her gaze from her partner to her mother. Maggie had no 
choice but to continue, but it was obvious that she did so with great 
reluctance. 

"Come on, Mom. I've heard his nightmares before. I'm used to them. What 
did he say?" Dana prodded. 

"Tombs. He said tombs, sweetheart. Oh, Dana, I think he thinks he's dying 
. . ." Maggie stopped and let the tears she was holding slip down her 
cheeks. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." 

Dana took her mother in her arms. Tombs? That didn't sound like Mulder. 
Calling out for Samantha, yes. Duane Barry, usually with considerable 
cursing. She had even heard him call out her own name once or twice when 
he dreamed of her abduction. But never images of death or cemeteries. 
He'd never mentioned tombstones before. 

"Tombs?" Dana repeated. Then, like a flash of lightning, the connection 
was made. "Tooms," Dana said slowly. "TOOMS," she yelled with all her 
might, startling Maggie in the process. "Mom. Mom, he's not saying tombs 
as in cemetery! He's saying Tooms, as in Eugene Victor Tooms, one of our 
cases." She hugged her mother tightly in her delight. 

"Dana, what is the matter with you? You sound *happy* about this! 
Sweetheart, he's sick. He doesn't know what he's saying." Maggie was 
starting to lose her patience with her daughter. 

"Mom, he may be sick, but he sure does 'know what he's saying'! He's 
telling me who stabbed him. Or rather, an accomplice or relative of who 
stabbed him. And the person who killed poor Tom. Tooms. My God, why 
didn't I see it before? No visible means of entry, the taking of organs, 
human flesh ripped as if by bare hands. I'm a complete and total idiot. 
But at least I was on the right track. I knew the heating duct was 
important." She was muttering to herself, now and Maggie was getting more 
annoyed by the minute. 

"You're telling me this is a clue to who tried to kill him?" Maggie said 
evenly. 

"Yes, Mom, a big clue. And it fits. Oh God, it fits. But Mulder said it 
was a woman. Ohmigod, what if Tooms had a mate? Or a daughter. That could 
mean she'll need two more livers. She got Tom's and the two officers in 
Baltimore. It would make sense for her to try again for Mulder before 
going on to her next kill." 

"Who would be the next kill, Dana?" Maggie said, her eyes wide. "If she 
does succeed in killing Fox, who would be the next?" 

Dana bit her lip and turned away from her mother for a second. Finally, 
she gathered her courage and faced her. "That would be me, Mom. More than 
likely, it would be me." 

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 
7:15 pm 

Walter Skinner moved purposefully around the five other agents scattered 
about the hallway in front of Mulder's hospital room. Based entirely on 
Scully's hunch, he had each man supplied with a picture of Eugene Tooms 
and a computer simulation of what Tooms might look like if he were a 
woman. The hospital staff had been cleared and all access to the floor 
was now limited, all rooms in the wing Mulder occupied were vacant except 
his. 

Skinner tapped lightly on the door and entered. "How's he doing?" he 
asked of Scully. 

She didn't move from her position close to Mulder's bed, but instead 
simply looked up at their boss. "His fever was spiking. Dr. Daly has 
starting him on antipyretics," she answered, then at Skinner's blank 
expression she added, "fever reducers. They're working, somewhat. His 
fever is down right now." She adjusted the IV line self-consciously, not 
wanting to continue stroking Mulder's hair as she had been doing before 
the Assistant Director came in. "He hasn't had any more nightmares since 
I've been here. They gave him a stronger sedative at 3:00. I think that's 
helping some. But we have to knock out this infection. His system is too 
compromised to let it simmer for any length of time." Reluctantly, she 
stood and moved over to one of the two chairs by the window and sat down. 
"How is the search going?" 

Skinner sat down in the other chair and handed Scully the folder he had 
brought with him. "Baltimore PD and the two agents from the Baltimore 
office went on a warranted search of the shopping mall where you and 
Mulder last encountered Tooms. You know, Scully, they never recovered 
Tooms' body. It was solely on the strength of your report that he was 
declared dead." 

"Sir, physical body notwithstanding, the sheer amount of blood on the 
escalator would have indicated death by blood loss. And the nest was 
destroyed, or at least, it was reported to have been destroyed," Scully 
said, flipping through the pages of the police report. The memory of the 
night of Tooms death was not a pleasant one for either agent. She was 
shaking for hours and even after Mulder had climbed out of the hole, he 
was still scratched, scraped and sore for the next several days. Not to 
mention his shirt and pants, which were declared DOA at the dry cleaners. 

"That's what I wanted to tell you. Apparently the report was not exactly 
accurate," Skinner said, gauging her reaction. 

"*Not exactly* accurate, sir? And just how 'inaccurate' was the report 
from the BPD?" she asked. 

"There was a nest there when they searched the facility today. It was 
unoccupied. Remember, Scully, that is now a crawl space and really is in 
a separate sub-basement from even the escalator workings. It's possible 
that whoever was sent to destroy the nest didn't know for certain what 
they were looking for and didn't venture that far into the adjoining sub-
basement," Skinner reasoned. He could see the anger building in the young 
agent sitting next to him. "This could be Eugene Tooms again." 

"Of all the times to screw up," she hissed to herself. "But sir, Mulder 
was very explicit when he told me that a 'woman' attacked him. Mulder 
might have problems keeping track of equipment, but his skill in 
identifying the opposite sex has never been called into question," she 
added with a wry smile. 

"You and Agent Mulder didn't really examine the nest that closely, did 
you, Scully?" the AD asked. 

"No sir, there was never time. And quite frankly, we weren't expecting to 
find anything in the nest. Tooms was above ground when we were following 
. . ." she stopped and realized she had just admitted to tracking an 
individual she and her partner had been ordered to leave alone. 

"It's all right, Scully. I can't really reprimand you for a case that's 
been closed for two years. Besides, you aren't telling me anything that I 
didn't already know." 

Scully smiled at him for a second. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your 
desecration on our behalf. But getting back to the nest, from the size I 
remember, having two bodies in there would have been a pretty tight fit." 

"Well, I don't know, but they tore it apart this afternoon. And it seems 
to have been formed almost like a walnut shell. A sort of divider ran 
down the middle and the inside walls seemed formed to a human body. Two 
bodies would have fit in there very tight, that is true, but it could 
have happened. They faxed me these pictures of the scene." He pulled some 
pages out of the back of the folder and handed them to Scully. 

"I suspect she's his mate, sir," Scully said confidently, giving him back 
the photos. 

"Based on the photos?" Skinner asked, looking at the pictures again to 
see what he could have missed. 

Scully hesitated slightly, then smiled. "No sir. Woman's intuition." 

"Is that *your* analysis of your abilities, Agent Scully, or did Agent 
Mulder tag you with that one," Skinner asked, restraining a smile. 

"It's better than listening to Mulder try and convince me that I'm 
psychic, sir." 

"I'm sure," Skinner said and finally smiled, then got up and to leave the 
room. "There is a stake out at the mall, and there are five armed agents 
in the hallway, each with composite picture of a feminine Eugene Tooms. I 
assume you are planning on staying here with Agent Mulder?" 

"Yes sir, I am," she answered without hesitation. 

"Then I'll call you if we have any developments. In the meantime, Scully, 
get some rest. You'll need it to keep him in one place while his body has 
a chance to recover." 

"That's a given, sir," Scully replied and waited until he had closed the 
door behind him before going over to her partner. 

Even under a heavy sedative, Mulder pulled himself to consciousness. He 
thought he had heard the Assistant Director's voice, but it took so long 
to make his eyelids work in the manner he wanted them to, that now it was 
just Scully in the room. 

Just Scully, he mused for a moment. As if anyone else was necessary. 
Slowly, he forced his eyes open and focused on the red head barely inches 
from his face. 

"scully?" he whispered and hoped that he wouldn’t have to say it again. 
It hurt to even say that much, the thought that she might not be able to 
hear him was more than he could bear. 

"Shh, Mulder. I'm here. It's all right. You should be asleep, you know," 
she soothed his hair and tucked the covers up around him. 

"she's . . . after . . . us," he spoke quietly and the effort showed 
plainly on his face. 

"I know, Mulder. She's going after the people she feels are responsible 
for Tooms death. The two Baltimore policemen were the first ones on the 
scene of George Usher's murder, the ones who called Tom in. And then Tom, 
of course. They were all mentioned in the file. Which just happens to be 
one of the 15 that were stolen when the office was ransacked. And I think 
I know her motive," Scully said softly. 

"revenge," Mulder sighed and tried to shift to a more comfortable 
position. Don't even go there, he told himself. 'Comfortable' is to be 
used in the future tense for a couple of weeks for you, buddy boy. 

"Yeah, well, I can see the logic of that course of action," Scully said 
dryly. 

Mulder didn't like the grim determination in her eyes. "no jayne wayne 
heroics, scully," he rasped, giving her as stern a look as the sedative 
would allow. "i mean that." 

She smiled at his concern. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere for a 
while. But if that bimbo tries to fuck around with me . . ." 

"such language," Mulder chuckled and then stopped abruptly at the pain it 
caused. 

Scully reached over and pushed the call button for the nurse. "I think 
Agent Mulder could use some more of the good stuff, Pat," she said when 
the nurse's station responded. She laughed at the frown that produced on 
her partner. "Face it Mulder, the only way I'll get any rest tonight is 
if you are completely zoned out of your mind. Do us both a favor and 
don't fight it, OK?" She held his hand, rubbing her thumb lightly over 
his knuckles. "Mulder, I've been sitting here thinking, . . ." 

"now . . . i'm in for it," he sighed, but turned to look at her. 

"I just wanted to say, . . . well, today was Tom's funeral, and just got 
to thinking that sometimes we don't always let people know how we really 
feel about them until it's too late, and well, Mulder I just wanted to 
tell you . . . " 

Mulder stopped her with a squeeze of her hand. "me, too, scully . . . me 
too." 

Less than ten minutes after Pat had given Mulder the sedative, he was 
sound asleep. Scully looked over at his sleeping form and decided that 
was a far better condition than the one she was in. She pulled the 
recliner into a lay back position and tucked the blanket Pat had left for 
her under her chin. It was time both of them got a little shut eye. 


Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 
11:47 pm 

It wasn't hard getting into the ductwork. It was difficult to keep from 
getting turned around. The hospital, like so many hospitals, had been 
'added on to' over the years, and the heating system was never 
coordinated. Finally, she was able to get an idea of where she was going. 

She proceeded with all caution. She had seen the police stationed at the 
door and she had heard that there were security measures in effect on the 
floor the prey was occupying. Prey. It had a much better sound than 
‘food’. It entailed some challenge, some excitement. She was getting 
bored with the other kills, but the last one had been a challenge. It had 
hurt when he fought back, but she had repaired easily. Now, she wanted to 
taste his blood again. 

It was a mental exercise, determining the right room. She had to count 
over from the branch in the duct and she counted wrong twice before 
finding it at last. Upon seeing the red haired female asleep in the room, 
she was overjoyed. Both her prey at once. But that meant an end to the 
journey. She was well aware that her home had been destroyed. There was 
no time to build another. She would die after this. Just like the wasp, 
she would bring death and then die. But she still had the joy of watching 
these two succumb to their ends at her hand. That made it seem worth the 
price. 

Slowly, she turned the screw beneath her nail. It moved easily out of the 
threads. One by one, the screws fell to the floor with a gentle tapping 
of metal on tile. When the last screw was free, she grasped the grate in 
both hands and pushed. It gave way with little effort. She eased it in 
toward her and laid it down on the floor of the duct. Then she positioned 
herself to fall to the floor below. 

Soundlessly, she hit the floor and stayed in a crouch. She was on the far 
side of the bed, the male prey was closest. But she pondered going for 
the other one first. The woman was simply asleep and there was no doubt 
that she would much more of a challenge than the man. He was injured and 
would be of no effort at all to subdue and finish. But then, the strength 
he would provide her with might be enough to help her overpower the 
other. She smiled. So many lives to take and so little time. She moved 
with an odd grace to where the sleeping man lay. 

Dana was having a relatively peaceful dream. It was the fields behind the 
house in Maryland. She was chasing Bill Jr. and Charlie, as usual. The 
sun was warm on her face and the wind was just enough to cool the sweat 
from her skin. It was a good dream and she smiled in her sleep. 

Suddenly, in the dream, something caught her attention. A smell. 
Something smelled bad. Often, when they wandered the woods, the children 
would stumble on dead animals or other natural manners of death and they 
each had become accustomed to identifying the smells they produced. But 
this was different. It was familiar, but not of the woods or the field. 
This was frightening. She shivered and called to the boys. They were too 
far ahead and couldn't hear her. She called louder and just as she was 
about to fall into a fast trot to catch up with them, something grabbed 
her from behind. 

Scully was startled awake by the strange turn of her dream. But as she 
came awake, the sight before her was far more terrifying. A woman, naked, 
gleaming with a yellow sticky substance, stood tall above her partner. 
Her elongated hands looked almost like the edge of an axe as she held 
them aloft, intent upon plunging them into her partner's chest and 
abdomen. Scully had no time to think. She reached down to find her gun, 
laying next to her chair on the floor, took quick aim and fired. 

It took two shots to stop the woman, and she fell across Mulder. Scully 
was frantic at the amount of blood, not knowing if she had failed in her 
mission to save Mulder from further injury. At the sounds of the gunfire, 
the agents from the hallway broke through the door, guns raised, ready 
for action, but it was all over. 

The woman's body was removed from the scene. Mulder had come out of it 
untouched and had stirred briefly, but at Scully's assurances, he let 
sleep drag him back into its folds again. The Assistant Director 
personally followed the body to the morgue. By the time the body had been 
prepared for autopsy, the fingers were back to normal, and the woman 
appeared completely human. The thought made Skinner shudder. 

The other agents had seen none of the unusual attributes of the woman. 
Although they couldn't account for how she had managed to get into the 
hospital room past them, they were unwilling to believe that there was 
anything unusual going on. 

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center two days later 

Mulder was happily channel surfing when Scully came in. He smiled and 
turned off the TV. 

"What did you bring me?" he asked without greeting. 

"Do you realize how much you sound like a 5 year old when you do that?" 
she returned, but try as she might, she was unable to keep the grin off 
her face. He was healing nicely. The infection had been nipped in the bud 
and now Dr. Daly was talking about releasing him by the end of the week. 
Of course, then came the difficult task of keeping Mulder off his feet 
for the six weeks it would take to recover from the injury and resulting 
surgery. But she was getting good at tricking him into being good and it 
was a far better activity than breaking in a new partner. 

She put the bag she was carrying on his tray table. "I checked with Dr. 
Daly and he said you could have this," she said with a smile. 

He frowned in return. "Well, if it's allowed, it can't be any good. Or 
any fun. Let's wait on it," he said with a pout. 

"Mulder, we *don't* want to wait on this," Scully warned. She pulled out 
a half gallon of Breyer's Ice Cream, Neapolitan. His favorite. 

"This was *approved*?" he asked, the shock clear in his voice. She 
grinned and nodded and handed him a spoon. Together they opened the 
carton and proceed to put a nice dent in the contents. 

"OK, Scully, I recognize a diversion when I see it, or eat it, in this 
case. What did the autopsy show?" he asked, around a mouthful of 
strawberry ice cream. 

Scully swallowed and perched herself on the edge of the bed. "First, we 
were never able to ID the body." 

"Of course not, Tooms did all the outside work. She was probably born 
around the same time as he was and the records wouldn't have shown up," 
he said confidently. "But that doesn't tell me anything about what she 
*was*, Scully," he said pointedly. 

"All the tests showed the same skeletal and muscular abnormalities as 
Tooms. And, there was definite evidence that she had ingested human 
organs recently. One blood type that they were able to identify was Tom 
Colton's," she said, working hard to appear detached. The haunted look in 
her eyes wasn't missed by her partner. He reached out a hand and rubbed 
her forearm. 

"That's not all, is it?" Mulder asked and she gave him a look that made 
it clear she still couldn't figure out how he could come up with these 
insights. 

"When they autopsied her uterus and cervix, there was evidence that she 
had, at some point, given birth," she said slowly, letting the 
information sink in. "Mulder, there is no way of knowing 'when' she gave 
birth, or even if the child . . ." 

Mulder wasn't hearing any of the last of her ramblings. All he knew was 
that there was another one out there . . . somewhere. 

the end. 

Vickie Moseley