MINDWORK
---------------------------------
This story rose as a challenge from my mother: it seemed like such
an obvious storyline that I was surprised when I couldn't find any
other stories like it in the Fanfiction Archives.  Perhaps I just
didn't look hard enough.  I'd like to thank each of my proofreaders
and, most importantly, the Lord, for without His grace I'd have
never been able to finish this!  Took me three tries to get it right!
[And it's still got flaws.]

Oh...and let me just preface this by saying that if Mulder and Scully
seem out-of-character (which they are), it is because they are 
being affected by an outside source--they're not truly themselves
until they reach the end.  This story just took them off in an
alternate direction, and no, I do not believe that either of them 
would normally act this way--the keyword here is "mind control."



Comments are welcome and appreciated.  Thanks for reading!

Rating: PG
Classification: X,UST/MSR-H,A
Summary:  Mulder/Scully UST.  A young woman with psychic 
powers has killed five couples.  Can Mulder and Scully stop her 
before they find themselves in the same deadly position?  
Keywords: mind control, Mulder Angst, Scully Angst
Timeline:  Before 'Momento Mori', middle fourth-season.

This contains the slightest of season four spoilers (barely).  While
this story may use some innuendo and have romantic undertones, it is
most definitely a story leaning towards platonic friendship.

DISCLAIMER:  The characters and situations of the television 
program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, 
Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used 
without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

MINDWORK
---------------------------------
Rachel Smith    (clarina@student.umass.edu)

	/Mulder pressed his nose down into her hair, inhaling the scent of 
her.  Scully leaned against him, nestling her head in his chest.  He 
groaned softly, his hand moved up to her--/
	Mulder's eyes flew open, and he sat up, trembling.  
	He was sweating heavily, and his hair was damp.  He glanced up at 
the softly glowing clock on the desk.  6:56 a.m.  The sofa cushions were 
strewn around him and the floor, and the blanket he had been sleeping 
under was twisted around his legs.  He ran his hand through his hair, 
and squeezed his eyes shut.
	"Scully," he groaned.  He opened his eyes and disentangled his 
legs from the coverlet.  Swinging them to the carpet and groaning, he 
pushed himself to his feet.  He walked over to the bathroom, stretching 
out the kinks from his muscles.  Pushing aside the shower curtain, he 
twisted the dial, holding one hand under the faucet, waiting for the 
water to warm up.  He stopped, shook his head slightly, a wry smile on 
his face.  Not bothering to wait for the warm water, he just stepped 
into the cold, refreshing spray.

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

	Special Agent Dana Scully walked into the basement office of the 
J. Edgar Hoover FBI building that she and her partner of four years, 
Agent Fox Mulder, shared.  In the basement, because they pursued FBI 
cases that the mainstream of the Bureau shunted away as 'unexplained'--
stored under the designation "X-Files".  They had witnessed, solved, and 
suffered through countless numbers of these strange and sometimes 
gruesome cases for the last four years, together.  It was Mulder's 
brilliance and imagination, and her technical and medical knowledge, 
that had discovered and caught serial killers, biological mutants, and 
other still-unexplained phenomena.  Among all the departments in the 
Bureau, the X-Files had nearly the highest success rate for the number 
of cases solved.  They made an amazing and formidable team.
	 Through all of this time, their friendship and mutual trust had 
been built and strengthened.  They both trusted each other implicitly, 
and no one else.  They had each, in turn, strengthened and supported the 
other numerous times.  When the strain of continually being forced to 
perform forensics on mutilated, deformed, and gruesome creatures, and 
finding hideous things growing in, around, and on them, or being faced 
by horrible killers on almost every case, Scully needed her partner's 
shoulder to lean on.  She could close her eyes for a few moments, 
letting him hold her up, while she regained some peace and could open 
her eyes again.
	When Mulder's search for the truth about what happened to his 
younger sister more than two decades earlier, or the constant abuse that 
he took for his unorthodox methods, wore on him too much, he also needed 
the shoulder to rest on.  He and Scully had succeeded many times in 
getting too close to sensitive information, and more than once, had 
gotten themselves shot, poisoned, beaten, or all three combined in some 
form or another.
	While they had worked closely together for so long, stayed in 
countless hotel rooms across the country, slept in each others' 
apartments, and knew more about each other than anyone else did, they 
simply remained close friends and trusted partners.  Their partnership 
was admittedly intimate, they worked so closely with one another, but 
only in the way of friends.  The people around them weren't blind; they 
were known as "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky" for a reason, and rumors circulated 
around the Bureau constantly.  Maybe there was more between them, maybe 
not.  But whatever the final verdict of the outsiders was, neither 
Scully nor Mulder had ever confronted any deeper feelings for each other.  
They were professional partners, and good friends who had come to depend 
upon one another more than either ever had upon anyone else.
	Scully dropped her bag on her desk and sank gratefully down into 
her chair.  She hadn't slept too well last night.  
	"You're late."
	"Morning, Mulder," she replied wearily.  Mulder looked up from an 
opened folder draped across his legs, which were propped up on his desk.  
He eyed her closely for a moment, then cracked a sunflower seed in his 
teeth.
	"You sleep okay last night?"
	"I'm fine, Mulder.  I stopped by Skinner's office on the way down 
here..." she said, changing the subject.  She had tossed and turned all 
night.  Crazy dreams.  "...which is why I'm late."
	"Mmm.  What did our fearless leader want?"  
	"He gave me a case file," she replied, digging around in her bag.  
She pulled it out and handed it to her partner.  She stood up.  "I'm 
going to get a cup of coffee."
	Mulder flipped open the folder and glanced at the photo laying on 
top.  His eyes widened considerably.  
	"Somebody have a hot night?"  He asked, scrutinizing the picture.  
Scully smiled slightly and patted his head.  
	"Skinner had some interesting things to say about this one.  Just 
a second," she said and darted out for her morning cup of coffee.  
Mulder held up the photo of the man and woman lying on a rumpled bed.  
They didn't look dead--in fact, they looked as if they were sleeping 
quite comfortably.  He couldn't see any marks of a death struggle 
anywhere on them, and their faces looked peaceful.  From the picture, 
and the looks of the bed, they were lovers.  Scully came back into the 
room, sipping her coffee.
	"Were these people dead, Scully?"
	"At the time of the photo?  Yes," she said, sitting down next to 
him and reaching into the folder for a sheet of information.
	"They don't look it."
	"One of several strange things about this case--which is why 
Skinner gave it to us.  This case, well, the one in the picture, in 
particular, was originally not FBI material.  It was just a local 
investigation that came up against a wall."
	"A wall?"
	"You might have noticed that there are no marks of a struggle on 
the bodies.  The room didn't appear to be broken into--the lock was 
still intact when the cleaning woman went to fix up the motel room."
	"Ah--an affair," Mulder said, flipping through the pages.
	"Well, actually...that's another of the strange things.  Every 
acquaintance that was questioned about the two people involved swore 
that they didn't have any relationship beyond friendship.  Family 
members, co-workers, bosses, friends, everyone.  In the other cases--"
	"Wait, this isn't the only occurrence.  Look:  four other couples."
	"I know.  Five in total.  All with no previous history of an 
intimate relationship.  Of the five occurrences, each one seemed to 
shock all of their friends.  So many people kept saying that they 
couldn't believe that the two people were found, dead, with each other.  
And, like I was trying to say before," Scully eyed Mulder pointedly, "in 
four of the five cases, either one or both of the partners had a 
relationship with another person."
	"An outsider."
	"Right.  See, in this one," Scully pointed at the third file, 
"both of them were engaged to other people."
	"So what links these five cases is that everybody thought that the 
two people involved didn't have an intimate relationship.  I hate to 
drop this on you, Scully, but there are probably tons of couples out 
there who are hiding it from all their friends, too."
	"Perhaps," she said, leaning back in her chair.  "But I'll give 
you ten to one that most of those couples haven't died from a seeming 
heart attack in the prime of their life, after a sexual encounter, and 
in a locked room."
	"Bet they came close, though," Mulder murmured, chewing on another 
sunflower seed.  Scully rolled her eyes and waited for him to finish 
glancing through the file.
	"What do you think?"
	"I think Skinner wants to keep his two best agents as simply his 
two best agents," Mulder replied, looking up at her, his eyes twinkling.  
Scully arched an eyebrow.
	"You're suggesting that A.D. Skinner gave this case to us simply 
to scare us into staying only partners?" Scully said, a slight smile 
tugging at the corners of her mouth.  "I suppose that he somehow got the 
impression that we were starting to veer off the chaste path?"
	"I love it when you do that."
	"Do what?"
	"Arch your eyebrow," Mulder said, eyes fixed on her.  Scully 
stared back at him.  He was looking at her intensely.  They sat, frozen.  
	Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if to 
clear it.  Scully let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.  
She quickly brought up her coffee mug and took a gulp, trying to hide 
her burning cheeks.  There was a fluttering in her breast.  She decided 
to concentrate on breathing evenly and took another gulp of coffee.  The 
images in the dreams were coming back.  She squeezed her eyes shut.  
	"I'm sorry," he said, almost inaudibly.  "I don't know what came 
over me."    
	Scully opened her eyes and looked at him.  His eyes were squeezed 
shut, and he seemed to be fighting something, breathing tightly.  He was 
holding on to the armrests of his chair, his knuckles almost white.  
Suddenly, he let out a ragged breath and opened his eyes.  She was 
looking at him with a mix of confusion and concern.
	"Mulder?  It's okay...what's wrong?"  Scully put down her mug, 
quickly pushing back her own turmoil of feelings.  "You look a little 
pale and tense--are you feeling sick?"  She reached out to feel his 
forehead, but he jerked back, violently, and shot out of his chair.
	"No...don't touch me!"  He started to pace around the small room, 
then suddenly stalked out the door and ran down the hall.  Scully stood 
up as he left the room.  She knew she couldn't follow him.  Whatever it 
was that was bothering him, he would tell her in time...she just had to 
wait, to be there for him when he came back.  She started to pace the 
room, her coffee getting cold.  How much help could she be, when she 
felt a turmoil raging inside of her, also?  It didn't make any sense.  
The dreams kept coming back.        

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

	Sheila Banks sat on the curb, reading a Harlequin Romance.  The 
heroine was lamenting about having two gorgeous men chasing her, and how 
much pressure was on her to make the right choice between them.  Sheila 
looked up from the pages of her novel and watched as the tall FBI agent 
who lived in the apartment house across the street came jogging around 
the corner, his shirt stained with sweat.  He stopped next to the stairs 
and flopped down on the edge of one.  He let his head drop, trying to 
relax and regain his breath.  
	He was harder than the others had been.  He was fighting her with 
everything that he had in him.  She couldn't understand it.  When she 
had first seen him and his petite, red-haired partner, she had known 
that they were close.  After watching them for a few weeks, she saw that 
they needed a little bit of guidance, just the like the others.  They 
were too buried in their work to notice one another.  It seemed that 
everywhere she went, she found people who needed help to see each other.  
Now, Sheila had taken it upon herself to help this couple, too. 

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

	Mulder sat on the front steps of his apartment building, breathing 
hard.  He had gone running to get out the tension that kept building up 
in him.  Images of Scully, in his dreams last night, kept hounding him.  
He had run farther and more strenuously than ever before, yet still his 
muscles were tense.  He felt like he was fighting against something...
what?  That he found his partner affected him more than she was supposed 
to?  She was pretty--not the most beautiful woman that he had ever met, 
but she had such strength that he had never known anyone else to have, 
and she stayed with him, put up with his wild theories and moods, 
trusted him, respected him, protected him.  She was his closest--no, his 
only real friend.  
	He could remember her smell, the softness of her red hair...such 
beautiful hair.  He closed his eyes, his chest pounding.  He tried to 
relax, to calm his breathing.  This was ridiculous.  He'd been attracted 
to his partner since the first moment he'd met her, but her friendship 
was what he treasured most.  He'd supposed that it was natural, the 
attraction.  She was young, single, red-haired--what was it with him and 
red hair?  He'd never had any particular affinity for it before--and he 
worked closely with her for hours every day.  He'd been in relationships 
before, but none of them had been too satisfying.  He had found that 
Scully was different, and he was content to confide in her, to comfort 
her, and to spend most of his waking hours with her.  He didn't want to 
spoil their relationship by trying to become her lover.  The intimacy 
that they already shared was so much more special.  What had come over 
him? 
	He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and looked up, trying 
to occupy his mind with something else.  A movement across the street 
caught his eye.  A young girl was staring at him, a small book in her 
hands.  She suddenly seemed to realize that he was watching her, for she 
shook herself, stood up, closed the book, and began to walk away down 
the street.  He watched her round the corner and disappear from view.  
Something about her struck him...perhaps it was the fact that she had 
been sitting on the curb staring at him, and not just staring.  She 
looked like she was *concentrating* on him--/aw, Mulder, give it a break,/ 
he thought.  He was such a paranoiac--if he remembered correctly, he'd 
told Scully that he was "bonified paranoiac," as if that made it all 
right.
	Scully.  She put up with his paranoias, comforting and 
strengthening him when he most needed it.  He stood up, weary, and went 
up to his apartment.

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

	Mulder sat on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table.  
He rewound the videotape for a few seconds, then played it forward again.  
Bigfoot stumbled around the brush and out of sight.  Mulder froze the frame, 
and leaned forward slightly to stare at the screen.  He was scanning the 
picture for some minute clue when a soft knock sounded on the door.  He had 
known that she would come here when he hadn't returned to work.
	"Come in!" he hollered, not taking his eyes off the screen.  
Scully had her own key, she let herself in.  She walked towards the sofa 
and stopped behind it, not saying anything.  Mulder stared at the mass of 
brush in the corner of the screen.  Did he see something hidden in there?  
	Scully dropped her briefcase, with the morning's case file on top, 
on the cushion next to him, then walked into the kitchen.  Mulder 
switched off the TV set and picked up the folder.
	"Why don't you take off your coat and stay a while?"  He said 
loudly, opening up the folder.  Scully peered around the edge of the 
doorway.
	"Have you had lunch yet?"  She asked, knowing what his answer would 
be.  He looked up at her.
	"Did you notice that each of these couples seemed to work in large 
cities, and were trained professionals?  Here, look:  these two are 
newspaper reporters, these were partners at a large interior design firm 
in New York City, a pair of police officers, two doctors at Chicago 
General, another pair of doctors.  Scully, these people aren't just your 
everyday 'let's-have-an-affair' kind of people.  They were prominent, 
respected, successful.  They had a reputation to uphold, their jobs 
depended on it," Mulder said, a note of excitement in his voice.  Scully 
eyed him.
	"I'm going to heat up a couple cans of clam chowder," she said, 
turning away into the kitchen.  Mulder frowned.  He picked up the folder 
and walked into his kitchen.  Scully was twisting a can opener around 
the chowder.  Mulder smiled to himself and wandered over to find a pot 
for her.  He rummaged for a bit in the cupboard, reading the file 
closely.
	"Oh...look at this:  a few friends did notice that the people were 
acting strangely for a couple of days, before they were found dead.  
Hmmm," Mulder stopped rummaging, and looked up at Scully.  "They 
actually seemed to be avoiding each other?"  
	She squatted down and found a pot among the jumbled pile in the 
cupboard.  She straightened back up and went about heating up the 
chowder.  Mulder pushed the cupboard door shut and straightened up next 
to her.  He leaned on the counter and flipped to the next casefile.
	"I don't know, Scully.  I'm not sure if this is an X-File, or if 
it's just Skinner pulling a fast one on us.  What's today's date?"  
Mulder suddenly asked, twisting around to look at the calendar.  
	"Huh?"  Scully looked at him, blinked.  "Mulder?"  He turned 
around and looked at her, smiling.
	"Not April Fools'," he said, grinning at her.
	"Mulder, it's October."
	"Oh, right.  Thanks.  I'm just picturing Skinner sitting in his 
office, thinking how much you and I match the victim profile, and 
assigning this fluff piece to keep us within the Bureau protocol," he 
said, tapping the file.  Scully paled slightly and turned back to 
stirring the chowder.  Mulder stopped, looked at her.  Something more 
than this case was bothering her.  He leaned down slightly, rested his 
arms on the counter, and tried to catch her eye.  She busied herself 
with the pot for a few minutes, and he went back to studying the files 
in front of him.
	Mulder finally looked up, watching her stir the chowder.  She was 
silent, her mouth turned down slightly.  He frowned, sure something was 
wrong.  He reached up to touch her cheek, but she turned away, going to 
get glasses for them.  He straightened up as she pulled the glasses out 
of the cupboard.  
	"Scully, what's wrong?"  He asked.  She stopped, holding the 
glasses in front of her like shields.  She took a deep breath.
	"It's odd, isn't it, that this is almost a mirror-image of this 
morning?"  She asked, brusquely.  She twisted the stove dial roughly and 
turned off the heat under the pot.  Mulder watched her ladle out the 
chowder in silence.
	"What happened this morning, Mulder?  Do you want to tell me why 
you ran out of the building?  Why you never came back?"  She looked at 
him, and he could suddenly see the tiredness behind her eyes.
	"You didn't sleep well last night, did you?"
	"Don't change the subject," she said, shoving the ladle into the 
now-empty pot.  Mulder dropped his eyes.  He couldn't tell her.  This 
was the one thing in their relationship that he didn't feel comfortable 
talking with her about, and he doubted she would be very comfortable 
with it, either.
	"It's...personal," he replied lamely.  Scully eyed him for a 
moment, then went over and dropped the pot into the sink.  Mulder picked 
up his bowl and glass of water and walked back into the den, the folder 
tucked under his arm.  Scully came in with her food a moment later, and 
sat down on the far side of the couch.  She picked up the folder that he 
had placed on the seat between them.
	"Let's get to work, okay Mulder?"  
	Mulder slurped his chowder in response.

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


CHICAGO GENERAL HOSPITAL, PSYCHIATRIC WARD
OCTOBER 16, 10:15 A.M.
	
	"Dr. Johnson?  Earl?  What about him?"
	"Well ma'am, we're investigating his death, and death of his 
associate, Doctor--" Scully glanced down at the casefile, "--Estasia 
Guaerno.  We'd just like to ask you a few questions concerning what you 
knew about them, and the events that occurred shortly before their 
deaths."
	"Events?  From what I know, they were found dead in a...a hotel 
room, I think.  I wasn't there, so I don't know of any specific events.  
I only worked with them," the nurse replied, fingering the stethoscope 
around her neck.  Mulder stepped up behind Scully, his hands pushed down 
into the pockets of his overcoat.  
	"What Agent Scully means is:  did you notice any strange or 
unusual occurrences on this ward the last night they were working here?"
	"Strange occurrences?  Well, ah...you see, I just don't want to 
leave a bad mark with them..."  The nurse trailed off, uncertain.  
Scully frowned slightly.
	"Bad mark?  What do you mean?"  She asked.  The nurse nervously 
pulled at her stethoscope.  She dropped her eyes for a moment.  
	"They had a huge fight right in front of all the patients and 
nurses on the ward, about an hour before they left that night.  I'd 
never seen either of them so angry before." she replied, looking back up 
at them. 
	"What were they fighting about?"  Mulder asked.  The nurse seemed 
to realize that she was acting strangely, for she clasped her hands 
together quickly to hold them still.
	"I, I don't remember, exactly...see, I don't want to remember them 
badly for it--they were both such wonderful doctors!"
	"Were they emotional people?"  Scully asked, eyeing the nervous 
woman.  
	"No.  No, they were both clear-headed, I had never seen either of 
them become emotional.  No.  It was just so out of character for them 
both.  It surprised all of us nurses, and the patients were noticing, 
too..." the woman replied, quieting for a moment.  "There was one other 
thing that stands out in my memory about that night, though.  There was
a young woman in the ward--a patient.  I think that Earl was her 
doctor...yes.  The whole time she was here, she kept staring intensely 
at both of the doctors.  I remember it, because she used to insist on 
sitting out in the hallway next to her door--I watched her for a few 
minutes one morning--her eyes never left Earl.  It was almost eerie, the 
way she was looking at him.  Maybe she thought he was handsome or 
something--he wasn't too bad, actually," her cheeks colored a little at 
the admission, "but later on that afternoon, when I was coming back on 
after my break, this woman was staring at Dr. Guaerno.  I kept watching 
her, and the two of them were the only ones she looked at like that."  
	The nurse paused to take a breath, then glanced over to one of the 
doors across from where the three of them were standing.  "Maybe she 
knew the fight was coming...maybe she knew what was going to happen to 
them.  Annie--that's one of the other nurses--told me that she thought 
the girl was psychic or something, the way that she was staring."
	Scully raised her eyebrow at this last statement and turned to see 
her partner's reaction.  He was staring at the floor with a deep frown 
on his face.  
	"Mulder?"  Scully twisted slightly, trying to catch his eye.  He 
blinked suddenly and looked up at the nurse.
	"What was this girl in the psych ward for?  Was she treated?"  He 
asked, looking over towards the door where the nurse had indicated.
	"Ah, just a sec...let me look..."  she said quickly, going behind 
the desk.  She thumbed through a stack of folders and lifted one out.  
"Ah...she was only mildly delusional, but enough so to warrant a five-
day stay here, under observation.  She was released, let's see...two 
weeks ago," she replied, looking up at them.
	"What sort of delusions?"  Mulder asked, leaning forward.  The 
nurse eyed him strangely.  
	"If I can ask, what does this patient have to do with an FBI 
murder investigation?  She couldn't have murdered them, since she wasn't 
released until the next afternoon--after their deaths."
	"Hmmm," Mulder said, ignoring her question, "can I see the file?"
	"I'm sorry, sir.  Patient files are confiden--"
	"Carol!  Can I get your help for a second to move a patient?"  A 
nurse down the hallway called.  
	"I'll be right there, Jean!" She replied, quickly dropping the 
file back on to the stack.  She gave Mulder a wary look as she left the 
small area.  He did his best to look innocent and unassuming.  Scully 
glanced over at his "I'm-just-about-to-start-whistling-'It's A Small 
World After All'" pose and rolled her eyes.  
	As soon as Carol had disappeared into the room down the hallway, 
Scully pushed him out of the way and darted around behind the desk.  His 
eyebrows shot up for moment, then he followed her over.  She flipped 
open the girl's file and quickly began skimming its contents.
	"Banks, Sheila.  Nineteen years old, admitted October first, 
1996," she read off quickly.  Mulder came up behind her and looked over 
her shoulder.
	"Mm.  Look--treated for mild schizophrenia and delusionary 
behavior, centered around--"
	"--romantic relationships and sexual intimacy," Scully finished.
	"Looks like a normal teenager to me, Scully," Mulder said, leaning 
down to see the bottom of the page.  Scully shook her head.
	"Mulder, normal teenagers have raging hormones, not raging lunacy."
	"Hmm.  No wonder I couldn't get anyone to date me in high school," 
he said quietly.  Scully shook her head.
	"No, look, Mulder.  This girl thinks she's Cupid, basically.  
It's 
not her own romance...it's other peoples'.  She kept asking the 
psychiatrist and the nurses if they were happy with their sex life."
	"I knew there was a good reason I didn't go into practice, Scully,"
Mulder murmured, reaching down to flip to the next page in the file.  He 
glanced over it, ran his finger across a few lines.  He shook his head 
slightly.
	"She liked reading Harlequin romances--I think that stuff could 
drive anyone nuts," he said, turning his head to look over at his 
partner.  "Scully--"  he stopped and looked at her.  Her eyes were shut, 
she wasn't breathing.  He could feel her muscles tense, and suddenly 
realized that he was leaning over her, their bodies pressed together.  
He could smell her perfume, feel the way his body curved around her 
smaller one.  The images flooded through his mind... 
	"No...!" he whispered, fighting to move away, fighting to move at 
all.  Scully stood, frozen, beneath him.
	"HEY!  What you doing!"  
	Carol had returned.  
	"Get!  Get out!  Securiteeeee!"  She howled, grabbing at Mulder's 
arm.  She yanked him backwards, furious.  Scully turned around slowly, 
raised her arms as the hospital security guards came rushing over and 
pulled her and Mulder out from behind the desk.  They were escorted 
roughly down into the lobby.
	"FBI!  We're FBI!"  Mulder shouted.  The guards ignored him and 
pushed them outside, let go of their arms.
	"Get in your car," one of the guards growled.  Mulder reached into 
his coat to pull out his badge.  The guards reached down for their guns, 
Mulder stopped moving.
	"I'm just reaching for my I.D.," he said quietly.  
	"Get out of here," the guard said softly, drawing his gun.  "I 
don't care if you're with the Secret Service, medical files are 
confidential and you were found in an area not open to the public."
	"We're not the public," Scully said angrily.  Mulder shook his 
head, touched her arm.  She spun around and stalked across the parking 
lot towards Mulder's car.  He frowned at her retreating form and turned 
back to the guards.  They stood, watching him closely.  Sighing, he 
turned and jogged across the lot to the car.  Scully stood on the 
passenger side, silent, her mouth flattened in a thin line.  He looked 
over the roof at her while he unlocked the door.  She looked back at 
him, frustration and what...fear, maybe? in her eyes.  She slid into the 
seat and sat, stony-faced, staring out her window.  Mulder took a deep 
breath and sat down behind the wheel.  He looked over at her for a 
moment, then turned the key in the ignition.  She didn't move.
	The four security guards stood watching, as they pulled out and 
drove away.  

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

STURBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
OCTOBER 17, 7:30 P.M.  

	Scully sat at the small round table in her hotel room, flipping 
through the photos in the casefile and the recently-faxed sheets of 
information about Sheila Banks.  She'd taken the liberty of using 
Mulder's laptop to download the information from the FBI databases while 
he was out picking up their Chinese take-out.  They had been out all day 
talking to the Sturbridge police chief, and had basically gotten the 
same descriptions of the two people involved--professional partners, the 
woman engaged to someone else, the chief was completely shocked when 
he'd found them dead, together.  Mulder had gone outside with one of the 
other officers to inspect the car that the pair drove around in.  On a 
hunch, Scully had asked to see the daily police log for the past two 
weeks.
	She had found Sheila Banks in the records.  The young woman had 
come in to file a restraining order on her father.  The officer behind 
the desk knew of it, and assured Scully that everything had been taken 
care of.  The girl was fine, just emotional.  
	"Emotional?  How so?"  Scully had asked.  The officer just shook 
her head.  
	"Something's a little bit wrong with her head, I think.  Her 
parents had some problems a couple of months ago, and sent her to a 
specialist someplace to get her help," the woman responded.
	"Chicago?"  
	"I don't know--I only heard bits and pieces about it," she replied.  
	Scully had gotten copies of the request form and had pulled all 
the information that she could from the police officer about the girl.  
By the time that Scully had amassed a small pile of complaint forms and 
records on Sheila Banks, Mulder had come back into the station, yawning.  
They had gone to find a hotel and unpack.   
	She glanced across to the open doors that connected their two 
adjacent rooms.  She couldn't remember how many times they had left 
those doors open whenever they had connected rooms.  The times that 
their rooms were separate, strange things seemed to happen.  She smiled 
and shook her head when she thought of the time when he'd woken up in 
her room, draped on the chair, claiming that Alex Trebek had let him in.  
Maybe he really was a ticking time bomb of insanity... 
	She looked up when she heard him unlocking his room door.  He came 
in, dropped his keys on the bed, and walked through the connecting 
doorway, a white bag of take-out in one hand, his cell phone in the 
other, and a manila folder tucked under his arm.
	"...yeah, thank you, sir.  It's all right here.  Yeah.  Okay, you 
too."  
	He put the bag down and dropped the phone in the pocket of his 
overcoat.  Scully peered into the bag as he took off his coat and sat 
down across the table from her.
	"So...why did it take you half an hour to pick up this food?"  She 
asked, pulling out one of the cartons.  Mulder pushed the manila folder 
across the table to her.
	"This.  That was Skinner--he just called me to let us know that 
the information on these officers' deaths was coming in.  He faxed the 
sheets and photos to the local police station, and I stopped down to 
pick them up.  Before I got the Chinese, of course."  He smiled and 
leaned forward.  "You should've seen the kid's eyes when I pulled the 
money out of my wallet and he caught sight of my I.D.  I gave him this 
stern look and said, 'Thanks for keeping the food warm, kid' and he just 
whispered 'Yes sir, you're welcome sir!'"  Mulder reached into the bag 
and pulled out his food, his eyes twinkling as he dug in to the egg 
noodles.  Scully smiled slightly and shook her head.
	"That is when I enjoy my job," he said, forking up a mouthful.  
Scully took a bite of her own food and looked down at the contents of 
the opened folder before her.
	"Another couple, two police officers from this town, found at the 
man's apartment by his roommate, at approximately five-thirty this 
morning, dead.  Cause of death thought to be a stress-induced heart 
attack."
	"Must've been a *really* hot night, huh Scully?"
	"Wait a second," she said suddenly, scanning the document again.  
"That's odd..."
	She mumbled something to herself, and suddenly started shuffling 
around the papers on the table.  Mulder frowned slightly.
	"What's odd?  What are you looking for?"
	"The other autopsy reports--here," she whipped a folder out from 
underneath a stack of Sheila's complaint forms.  "Are these...?  Yes!  
Whoa!  This throws a twist into things!"
	Mulder sighed dramatically.  
	"Mulder, look at this:  according to each of these reports--why 
didn't I see this  before?--no seminal fluids were found in any of the 
women's bodies!"
	"No...fluids?  So, what you're implying--no, saying--is that these 
couples never--"
	"--actually had intercourse," she completed, looking up at him.  
He was silent for a moment.
	"So unless it's just an amazing coincidence that every single one 
of these guys was into 'retaining his chi', we aren't just looking at a 
simple series of affairs that had each ended in a literal shower of 
sparks."
	"'Retaining his chi'"?
	"No ejaculation."
	"Oh."
	"It's an idea found in some of the more obscure Oriental sects, 
stemming from the belief that--"
	"That's okay, I don't really want to know."
	"Suit yourself," he smirked, forking up another mouthful.  He 
tilted his head to see what she had been working on when he came in.  
"Scully, what're these sheets, here?"  He asked, pulling the information 
on Sheila Banks out of the case folder.  He looked at it for a few 
moments, then looked up questioningly at her.  She put down the sheet on 
the newest couple and looked at him.
	"Mulder, I think this girl is the key to what's going on here," 
she said, watching for his reaction.
	"Scully, we don't even *know* what's going on here," he replied, 
eyeing her strangely.  
	"Look, we now have six dead couples, no clear connections between 
them besides that facts that a) they're dead, b) they don't seem to have 
actually completed intercourse, and c) none of them were likely to have 
involved with each other before.  That still leaves the extreme stress 
and subsequent heart attacks unexplained. Not to mention the fact that 
someone dying of extreme stress doesn't look so peaceful at the time of 
death.  I think the girl is the connection,"  she sighed, swirling her 
fork a little.  "I'm sure of it.  I just can't prove it, yet." 
	"That's supposed to be *my* line."  He shook his head and leaned 
back in his chair.  "You think that a teenage girl who might, through a 
very slim possibility, be psychic, and who probably has delusions 
involving Harlequin romance characters, be the key to this series of 
deaths involving six intelligent couples who are spread across the 
country?"
	"And what do you believe, Mulder?  That these couples were 
abducted by aliens for bizarre sexual experiments?"
	"The thought has crossed my mind, yes."
	"Gimme a break, Mulder."
	"Okay, I'll admit that there's no evidence of extraterrestrial 
involvement anywhere, Scully.  But there's also no evidence that this 
delusional teenage girl has anything to with it, either."
	"She has been to both places, right before both couples were found 
dead."
	"No...not before both couples were found dead.  She's been living 
in this town all her life.  She was sent to Chicago for treatment.  
Repeatedly."
	"She could've been sent to Boston, Mulder.  Why Chicago?  It's 
pretty far away."
	"Maybe Chicago was better prepared to help her.  You're reaching, 
Scully."
	"Now that's *my* line.  Why are you so against my ideas when they're 
extreme possibilities, but you'll theorize one yourself and consider it 
immediately valid?  I have just as wild an imagination as you do, Mulder
--I just choose to express it in a more mature manner!"
	"Look, you're my sounding board, so why can't I be yours, Ms. 
Mature?"
	"You're not a sounding board, you're a smug FBI agent who's taking 
potshots at everything I throw up in the air."
	"I must admit, I'm a good shot."
	"You're a jerk, Mulder."
	Mulder looked down at his carton.  Scully sighed and decided to 
try a different tack.
	"Don't...don't you at least think it's a little odd that the 
doctors who were in contact with her in Chicago died, as did the police 
officers who lived here?"
	"No," he replied, somewhat subdued.  "What about the other 
couples, Scully?  Sheila Banks has never been to Montana, or Kansas, or 
Oklahoma.  What happened to them?  You said yourself that these 
occurrences could've been caused by a massive electrical shock or mental 
stress."  
	"I...I just have this feeling, Mulder.  When the nurse, Carol, 
started to describe her." 
	"You've been acting a little strange lately, Scully," he said, his 
forehead furrowed in concern.
	"Me?  You're the one who's acting like he's being attacked by 
something!  You still haven't told me why you took off from our office 
yesterday morning!"
	"I told you it was personal."
	"Personal?  Mulder, if it's causing you pain, you need to get help!"
	"What, and you're the one who's qualified to give it?"  
	Scully opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again.  She put 
down her fork and dropped her head down to the table.  Mulder was quiet 
for a moment, then he reached out and put one of his hands on her arm.  
	"Scully?  Scully, look...I didn't mean to snap at you.  You're a 
doctor, you just might be qualified to give it.  Ah...I don't know..." 
he trailed off.  Scully raised her head to look at him.  She looked so 
tired.  He gave her arm a squeeze and sat back, silent, for a moment.  
	"It's just that you've been acting so out of character these last 
few days.  I've never known you to willingly break the law, and back at 
Chicago General, *you* were the one that darted behind the desk.  Outside 
in the parking lot, you were angry...maybe even moody--"  Scully opened 
her mouth to retort, but he raised his hand and continued.  "--I can 
only say it knowing that I get moody, and that you still put up with me.  
But for you, it's strange.  You're usually so level-headed and in control 
of your emotions.  You just haven't been yourself."  He stopped, not 
knowing what else to say.  Scully smiled a little.
	"I know...I haven't been feeling too well the last couple of days."
	"You look unraveled."
	"You look pretty threadbare yourself, Mulder."
	"Thanks.  Now eat your Chinese while it's still warm."
	"Yes sir."

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

STURBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
OCTOBER 18, 7:50 A.M.	

	Sheila pulled a newspaper out of the rack at the I Once Was a Tree 
bookstore and glanced across the front page.  The lead story made her 
freeze in her tracks.  
	"Oh no...!" She whispered, frozen.  The man behind the store 
counter glanced over at her.
	"Okay, miss.  That'll be seventy-five cents.  Is that all?"  
George asked, ringing up the total on the register.  When she didn't 
reply, he looked over at her.  She'd come in a few times, mostly to buy 
romance novels.  
	"Miss?"
	Suddenly, the girl started frantically unfolding the main section 
and scanning through the sheets, looking for something.  The rest of the 
newspaper fell down into a pile at her feet.
	"Oh...those poor people!"  She said, reading out loud.  "'Two 
nights ago, Sturbridge Police Officers Catherine Gershwin, twenty-seven, 
and Joshua Andersen, twenty-eight, were found dead in Andersen's 
apartment, apparently from stress-induced heart attacks.  They were 
found by Andersen's roommate, Angelo Nicollini, at approximately 5:30 
a.m. yesterday.  No evidence has been found to indicate foul play.  
According to friends of the two officers, Gershwin and Andersen were not 
previously involved with one another.  It came as a great shock to 
everyone, says Police Chief Jonah Wittenburg.'"  She looked up at him, 
her face white.
	"Yes, miss.  It is a tragedy.  Two good, hard-workin' officers.  
Mm-hmm.  A tragedy," the man said.  Sheila's fingers wrung the edges of 
the paper, crinkled them.  Her eyes were wide with pain, tears formed at 
their corners.
	"No, no...you don't understand!"  She whispered, holding out the 
wrinkled sheet towards him.  "They *loved* each other!  True love!  How 
could they die?"  She gasped a little and stepped out of the pile of 
papers around her feet.  She walked up to the counter and laid the sheet 
down on it.  "I *knew* they were meant for one another the moment I saw 
them!  So beautiful together!"  Her eyes had a faraway look in them.  
	Suddenly, she snapped back.  "They were in *love*!"  She whispered 
fiercely.  George stepped back from her intense gaze, and looked down at 
the crinkled sheet of newspaper spread across the counter.
	The bell tinkled over the front door.  Sheila spun, eyes wide.  
She gasped, and dove around behind a bookshelf on the other side of the 
counter.  George looked over towards where she had hidden, then looked 
up to see who had just come in.
	It was a man and a woman, and from the looks of them, they weren't 
from around town.  The man was tall and was eyeing the shelves, looking 
like he was planning something illegal.
	"Mulder, I'm sure this is a *clean* bookstore," the woman said 
breezily, glancing around at the displays and books.  The man grinned 
and elbowed her.
	"Why, *of course* it is, Scully!  Can't you recognize small-town 
wholesomeness when you see it?"  He grinned at her.  The woman eyed him.
	"Yes.  The question is, can you?"  She smiled and flipped her red 
hair, turning towards the counter.  Her eyes narrowed.  The man turned 
to follow her gaze.
	Mulder and Scully stood, staring, at the pile of newspaper on the 
floor, and the big, crinkled sheet laying on the counter.  The man 
behind the counter blinked, looked down at the mess around him, and 
suddenly grabbed the wrinkled sheet.  He darted out from behind the 
register and bent down to pick up the pile on the floor.  They walked 
over, and the man straightened up.
	"Just an irate customer."  George said, glancing over towards the 
bookshelf near the counter.  "Can I help you two?"  He asked as he went 
back behind the counter with the newspaper.  Mulder nodded.
	"Yeah, we'd like to buy a newspaper.  Also, I was wondering if you 
have any--" the woman poked him in the side, he glanced at her, then 
said smoothly, "--if you know where we can find some Harlequin romances."
	Scully muttered something unintelligible and turned away to get a 
newspaper.  The man behind the counter was looking at Mulder as if he 
had three heads and a pair of antennae.  After a moment, he pointed 
towards the side of the store.  
	"Over there.   All the romances and stuff."  He eyed Mulder for a 
moment, then leaned forward and lowered his voice.  "If you're lookin' 
for something else..." he jerked his head towards the back of the store.  
Suddenly, the small, red-haired woman came sailing over and smiled 
tightly at him.  She dropped a newspaper on the counter.
	"I believe this is seventy-five cents," she said, looking at 
him.  "That'll be all."  
	George looked at Mulder questioningly.  Mulder smiled innocently 
at him and dropped a dollar bill on the counter.  Scully picked up the 
paper and walked towards the door.  She stood next to it and waited for 
him to get his change.  George dropped the quarter into Mulder's hand, 
looked over at Scully, then back at Mulder, and rolled his eyes.  Mulder 
turned and walked towards her, grinning.
	After the bell had tinkled and the door had closed again, Sheila 
stepped out from behind the bookshelf.
	"Those two.  Now those two have been the hardest.  They look so 
lovely together, though," she said, clasping her hands together.   
George looked over at her.
	"I wouldn't want to be him, that's for sure," he muttered.  He 
looked over at Sheila.  Her eyes were closed.  He shook his head.  
Strange people came into this place around this time of year.  Tourists 
liked the area because of the foliage.  Oh well, this far into October 
was late for the leaves.  Maybe these weirdos just hadn't caught on yet.

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

	They sat outside of the bookstore in Mulder's car, taking a few 
quiet minutes in the morning to eat a hasty breakfast and catch up on 
the morning's news.  Scully was in the driver's seat this morning, since 
Mulder wanted to find out who had won the Bulls-Suns game and read the 
obituaries before they went to interview the family members of the 
recently deceased pair of police officers.
	Scully peeled the plastic wrap off from around her bagel and 
reached into the bag for the package of cream cheese.  After feeling 
around for a few moments, she lifted up the bagel store bag and dumped 
it's contents on the front seat.  Mulder looked over at the mess next to 
him and shook his head.
	"What'd you forget this time, Scully?"
	"A knife," Scully replied, scowling at the innocent package of 
cream cheese lying on the seat.  Mulder flipped open the glove 
compartment in front of him and pulled out a grimy-looking plastic pen 
casing.  
	"A utensil for all occasions!  Here," he said, holding it out to 
her.  Scully eyed it skeptically.  
	"Don't you ever clean out your glove compartment?"
	"Why should I?  The longer I leave everything unwashed, the higher 
likelihood I have of creating a warm and nurturing home for a new strain 
of fungi or something that might evolve into a higher life form!  Just 
think, first contact with another sentient species, Scully!  I could 
never give up a chance like that!"
	"Just read your paper, Mulder.  I'll smear the stuff with my 
finger," Scully said.  Grinning, Mulder dropped the casing on the seat 
between them and went back to flipping through the Sports section.
	"If you use the casing to smear it, and then we throw it back into 
this nurturing home, here, the little guys will have something to 
subsist on, Scully."
	She threw a balled-up napkin at him.
	Mulder picked up the offending napkin, looked at her thoughtfully.
	"I wonder what caused that 'irate' customer to tear apart a 
newspaper in there."
	She didn't know.

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

	"Oh, why won't they *leave*?!"  Sheila whispered, her fingers 
pressed against the wall as she peered around the edge of the window 
into the parking lot.  The two FBI agents were sitting in their car, 
eating and reading the newspaper.  They seemed quite unconcerned with 
doing anything quickly.  The red-haired woman was eating her bagel 
slowly.  Sheila was supposed to be at work!  If she had to wait in the 
store any longer, she would be late.  Her manager didn't like her 
anyway; and this would be a prime excuse to get rid of her.  
	If she lost her job, her parents would throw her out.
	Sheila inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

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

	After a few quiet minutes, Scully had finished her bagel, and 
Mulder was trying to fold the Sports section back into shape.  She 
looked up in the rearview mirror and dabbed at the corners of her mouth 
with a napkin.  Mulder gave up with the semi-folded section and threw it 
into the back seat.  He looked down at the front page of the paper on 
his lap, the pictures of the two officers smiling back up at him, under 
the glaring caption.  Scully glanced over at him as she stuffed all her 
napkins in the bag.  After eyeing him for a moment, she reached back 
over the seat and pulled her briefcase into the front.
	Just that movement towards him was enough to send Mulder's 
concentration off of the story in front of him and onto his partner.  He 
looked over at her, reaching over the seat, and something held him, 
frozen, staring at her body as she slid back down to the seat next to 
him and straightened her skirt.  She leaned the briefcase against the 
steering wheel and snapped it open.  His eyes traveled over her.  Here 
he was, sitting less than a foot away from her, his eyes fixed on his 
partner's--rather shapely--legs.  She pulled a folder out and snapped 
the briefcase shut.
	"Mulder, I never sho--"  Scully started, as she looked over at her 
partner.  He was looking at her...legs.  She frowned and looked down at 
them.  What was so strange about them?  Did she have a run in her nylons?
She looked back up at him to ask, but stopped.  There was something in 
his eyes, something...her chest started to pound.  She could feel her 
fingers tightening on the folder she held in front of her, and her 
slightly-twisted skirt that was up higher on her thighs than it was 
supposed to be.  She tried to whisper something, anything, but his eyes 
were holding her still.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small red 
flag was waving itself frantically around, begging for attention that 
she couldn't give it.  He moved closer and started to move his mouth 
down towards hers.  She felt oddly afraid, looking up at him.  She 
started to lean closer to him, and suddenly, she saw a flicker in his 
eyes, could see pain in them.
	"Mulder..." she whispered, her entire body tensing.  Suddenly, his 
squeezed his eyes shut and his face contorted with pain.  He pulled 
himself back and flung his eyes open, looked out of the front windshield.  
	That young girl was running out of the bookstore.
	Scully let out her pent-up breath, she felt oddly drained, 
exhausted.  Mulder succeeded in shoving his door open, and started to 
leap out.  He fell back against the seat, released a ragged breath.  A 
second later, he kicked the door open as wide as it would go and leaped 
out of the car.  
	"Mulder, what--?"  Scully reached over towards his empty seat.  He 
drew his gun and took off running towards the corner of the bookstore 
that the girl had disappeared around.  Scully let go of the folder she 
was clutching so tightly and dropped it onto the seat.  She shoved the 
briefcase off of her lap and opened her door.  She got out as quickly as 
she could, fought a sudden wave of dizziness.  Pushing herself away from 
the car, she ran across the parking lot, towards the corner the of the 
store.
	Mulder ran around the corner of the building, his gun held out in 
front of him.  There was no one.  He didn't see the girl anywhere in the 
whole area that was in front of him, only small tourist shops and 
parking lots spread around.  There were no bushes for the girl to hide 
behind.  He heard footsteps behind him and spun, his gun pointed at the 
sound.  It was Scully, leaning against the brick wall of the store.  He 
lowered the gun, let out a long breath.  She closed her eyes and rested 
her head against the wall.  Holstering his gun, he walked slowly back 
over to her, stopped about a foot away.  She just shook her head weakly 
and pushed herself away from the wall.  There were dark circles under 
her eyes.
	"Mulder, I think I need to--"  She started, but her suddenly-
exhausted body gave out.  He quickly caught her as she fell, and they 
sunk the rest of the way down the wall together.  She leaned her head on 
his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the 
wall.
	"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
	"Shhh.  It's not your fault, or mine."
	"We have to find her."
	"We will."

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

	Even though the attack/encounter that they had had with Sheila had 
drained both of them, neither wanted to rest.  There was too much at 
stake.  After taking a few minutes to wait for the dizziness and pain to 
go away, Scully and Mulder had borrowed an area phone book from the 
bookstore clerk and found her parents' home address.  Her mother was the 
only one home.  Sheila was at work, she said.  Down town at the Buggy 
and Carriage Inn--she was a cleaning woman.  The two of them hastily 
thanked the woman and drove off to find the Inn.
	When they arrived and asked to see the girl, they were told that 
she hadn't come in to work that morning, and frankly, the manager was 
sick of her irresponsible behavior.  If they saw Sheila, they were to 
let her know, in no uncertain terms, that she was fired.  Mulder asked a 
few questions, but the manager could tell them nothing useful about the 
girl.  About all they found out was that he didn't like her.  The two of 
them then drove back to her parents' house, but the mother had left.      
	They had driven around town, but there was no sign of the girl 
anywhere.  Scully hadn't really expected to find her, anyway, but Mulder 
said that searching Sheila's favorite haunts was worth a try.  By noon, 
they'd given up on the drive and planted themselves half a block down 
the street from her house, deciding to wait until someone came back home.
	Scully pulled out all the information on Sheila that she had taken 
from the police station and downloaded from the Bureau databases and 
handed the stack across to Mulder.  He started reading through all the 
complaints, restraining orders, and the psychologists' casefiles on 
Sheila Banks, while Scully watched the house and the surrounding area.  
No movement anywhere.

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

4:40 P.M.

	"You were right.  I've seen her before, Scully," Mulder said, 
putting the last of the sheets back into the folder.  "I wish we had a 
picture of her, though.  I'm pretty sure I've seen her before."
	Scully was looking out of the driver's-side window.  She had been 
watching the elderly woman across the street prune her bushes and trowel 
around in the flower bed that surrounded the house.  Peace and quiet.  
She hoped to be pruning her own tulips when she reached that age.  If 
she reached that age.  No more dissecting decaying mutants and fungi-
infested malignant tumors.   A fleeting thought of what her partner would 
be doing when he was seventy slipped by.  She smiled and turned to look 
at him.  He was looking at her, as if waiting for an answer.
	"Oh.  Did...did you just ask me something?"  She asked, glancing 
down at the folder in his hands.
	"I was wondering if you'd like to find out what my theories are on 
exactly what the aliens did to these couples," he replied.  She just 
looked back at him.  He grinned.  "What had you so engrossed in the 
scenery?"
	"I was just wondering about what you'd be doing after you retired 
from the FBI--that is, assuming you survive that long.  What were you 
trying to ask me?"
	"Actually, I was wondering if you'd found a picture of this girl.  
I think I've seen her before."
	"Before this morning?"
	"Yep.  She looked familiar, but I couldn't pin it down."
	"Have you figured it out yet?"
	"Mm-hmm.  Look," he held out a sheet to her.  "Here, her older 
sister, Kim, lives down in Frederick, Maryland," he said, looking 
pleased.  Scully looked at him questioningly.
	"What?  When were you in Frederick?"
	"Not recently.  But Frederick is only twenty minutes outside of 
Washington D.C.!"  
	"So...you're saying that Sheila could have been in D.C. recently, 
which would explain how you've come into contact with her.  Can I just 
ask one question?"
	"What?"
	"When?"
	"About four hours after I took off and left you at the Bureau.  
After I got back from jogging.  There was a young woman sitting on the 
curb outside of my apartment--across the street.  At first, I thought 
she was looking at me strangely, but I just dismissed it.  A lot of 
strange people running around D.C."
	"Mm.  Definitely.  And I think you out-do them all."
	"Thank-you."
	"You're welcome," Scully said, smiling.  After a second, though, 
she frowned and looked up at him.  "Why did you 'take off', Mulder?"
	He stopped smiling and looked down at the folder in his hands.  
After a long moment, he looked up without saying anything.  Scully 
sighed.  A pair of headlights pulled around the corner and onto the 
street.  They both watched, silent, as the car pulled into the Banks' 
driveway.  Mulder dropped the folder on the seat and put his hand on the 
door handle.  Scully reached out and touched his arm.  He turned towards 
her slightly.
	"I'm okay," he said quietly, and pushed open the door.  He got 
out, and Scully came around the side of the car to meet him.  They 
walked down the street as Sheila's mother got out of her car and 
disappeared into the house.
	"See anyone lurking in the bushes?"  
	"No."
	"Okay, you watch the garage--I'll go up and ring the doorbell," he 
said, moving up the front walk.  Scully walked up a few feet and stood 
at the base of the front steps, watching for any signs of movement.  A 
few seconds later, Mrs. Banks answered the door.
	"Hi, I'm Agent Fox Mulder, and this is my partner Dana Scully, 
we're with the FBI, and we were wondering if we could have a moment of 
your time," Mulder said, motioning Scully over.  Mrs. Banks looked past 
his shoulder through the screen door at Scully.
	"What's she doing?"  She asked, and reached over to flick on the 
front porch lights.  It was getting pretty dark out.  Mulder turned to 
look at Scully as she came up the steps.
	"She was just checking to make sure your garage was secure."
	"And why wouldn't it be?  I just locked it.  Oh, what...are you 
investigating that case about that serial killer who was strangling 
young girls and leaving their bodies in their families' garages?"  Mrs. 
Banks asked, raising her eyebrows.  Mulder looked at Scully, who shook 
her head.
	"No, Mrs. Banks--"
	"Call me Pam."
	"Pam.  No, ah...Pam, this is about your daughter, Sheila."
	"Oh my God!  He strangled her!"  Mrs. Banks burst into tears.  
Mulder looked at Scully, then turned back to the crying woman.
	"Mrs. Banks?  Ah...I mean, Pam?  Sheila's...fine," he said 
softly, "She's not hurt.  She--"
	Mrs. Banks looked up, tears stopped.
	"Why, that scheming little slut!  She got caught hookin' again, 
and she's down at the slammer?!  I'll have her hide!"  
	"M--Pam, that's not it, either.  Sheila's not in any trouble with 
the police...can we please come in?"  Scully asked calmly.  Mrs. Banks 
suddenly looked up, smiled brightly.
	"Oh, why of course!  I'm sorry!"  She pushed open the screen door 
and ushered them inside.  "How rude of me!  I'm so sorry...here, sit 
down.  Would you like a cup of coffee?  Tea?  I have some Orange 
Passion, Mint, Cranberry-Cinnamon, and some regular Lipton, yes?"  She 
clasped her hands together and waited for their choices.  Mulder sat 
down on the overstuffed couch and smiled benignly.
	"You wouldn't happen to have any Apple-Cinnamon, would you?"  he 
asked, as Scully shook her head.  Mrs. Banks lit up.
	"Oh!  You like tea!  Why yes, I believe I have some Apple-
Cinnamon!  Let me go look!"  she said cheerily, and bustled off into the 
kitchen.  Scully came over and sat down next to him.  
	"Since when do you drink Apple-Cinnamon tea?"
	"Since I wanted to find a calming, herbal blend," he replied, 
looking around the room.  Scully suddenly smiled.
	"Ah!  That's what you'll be doing!  Cultivating herbs in your back 
yard!"
	"What?"
	Mrs. Banks poked her head through the doorway.
	"Oh, honey...I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink," the little 
woman said.  Mulder grinned and poked Scully.
	"Try the Orange Passion," he whispered.  Scully just looked up 
without smiling.
	"A coffee would be fine.  Cream, no sugar, please?"  She answered. 
	"Of course, dear," Mrs. Banks replied, and went back into the 
kitchen.  They were quiet for a moment.
	"You'll be growing *bitter* herbs."
	"Mulder, stop acting like a teenager!"  Scully whispered.
	"Stop being so boring!"
	"Mulder, I'm not being boring!  I'm being a professional and doing 
my job!"
	"Scully, you need to loosen up a little," he said, poking her.  
She stood up, angry.
	"Stop it!  You want *me* to loosen up, but you can't tell me why 
you've been acting so strange lately.  And you want *me* to loosen *up*?"
	Mulder frowned.  "How many times are we going to go over this?  I 
told you it was personal!"
	Scully leaned down and whispered fiercely, "Mulder, something 
happened this morning, and we never talked about it.  I'd say that was 
pretty personal.  I want to know what's going on with you!"  Mulder 
stood up, his eyes burning.  
	"You've been acting pretty strange lately, too!  What about you?"
	"Me?  I'm tired, I'm being dragged around the country by a partner 
who believes that aliens abducted a bunch of people, tortured them, and 
then murdered them, and you think I'm acting strangely?"
	"What, now this is a personal attack on *me*?  Get some focus, 
Scully!"
	"I AM FOCUSED!  You're the one who's poking me like an idiot with 
the mental level of a twelve-year-old!"  She hissed, stepping up to him.
	/She's gorgeous when she's mad,/ flitted through his mind.  Her red 
hair fell back from her face, like a flaming halo, and her blue eyes 
were burning, boring into him.  He stood and looked down at her, 
fighting the incredible urge to just haul off and kiss her.    
	Scully noticed his eyes.  /Oh, for heaven's sake, you dolt!  Of 
course you noticed his eyes!  Nice eyes...brown...no, hazel, 
intelligent, caring...nice eyes...wow.../  What was it that he'd done to 
make her so angry?  She just wanted to reach up and pull him down to 
her... 
	"Oh!   Oh my goodness!"  Mrs. Banks cooed, standing near the 
doorway with two steaming cups.  Scully lept back, one hand pressed 
against her chest.
	/Oh, darn it!  The old witch is always getting in the way!/  
	Mulder squeezed his eyes shut.  /Old witch?/
	Mrs. Banks bustled over and pushed the mugs into their hands.  She 
had tears at the corners of her eyes.  She smiled dreamily at them and 
clasped her hands together.
	"Oh, are you two a couple?  Do they allow that in the FBI?"
	Scully blinked. 
	"A...ah...a couple?"  It took her a moment to find her voice.  And 
her head was spinning.
	"No.  We're not," Mulder said quietly, opening his eyes.  Scully 
squeezed her mug and looked up at him.  He looked tired, but there was a 
light, an urgency, in his eyes.  "Mrs. Banks, where is Sheila?  This is 
a matter of life or death," he glanced at Scully, "we need to know."
	The little woman looked frightened all of a sudden.  
	"Why?" she whispered.  "What has she done?"
	"We have evidence that leads us to believe that she has killed six 
couples in that last three months."
	"You have WHAT?"
	"Mrs. Banks, where is she?"
	The woman shakily pushed between them and lowered herself to the 
sofa.  
	"I...don't...know," she whispered.  Suddenly, she looked up, her 
eyes wide.  "Please, please don't hurt my little girl!  Her father...her 
father...he--" she burst into another flood of tears and threw her face 
into her hands.  Scully whipped a tissue out of the box next to the sofa 
and handed it to the crying woman.  She bent down.
	"Pam?  What about your husband?"  She asked softly.  Mrs. Banks 
looked up.
	"It's not Sheila's fault, see?  Please don't hurt her!  Her father 
did, he did...he did things.  She's just a little girl!"  She burst into 
another flood of tears.  Mulder crouched down in front of her.
	"Mrs. Banks, where is Sheila?"  He asked, as quietly as he could.  
Mrs. Banks sniffed into the soaked tissue.  
	"I don't want him to find her!"
	"We won't let him hurt her," Scully said reassuringly.  "We need 
to find her so that she doesn't hurt anyone else."  Mulder looked up at 
his partner's face, lined and pale.  Mrs. Banks blew into another 
tissue.  They were all quiet for a moment.
	"She called me at work.  She's leaving town tonight with Jody."
	"Jody?"
	"Her boyfriend.  Nice young man.  He loves my mashed potatoes."
	"Where does he live?"
	"Ah...I think," she wiped her nose, "Over by the highway, near the 
Village."
	"What's his last name?"  Scully asked.
	"Oh, let me see...Richardson.  That's it, Jody Richardson," she 
replied.  Scully put down her mug on the coffee table next to them.
	"Jody Richardson," Mulder repeated to himself.
	"Thank you for all your help, Pam," Scully got up, squeezed her 
partner's shoulder for a second.  He looked up and nodded.
	"Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Banks," he said, standing up.
	"Oh you're welcome, you're welcome," the little woman replied, 
smiling.  He tried to smile back, as he followed Scully outside.  
	   
				*************************

	"Mulder--"
	"Scully, look.  I know what you're going to say, that you want us 
to talk.  But I think we're racing against the clock here."
	They reached the car, and Mulder went around to the driver's side.
	"Mulder, what if we confront her and--"
	"Throw me the keys."
	Scully dug around in her pocket for a second, then threw the keys 
over the roof.  Mulder unlocked the doors and they both got in.
	"What if we get to her and she tries to--"
	"We have to find her, Scully.  Before she kills another couple," 
Mulder said, starting up the car.  
	"Mulder, listen to me."
	"We haven't got time to sit here and talk, Scully.  Those two kids 
could be taking off right now," he said, starting to pull out.  
	"Mulder!"
	He stopped moving.
	"What?"  He asked quietly.  Scully looked at him for a second, in 
silence.
	"Mulder, we could *be* the next couple."
	He turned to look at her for a moment, then looked out the 
windshield.
	"What do you suggest?"	
  	"Send in the local law enforcement," she replied.  "We can stay 
away from her, and let them go in.  I'm not saying this as a coward, 
Mulder.  If we go in there, we're going to be a liability."
	"Scully, have you considered what just happened in there?"  He 
asked, turning to her.  "Where was Sheila when it happened?  If she was 
planning on leaving town with her boyfriend, she wouldn't be hanging 
around us, waiting to be caught.  I believe she was across town, with 
him.  And if I'm right, then standing at the edge of the police line 
isn't going to prevent her from being able to...exert her influence."
	"But you don't know that.  She could've been sitting someplace in 
the house, for all we know."
	"We would've seen her, Scully."
	"Not if she planted herself in there while we were aimlessly 
driving about town looking for the local hickey-stop."
	"What, so this is my fault?"
	"I don't want to fight, Mulder."  
	He was silent for moment.
	"All right, how's this:  we call in the local guys, explain the 
situation to them--"	
	"Right.  'Hi, we have a sexually-delusional teenager on our hands--
oh, did I mention that she was psychic?'"
	"Just lay off for a second and listen to me."
	"Mulder, she knew we were in the house with her mother.  Why 
didn't she start doing something while we were sitting in the car for 
five hours?  I never felt anything the whole time."
	"Nothing at all?  You mean sitting for five hours in a car alone 
with me doesn't do anything to you, Scully?"  His eyes were dancing. 
	"Now *you* lay off it.  You're not exactly helping the situation."
	"I'm not sure I'm sorry.  So what's your idea?"
	"We just tell them not to allow any couples, or potential couples, 
if there are any in the police force here, to go in together.  That 
we're looking for Sheila Banks and Jody Richardson.  They go in, pull 
them out, put them in custody.  We call back to the Bureau and have 
someone else tie up the case."
	"That'll take too long, Scully.  Sheila could have claimed her 
next victims by then."
	They looked at each other, silent, for a moment.  Mulder took a 
deep breath.
	"There's only one way to stop this girl, Scully, and it's not by 
putting her into a cell in the local jail for the night.  Like you said, 
we have no idea what her...range is.  I don't want to spend the rest of 
my life wondering if she's going to eventually end up killing us."
	Scully looked down at her hands, then back up at him.
	"You want to...talk to her, don't you, Mulder."
	"Before she got to us, Scully, I think she was just trying to make 
people happy.  I read all of those psychological casefiles, and I didn't 
see a murderous teenager.  I saw a young girl who thought that people in 
love lived happily ever after."
	"Or happily ever hereafter, Mulder."
	"No...I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't even know that all of 
those couples died, Scully.  No."
	"You said 'before she got to us'.  What changed?"
	"She's in trouble now, Scully.  She lost her job, and she feels 
like we're threatening her.  She was that 'irate customer'--she must 
have seen the paper this morning.  I think what she's been doing to us 
lately has been more in self defense...as a sort of...distraction, so 
that she could get away.  Almost as if she didn't want us to know that 
she was playing Cupid," he said, looking over at her.  Scully sighed.
	"You know...I have to admit...you might be right.  It's nuts, 
though.  Even if we do find her, what are the chances of being able to 
talk to her?  We're going to have to take her into custody anyway--she's 
responsible for twelve deaths, possibly more.  Even if you talk her out 
of using her...abilities...to influence anyone else, she could go back 
to it again later.  We would have to keep a close watch on her, maybe 
even keep her in a padded cell for the rest of her life."
	"She could just get professional help."
	"Mulder, you saw her files.  She's been to half a dozen different 
psychologists.  What makes you think you'll have any more effect on her 
than they did?"
	"Our lives depend on it." 
	They were both quiet.  Scully finally nodded, then rubbed her 
forehead.
	"I still want backup from the local police."
	"Definitely.  You okay?"  Mulder asked, concerned.  She was 
looking a little bit pale.  She turned and smiled up at him.
	"I'll be fine when this whole thing is over.  Let's get moving, 
and find this girl."
	"Right."

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

5:30 P.M.
	Mulder squinted at the old wooden sign on the grass that read 
"Olde Sturbridge Village" as they pulled around the corner.
	"...I don't see it, is it on the left over here?" 
	"3A...5A, next building, I think," Scully scanned the apartment 
complex, looking for the number '21B' written over a door.  The car 
jumped over a speed bump, jarring them both.
	"Guess they really want us to drive five miles per hour..."
	"Thanks a lot, Mulder.  You really couldn't see a huge speed bump 
painted bright yellow stuck in the middle of the road?"
	"I wasn't looking at the road, sorry," he replied, glancing around 
at the buildings.
	"Ah!  There it is!  Jody Richardson's apartment!  Pull over here--
there's a space."
	He pulled the car into the parking space and cut the engine.  
Scully was checking her 9mm.  She unbuckled her belt and turned to look 
at him.  
	"You ready?"
	"You know I am," he replied, unbuckling.  
	"How long until the backup arrives?"
	"No more than five minutes, Wittenburg said."
	"Okay, let's go."  

				*************************
	
	Sheila watched from behind the curtains as the dark blue car that 
the two FBI agents drove pulled up in front of the apartment building.  
She looked around the dark apartment, silently cursing her chicken-
livered boyfriend.  That stupid Jody had run off when he found out that 
FBI were in town.  He had left a note on the kitchen counter--he was 
going to be gone for a while, but she wasn't to worry.  He would be back 
when *they* were gone.
	The two agents emerged from the car.  Their weapons were hidden on 
them, she was sure.  She quickly moved away from the window and down the 
narrow hallway, knowing that they would come in after her when they 
found the door unlocked.  They would never find her hidden above the 
attic.

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

	They stepped up to the door, their guns drawn.  Mulder  knocked, 
twice.  There was no answer.  He tried the door knob--surprisingly, the 
door was unlocked.  He glanced back at Scully, she nodded.  He pushed 
the door open slowly.  
	The apartment was dark, except for some late evening sunlight 
coming in through the windows over the sink.  Mulder moved the rest of 
the way inside, eyes searching the darkness.  He heard nothing, no 
movement upstairs.
	"Sheila?  Jody?"
	He walked into the hallway, gun held out, wary.  He could feel 
Scully behind him, moving stealthily.  They reached the end of the 
hallway, he moved off to the left, she to the right.  	"Sheila, are 
you here?"
	"Sheila, we just want to talk to you."
	He kicked a door open--a bedroom.  He scanned the room, noting 
that it seemed to have been vacated in a hurry.  He kicked open the 
closet door.  Nothing.  He could hear Scully calling out Sheila's name 
farther down the hallway.
	A couple of minutes later, they met back in the kitchen.  Mulder 
holstered his 9mm and walked over to the sink to look out the window.  
The setting sun showed behind the trees, but there was no sign of anyone 
behind the house.
	He looked down, noticed a note on the counter.  He read it aloud.  
	"'Shel, I'm gonna be back in a few days.  Bo said the feds were 
around, so I'm splitting.  See ya soon, Babe,'" he read, picking it up.  
"Looks like Sheila Banks might not be the only person involved in this." 
	Scully walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door, peered 
inside.  
	"Hm.  Someone here eats a lot of yogurt," she said, reaching in.  
Mulder put the note back down and walked over behind her.  He looked in 
to see an entire top shelf filled with yogurt cups.  He grinned.
	"Ah, better sex in a week."
	Scully spun around.  
	"What?!"
	"Old wives' tale, Scull.  'Sweet curds'--yogurt, is supposed to 
increase libido...along with a couple of other exotic things," he 
grinned down at her.  She arched an eyebrow.
	"You seem to know quite a bit about sexually-related ancient 
beliefs, Mulder."	
	"And you thought I only read the magazines for the skin, eh?"
	She shook her head and backed out of the way as he leaned over to 
push the door closed.  In that movement, he brushed against her, and 
suddenly felt her close to him.  They both froze, supersensitive to the 
other's body.  He felt himself moving up to her.  Her eyes wide, she put 
her hands on his chest, fighting to push him away, but her arms felt 
weak, powerless.  
	He reached out and touched her hair, strain evident on his face--
but something else, also.  She trembled.  She saw a flickering in his 
eyes, and then he brought his face down closer to hers.  She could feel 
the muscles in her neck tighten as he brought both hands up to hold her 
face.  The muscles in her back tightened painfully.  He smiled.  Her 
eyes widened with fear--he lowered his head, the smile spreading further 
up his face.  Her heart pounded--she was petrified.  
	"Don't fight it," he whispered, and then his mouth closed over 
hers.  She panicked and tried to pull away, but his fingers only 
tightened around her face.  'My God, I can feel his tongue!' ran through 
her struggling mind for a second, and then she realized his words.  She 
let him.  She closed her eyes and could feel the tension dissipating 
from her muscles, and she suddenly found herself pressing against him, 
moving with him.  
	She could feel him smile against her lips, and she smiled back, 
briefly, savoring the taste of him.  Her hands moved of their own 
accord, up, up to his broad shoulders, over his collar, around his neck.
In acquiescence, he bent down, closer to her, slightly.  She smiled, 
enjoying the moving of his hands in her hair, pulling her up to him, 
felling a hunger in him that ignited her own.  She pressed herself 
against him--
	CRASH!  The kitchen door splintered, crashed open!  Shouting, then 
a female scream pierced the air.  
	Scully could feel bodies rush by them, the breezes slipping over 
the slight sheen on her skin.  A lone thought flitted by:  she should 
let him go...  She didn't want to pull back, to lose his taste, but her 
mind had been jarred away.  She reluctantly started to pull away, and 
felt Mulder doing the same.  Lips parted, her breath shallow, she tilted 
her head down and rested her forehead on his chin.  His hands moved down 
to her neck, holding her hair against her skin.  She could feel the rise 
and fall of his chest as her hands slipped back down.  She grasped the 
lapels of his overcoat. 
	Sounds of crashes and shouting carried down the hallway, then a 
single voice barking orders.  Someone was reading the Miranda Rights at 
the top of his lungs.  They stood silent, both leaning on one another 
for support.  A few moments went by, then the barking voice and bodies 
were coming closer to them.  
	Mulder gently squeezed her arm and then pulled back, releasing her.
She opened her eyes.
	Sheila Banks, handcuffed, was being escorted down the hallway 
towards them.  She was smiling at them, a light in her eyes.  She said 
nothing, only smiled, as the officers led her out the door.  
	The last officer came down the hallway a few seconds later, eyeing 
the two agents.  He was wearing a badge, and he tugged on it as he 
stepped into the kitchen and came up to them.  He wasn't smiling.
	"And who, may I ask, are you?"  
	"FBI, Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully," Mulder replied, 
fishing out his ID.  The officer's eyes narrowed when he saw it.
	"You two are the ones that called us in for backup?"  He stood 
eyeing them for a moment.
	"You did an incredibly efficient job here, Officer--" Mulder 
waited for a name.
	"Police *Chief* Jonah Wittenburg, Sturbridge Police," he stated, his 
eyes cold.  "If you two hadn't been standing here, so...preoccupied, you 
could've picked her up yourself.  What in the skies were you two doing, 
right in front of her?" 
	"Right in front of her?"  Scully was confused.  The man glared at 
her.
	"How could you two let her pull a gun on you like that and then 
stand there making out?  No wonder this whole country is going to pot.  
What do you people think this is, an excuse to play hickey while the 
suspect stands six feet away and watches?  I don't care if you're FBI or 
not, you'd better have a darn good explanation for this, or I'm going to 
have your butts hauled down to the station for neglect of duty.  I'm 
sure your A.D. Skinner would love to find out about that."
	Mulder glanced over at Scully for a second, then looked back at 
the enflamed man.
	"It's, ah, a long story," he grimaced, realizing how lame it 
sounded.  Wittenburg glared at him.
	"Yeah, I'll *bet* it is.  And you'll have all the time in the world 
to explain it to me down at the station."  He held out his hands 
expectantly.  Neither of them moved.  "Look, either you give them to me 
now or I book you for obstructing an officer.  Now."
	Scully sighed and took her gun out of its holster.  She made sure 
the safety  was on, removed the clip and the bullet in the chamber, and 
put the gun in his hand.  
	"I'm not required to turn my weapon over to you," Mulder bristled.
	"Now.  You've got one mark against you already."
	Mulder set his jaw.  Scully sighed.
	"Mulder, just give it to him.  You can get it back later."
	Without dropping his gaze, Mulder whipped out his gun and cleaned 
it.  He slapped it into Wittenburg's empty hand.
	"Now move.  Out."
	Wittenburg escorted them out to the car and down to the police 
station, scowling the entire way.

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

STURBRIDGE POLICE STATION
DETENTION ROOM
7:30 P.M.
	"No, sir.  It is nothing like what Chief Wittenburg was 
suggesting, sir."  Mulder was pacing the small room, his cel phone 
pressed to his ear.  Scully sat at the table in the center of the room, 
doodling small scribbles on a notepad.  Some of them looked vaguely like 
hearts.  She felt silly, as if she was turning back into a teenager.  
Putting the pencil down,  she looked up at Mulder, watching him pace 
back and forth.
	She smiled slightly to herself.  She was having fun watching 
Skinner make him squirm.  Mulder always acted so in control, so smug.  
Sitting back in her chair, she thought about the position they had been 
caught in.  No matter how one explained it, it still sounded terribly 
incriminating.  At the moment, Mulder was trying to convince Skinner 
that what they had done had saved their lives.  
	He had been right, Scully realized.  That was probably the reason 
why each of the other couples had died from stress--they had fought too 
hard.  As much as giving in seemed like a blow to her pride, she knew 
that they had had time on their side.  The police were coming too soon 
for anything truly regrettable to happen.  Wondering briefly what Bureau 
policy was in a case like this, she closed her eyes for a moment, 
remembering.  A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
	Mulder glanced over at Scully, frustrated.  She was sitting in the 
chair, eyes closed, a smile on her usually-serious face.  
	She was so beautiful when she smiled.  
	Scully opened her eyes and saw Mulder looking at her, eyes 
twinkling.  She doubted he was hearing a word that Skinner was roaring 
over the phone into his ear.  Suddenly, the squawking stopped.  Mulder 
didn't seem to have noticed.  Scully cleared her throat and he jumped, 
realizing the Assistant Director wasn't speaking any longer.
	"Oh, ah, yes sir."
	Skinner sighed; a long, drawn-out, exasperated sigh.  It occurred 
to Mulder that whatever Skinner had just said, 'yes' was not the correct 
answer to it.  He waited for the man to announce a indefinite suspension 
for unprofessional behavior while on duty.
	"Look, *I* really don't care what you and Agent Scully do on your 
personal time--as long as it doesn't detrimentally affect your work--"
	"Sir, Agent Scully and I have a completely platonic, professional 
relationship."
	Scully raised her eyebrows.
	"Uh huh.  And what happened today was just an effective way to 
save your lives," Skinner harumphed.  "I thought I'd heard it all 
already, with your half-cocked UFO-coverup conspiracy spiels that you 
somehow manage to accumulate increasing validity for.  Now you're--to 
put it plainly--kissing your partner for the sole purpose of keeping her 
alive?"
	Mulder mumbled a 'yes'.  
	"Let me speak to Agent Scully."
	Mulder handed the phone to her and turned to look out of the small 
window in the door.  Wittenburg glared through it at him.  He turned 
back to watching Scully.
	"Yes sir?"
	"Have you written up a report yet, Agent Scully?"
	"Yes, sir.  I've filed it with the station, here, and Agent Mulder 
has a copy to include in our records."
	"Fine, then.  Fax me a copy immediately."
	"Yes sir."
	"Oh, and Scully..."
	"Yes?"
	"Get that partner of yours into bed, soon.  He's going to need it 
when I see him tomorrow."
	Scully grinned.  She could picture Skinner's face.  Why not push 
it just a little?  It couldn't hurt their situation any more than it 
already was.
	"Ah...'into bed', sir?"
	"Don't...go...there,  Agent...Scully," he said, sounding muffled. 
	"Yes sir."  The phone clicked off.  She handed it back to Mulder.
	"What'd he want?"
	"A fax of our report."
	"That's it?"  Mulder looked skeptical.
	"Yep."
	Mulder knocked on the door to signal the guard to let them out of 
the room.

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

	Wittenburg handed them back their weapons and accompanied them to 
the door.  Neither of them said anything to him and he tugged on his 
badge for a moment.  Mulder was frustrated that they had accomplished so 
little.  Sheila had been taken away before Wittenburg was satisfied with 
his paperwork and lecturing to let them go.  He had shuffled the papers 
around, demanded to speak to Skinner, and generally had just made a 
nuisance of himself.  Mulder had wanted to speak with the girl, but she 
was gone.  The report faxed, Wittenburg had pushed them towards the 
door, his animosity evident.  Scully was tired; she allowed herself to 
be pushed along.  When they reached the door, Wittenburg cleared his 
throat, looked a little hesitant.
	Mulder gritted his teeth.  What did this annoying little man have 
to rail against them now?  He had heard enough loaded assumptions about 
their relationship in the past two hours to bring him to the point of 
violence.  The thought of soundly decking the self-righteous little 
police chief was becoming more and more appealing by the second.
	"I, ah, have a message for you.  From the Banks girl. She asked me 
to tell you this before you left:  'It took you a while, but you finally 
understood.'  Oh, and she wanted to be invited to the wedding."
	Mulder made a low sound in his throat and Scully put a restraining 
hand on his arm.  She turned an angry look on the man.
	"Let's go, Mulder," she said, and turned, guiding him out the 
door.  Wittenburg pushed his hands into his pockets and smiled as he 
watched them leave.
	"I wasn't lying, you know!" he shouted after them.
	They ignored him as the door swung shut behind them.

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

8:45 P.M.
	They found a small diner near the hotel and ordered a late 
supper.  Throughout the meal, both of them were uncharacteristically 
quiet, and somewhat tense.  Scully was acutely aware of Mulder's 
movements across the table, and she felt uncomfortable.  She missed 
their usual over-dinner banter, the discussion of the case, their easy 
relationship.  The waitress had courteously taken their orders and 
brought the food, but Scully noticed that the girl was definitely 
avoiding the table.  The lack of conversation made for a strained 
situation.  She really couldn't blame her.
	Scully poked and nibbled at her food.  She was hungry, but she 
couldn't quite bring herself to eat.  It wasn't the food--the fish and 
chips were fine.  She stole a glance now and then at her partner, 
carefully avoiding eye contact.  He seemed to be having no trouble 
devouring his meal.  It figures, she thought.  No matter what is 
happening, he can eat without trepidation.  It was one of his more 
endearing qualities.  She used to think that he made glib remarks just 
to drive her crazy, but the more she considered it, she realized that 
those same remarks were what allowed him to be able to eat a meal after 
just having seen a bloody and grisly scene.
	She poked a bit at her fish, took a sip of her Coke.  /This is 
getting painful,/ she thought, /when I have to consciously consider each 
movement to eat./  No, this was ridiculous.  The two of them had been 
close friends and partners for almost four years now, they had spent 
thousands of hours together.  They were both mature adults.  She looked 
up at him--he was looking at her.  They both quickly looked down at 
their food again.
	She sighed and put down her fork.
	"This is ridiculous.  Mulder, look at me."
	He looked up at her.  They eyed one another for a moment.  
	 "What's bothering you?"
	He raised an eyebrow in surprise, as if he considered the question 
entirely irrelevant.
	"What do you mean, 'what's bothering me'?  What's got you poking 
at your food and obsessing over whether or not to take another sip of 
soda or to dip your fry in the ketchup?  Just eat, Scully.  We can talk 
later."
	"What's that, your life's motto?"
	"I suppose.  I don't want to start a deep and time-consuming 
conversation here, right now.  I want to get back to the room and crash 
into bed.  Skinner's probably sharpening his knives right now, waiting 
for his favorite piece of meat to come sheepishly walking into his 
office tomorrow, and I'd like to be ready for him," he said, matter-of-
factly.  Scully grinned at his perception.  He knew.
	"Besides," he nodded his head over towards the kitchen and the 
waitresses.  "This place is closing in about ten minutes."
	Scully looked over at the clock, alarmed. 
	"Eat up, Scully," he grinned, popping a fry into his mouth.
				*************************
10:15 P.M.
	"You can't be serious!  I don't think aliens had anything to do 
with this, Mulder. Sheila Banks was just a seriously messed up young 
woman."
	Scully pushed the door to her room open and stalked inside.  
Mulder came in behind her, his eyes shining mischievously.
	"But no one's ever encountered anyone with her...unique 
abilities.  Isn't it just slightly plausible that she could have 
acquired this psychic ability from abduction experiences?  That 
extraterrestrial sources might consider it more efficient to induce 
human copulation by using one of us as the tool, thereby diverting our 
attention away from any non-human involvement and subsequently allowing 
them to study our behavior without anyone becoming aware of their 
existence?"
	She sighed and sat down on the bed.  "And cockroaches are really 
alien surveillance equipment.  You'd at least think that if these beings 
were so intelligent, they'd use something that looked more appealing.  
Most people flatten cockroaches at the first chance they get, so it just 
seems like an incredibly inefficient way to watch us," she stated, 
pulling off her shoes.  She got up and started ushering him out of her 
room.  They both reached for their respective doorknobs on the 
connecting doors when Mulder suddenly turned towards her.  
	"You have a good point, Scully.  Maybe cockroaches aren't all 
they're using..."
	"Go to bed, Mulder."
	 They both were swinging the connecting doors closed, each smiling 
on their own sides.
	"Good night, Scully."
	"Good night, Mulder."
	*Click.*
								8-1-97

© 1997 Rachel Smith