From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 1/21 by Windsinger Date: 26 Jul 1995 00:08:07 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE - An X-Files Novel (1/21) By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/26/95 SYNOPSIS: Mulder takes on a special assignment when a woman from one of his earliest cases reenters his life and Scully learns to follow her insticts. RATING: I'll rate this NC-13 for adult themes ('You did what!?!'), mild sex (I write suggestive sex. Believe me, compared to the stuff I've read on the net, this is MILD!), a few bad words (well, they were bad when I was a kid. "When was that?" "When dirt was new.") and violence (Kids don't try this with your friends.). (Chapter 7 pushes the limit of PG-13 but is an integral part of the story.) AUTHOR's NOTES: Here it is. Started this is February. Took a long time and probably should take a little longer, but editing, like testing computer software, will expand to fill the available time and then some.) Since Chapter 1 is fairly short, I've included at the end a little essay about the writing in general and about this series, REVELATIONS, of which THE ABDUCTEE is the fourth and by far the longest installment. ***BE reassured,**** THE ABDUCTEE can be read alone. So can THE BOX and MEMORIES. The sequal to THE ABDUCTEE, MILE HIGH, has been written and is ready to be posted. The first story in REVELATIONS (called REVELATIONS and which is still being written) takes place after the fifth episode of the program (The Jersey Devil) and the rest of the REVELATIONS series in the latter half of the first season, after FIRE and after TOOMS ('I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you, Mulder.') and before the ERLENMEYER FLASK. 1. REVELATIONS: In process as of 8/95. 2. THE BOX (On Ftp.cs.nmt.edu) 3. THE VACATION (This is just a working title so far. I only have a vague outline about this one.) 4. THE ABDUCTEE 5. MILE HIGH 6. MEMORIES (A revision will be posted after MILE HIGH. The original from March is on ftp.cs.nmt.edt parts 01, 02, 03 and will be replaced by the revision. Note: There is another story on this site with extension .TXT which is not mine. Sorry about the identical titles. I try to check these things out.) 7. JUST THE TWO OF US: Under construction as of 8/95 (It's a toss up whether this or REVELATIONS will be done first.) 8. SKUNKED AGAIN: probably. Great title, though. Not in this series: DO NOT GO GENTLE (on ftp.cs.nmt.edu) DELIVER US FROM EVIL (posted 4/17) WEDDING, version B (The Action-Adventure Version) in MacSpooky's GENERATIONS series and with her spirit and support. (posted early August 1995) WALKERS (working title: There's already a fan fiction called 'Walker'.) Coming late in the fall. Probably rivals THE ABDUCTEE in length. THANKS: Thanks to all the other creative writers, too numerous to mention, who, consciously and unconsciously, contributed to this work, but especially to IZZYCAT for her early comments and friendship, to YOUKNEEK for her excellent and painstaking editing, to LIVENGOO for her input and encouragement ("Come on, you can do better than that!"), and Tara for her medical input which sometimes I chose to ignore (Sorry, Tara). Now ... finally... (about time) on with THE ABDUCTEE... hope you like it. This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys (unisex personal pronoun intended), for creating this marvelous stuff. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty THE ABDUCTEE - Section I: The Witness and the Bodyguard Chapter 1 Washington DC "Evening, Mitch." The convenience store owner, Mitch Legget, looked around at the sound of the soft door chime and the casual youthful greeting. He groaned, stretching up from where he had been restocking the lower shelves. "Yo, Reti. How'd the English test go?" A teenager, obviously street wise and comfortable here, walked towards the center counter, his huge unlaced athletic shows making artful waffle smudges on the linoleum as he brought a good deal of wet in along with himself and his backpack. The boy took a stick of beef jerky from the cup by the cash register. "Yo, Mitch," he mimicked. "How come every night it's the same thing? How'd the math test go, Reti? How'd the history test go, Reti? There's more to life than takin' tests, Mitch." The boy's smile became more of a leer. "I'm not interested in your love affairs. It's a wonder that the girls are." The boy sat up on the counter, as quick and nimble as a cat. "Har, har, Mitch." "I'm interested in how well you're doing in school. With this job taking so much of your time I worry about your grades - and your attendance. Your parole board won't be happy if you don't stay in school." The boy opened the stick of beef jerky and began to eat. The older man stopped his work long enough to stab a finger towards the cash register. "Don't forget to pay for that." "Do I ever?" "Sometimes." The boy spun around on the counter and leaped off into the U- shaped space behind the cash register. Then he dug into his jeans and pulled out some coins which he dropped into the box. "There. I pay my way, Mitch." "Yeah, the Chain always do, but with whose money?" The boy closed the cash register and looked up with mock dismay. "Mitch, I'm insulted. I'm clean." "Maybe," the older man grunted. In fact, he knew the boy was. Reti had been trying hard. He just needed someone to get on his case every once in while. From outside, thunder rumbled and the sound of rain became suddenly louder. Since the store was located in the center of the city and most of their clientele were walk ins, it would be a light night. "You won't have much traffic tonight, Reti. Just try to stay awake, okay?" Still chewing, the boy headed for the back room. "Which is why I'm off to catch some winks. Wake me in three hours, Mitch." Mitch Legget looked up at the clock. When he had finished restocking, he had reorganized most of the displays on the west wall, but time still seemed to be creeping by. He was tired. An hour to go before the boy took over for the night shift and then his sixteen hour day would be over. He wanted his bed. It *had* been a slow night. The rain had continued to come down in sheets. He had had only three customers since the boy went down for his nap, and they had not been regular customers who liked to chat. Suddenly, the room filled with light as the store owner heard the muffled roar of a very powerful engine. Mitch shielded his eyes and strained to look through the store window. From the height of the light source, it was one of those jacked up pickups with floods and, although he heard the engine shut down, the brights and the floods continued to blaze. The occupied parking space was one of the four which had an unobstructed view inside the store and stark black shadows of displays and shelving and door and window frames were now thrown against the walls amidst the general wash of white. Mitch heard the car door open and close, but the lights still blazed. Mitch wondered why the driver didn't turn those damn things off. The storekeeper came around to the front of the counter as the front door opened, its bell chiming. He squinted for a moment, beginning to be a little concerned, and then relaxed and smiled. "Oh, it's you. You said you'd be back. I found a back copy of that magazine you wanted." Mitch had turned towards the counter when he suddenly jerked and cried out in astonishment and pain. He stared back at his assailant with wide-eyed confusion before slumping to the floor. Blood was spurting from a huge hole the knife had made in his stomach. The swipe to his neck was unnecessary but added a little more color to the scene. *** Sunday 10pm, two weeks later Washington, DC Dana Scully leaned against the door frame of her bathroom, arms crossed and smiling wickedly. "It is, Mulder." "It is not," Fox Mulder said seriously, as he leaned forward to stare at his reflection in the mirror. "Live with it, Mulder. It's a sunburn. It won't kill you." Carefully, he touched the skin of his nose. It was definitely pink. "It wasn't there when we left." "Sometimes these things take a little while to develop," Dana told him, leaning in to look at her own image next to Mulder's. She had to admit, even through she had used copious amounts of sun block, her fair skin had a much more distinctive glow than when they had left Washington three days before. With her complextion, she hoped when the 'glow' disappeared there would be some tan left. She took in the view of the two of them in the mirror, both scruffy from their last day on the boat and the long flight back that evening. Mulder was dressed in jeans and his new Key West sweatshirt. Dana wore Dockers and her favorite flannel pullover. She marveled, as she always did, at the differences in their heights. Funny, she never felt as short as she obviously looked. "You'll wear make up tomorrow, right?" he asked, looking at the auburn-haired woman in the mirror. "Mulder, I always do. What's gotten into you?" He looked down on her from his greater height, his expression a bit chagrined. "I just didn't want both of us to go into work with... you know." Dana's eyes widened. "Sunburns, Mulder? All this is because you don't want *both* of us showing up with sunburns?" She rolled her eyes, turned on her heel and marched into the living room, talking back to him over her shoulder. "Is that why you kept smearing that aluminum gunk on all weekend?" He slouched after her. "Some people might get the wrong impression," he said with perfect sincerity. Dana thought with amazement. "Mulder, we're together for weeks at a time. If we wanted to *do* something, we wouldn't have to fly all the way to Key West to do it. Besides, the little bit of pink you have will probably be gone by tomorrow." "Do you think so?" He put his forefinger on the end of his nose and tried to look at it cross-eyed. Playfully, Dana batted his hand away. "Didn't your mother ever tell you never to do that." He raised his shoulders, smiling with mock innocence. "She tried, but remember, I'm incorrigible." She opened the door and stood holding it for him. "Mulder, I think it's time for you to go home. It's been a long day and I need to sleep, even if you don't." Hands in pockets, he moved towards the door but stopped in the doorway as if unsure of what to do next. He was so close that Dana had to look up to see his face. He had the attitude of someone who had something to say, or was his lingering in her doorway just her imagination? Was he as loath to leave as she was to see him go? This was weird. They had not been out of each other's sight for almost six weeks. Logically, they both should be longing for a little privacy by now. "Mulder, it's time for you to go home," she repeated. When he didn't move, she took his arm and propelled him onto the flagstones on the front porch of her apartment house. "Home, Mulder. I'll see you at work tomorrow." He was still standing close, almost leaning towards her, but making no move to touch her. "Scully." "What, Mulder?" "Thanks for inviting me along." "Mulder, I thought you had invited me." "Did I?" Dana sighed in exasperation and gave him a gentle push down the steps. "Good *night*, Mulder," and then she lingered herself to watch him trot down to the street. For a lanky man he was incredibly graceful. She felt her eyes straying to the way he moved in his jeans, which reminded her of how he had looked in that little thing he called a bathing suit. She knew he wore it regularly at the pool when he did laps. Then why had he seemed bashful about wearing it in front of her? He had nothing of which to be ashamed. She pulled into her mind the vision of his exquisite body, pale and long, and as sleek and nimble as a seal, diving deeply in and among the coral and schools of bright, flashing fish. She wondered if the memory of her own physique had been enticing enough to be catalogued somewhere special in that unique brain of his. With a gentle smile on her face, Dana wandered languidly back into her apartment shutting the door behind her. As he slid into the front seat of his car, Fox watched Dana Scully disappear behind the closing door. He paused before turning on the ignition, for he wanted to catch a glimpse of her dim silhouette as she moved from room to room. Finally, he moved the car forward and drove around the block only to park once more on her street, facing her building, though from about half a block away. Now, no one could say he was sitting in front of her building, but he was close enough to see the lights from her apartment. Fox got out and sat on the hood. Wrapped in his long black coat, he leaned against the windshield, thinking and allowing himself to be held by the warm glow from those distant lights. Fox had always known Dana Scully was lovely. He had known that from the moment she first walked into his office, and he had sworn then that he would get back at whoever had assigned such a distracting woman to spy on him. In time, he saw past her stubborn insistance that everything must have a logical, scientific explanation. He respected the way she stood up to him and dared him to defend his theories - well, most of the time anyway. He had learned to enjoy her wit and her intelligence and to admire her courage and strength. He praised the day he had somehow earned her respect and her loyalty, but he had never allowed himself to think upon the femaleness, the animal core of her, that lay underneath the partner he had learned to trust with his very life. And now he could not stop thinking about it. Fox had always been attracted to dark, leggy women. Scully was neither dark, nor, in her petiteness, could she be considered leggy. For this reason, he had been afraid that, physically, he would find her less appealing, because she did not fit his dream girl image. Then, three days ago, he had watched her swimming. Free and smiling, like a wild thing, graceful and fearless, skimming above the crest of the coral reef like a mermaid surrounded by flights of glorious colored fish, which parted and dashed and sailed at her passage. What he had discovered was that, for once in his life, he was looking upon a woman as a sexual being and yet he did not see legs or breasts or even face, but only the total person, the loveliness of her soul, as one with the loveliness of her body. Abruptly, he drew his long coat closely around his lean legs as if he felt a chill. This line of thinking would not do either of them any good. He could not allow himself to get involved with Dana Scully. For one, there was the very big problem with Bureau restrictions concerning partners becoming romantically involved. And, anyway, what did he have to offer her? Physically he considered himself unexceptional except that he had been all arms and legs and feet for as long as he could remember. He had been uncoordinated as a kid, and even now, more often than not, he was the one who ended up in the emergency room after a case. He was not the most accurate shot with a weapon and far from the most skilled in unarmed combat. When he publicly expounded on his theories, he embarrassed Scully so often he wondered why she stayed with him. He was obsessive about his work, he knew that, and he doubted he would ever change. He was also moody and had a tricky temper that sometimes got away from him and lashed out indiscriminately at whoever happened to be handy. And the 'who', more often than not, turned out to be Scully. Add to that the despairing fact that he had never been successful with women and you had a pretty sorry candidate for hot catch of the month. What he had with Scully now was the best, the very best, most satisfying relationship he had ever had with anyone. He dared not risk that. Not for anything. Only when the lights went off in her apartment an hour later, did Fox unwind himself from the hood of his car. Slowly, he drove home to his empty apartment. End of Chapter 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- ABOUT THIS SERIES AND HOW THESE THINGS CAME TO BE (for those who are interested. Not necessary to understand the story.): First off, I never intended to write a series. I wrote, THE BOX and, by the time I got to the end, it logically needed to have a sequel. The working title of that one is THE VACATION (not to be confused with the fantic VACATION). No, I haven't written it yet. I'm trying to hang an X-file type shell around sailing, snorkling and sun block and I haven't come up with one yet. I don't remember where the idea for THE ABDUCTEE came from, but I've been working on it since February. I decided early on that conflict would best be served if events in THE ABDUCTEE could temporarily sidetrack the logical progress of Mulder and Scully's relationship hinted at in THE BOX and continued in THE VACATION. (Yeah, I know, which I haven't written.) But never fear, the end of Chapter 1 and the beginning of Chapter 2 fill in the important stuff you need to know from the VACATION. (Dana and Fox were nice enough to let me in on what happened so this would all make more sense to the rest of us.) After 90% of THE ABDUCTEE was completed and while it was incubating (waiting for the numerous revisions and this one had *a lot* of them), I got the idea for MEMORIES and finished that one within two weeks. I want to thank everyone for their very, very kind words about that one. Like THE ABDUCTEE, MEMORIES was not necessarily begun as part of the series but since their relationship was set up so well for it, why not? That turned out to be a good decision because one of those nice people who commented on MEMORIES (I forget who but I want to thank you, thank you, thank you) wanted to know more about what happened before MEMORIES so one day on my way to taking my kids to a petting zoo I created the second half of MILE HIGH in my head. The title determined the shape of this one. The first half of MILE HIGH came in response to a question posed by one of THE ABDUCTEE's editors. MILE HIGH is really, therefore, two stories. It is about 40 pages and is complete and ready for posting as soon as THE ABDUCTEE has been posted. It is a bridge in time between THE ABDUCTEE and MEMORIES from Mulder's point of view. THE ABDUCTEE was also edited *again* after MILE HIGH was completed, so it fits in better now than it would have initially and MEMORIES revised after that. Now, the sequel to all of these (it *is* about time to get these two back together) is JUST THE TWO OF US, which is in a complete state of disorganization (a scene here, a scene there, lots of scribbled dialogue and notes in stenographer's notebooks, and more in my head and it's already about 100K, but at least I know where it is going). This will take some time but I will complete it before I get back to what I once thought was my long story, WALKERS, which I started in January before I ever logged onto the Internet or read my first X files fanfic. (WALKERS is NOT related to the REVELATIONS series.) *If* there is another one after JUST THE TWO OF US, it will be similar to THE BOX in that it will be light (bet you didn't think THE BOX was light), which will make a nice parallel structure for the series and will be titled 'SKUNKED AGAIN'. (That's an in-joke for those of you who have read THE BOX.) Yes, I know, it sounds like Jackie St. George, Dana and Fox sitting around playing poker. (X-file creative fiction in-joke! Credit to Sheryl Martin) *That* won't happen, but at this time I have no idea what will. Late addition: I've gotten inspired and I now have the cornerstone piece of this series in my mind and some in the computer. It's called REVELATIONS and it takes place after episode 5 of the program (Jersey Devil). The basic story behind REVELATIONS is mentioned in passing in the ABDUCTEE (don't ask ME where, I only wrote the thing.) Just send me your guesses about what you think it's about. (Hint, it does NOT concern Phoebe.) One more thing, any similarity in scene or dialogue or plot with other fantic is completely coincidental. I've read stories written last year which I am just getting around to reading which have similar scenes to those in THE ABDUCTEE and there are ones which have been posted while I've been final editing this monster which have similarities. (Sometimes I despair. It's so painful to see what I thought were my original ideas in other stories.) The writers all know we are working in a very small universe here and great minds will think alike. Readers, please be aware, writers are influenced by other writers and inspired by them, but none of use would directly copy from another without acknowledgement. We all want to be original. Please try to read each story as unique and don't sigh and think "Oh, THAT again. I just read that last week." For readers of MEMORIES: Please read the revision of MEMORIES which will be posted after MILE HIGH (get your hankies first) and replace any copies of the original you may have with the revision. I think it is better though not much which is significant has been changed except for the final sentance and punctuation. ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 2/21 by Windsinger Date: 26 Jul 1995 00:08:17 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (2/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/26/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 2 Blue Monday 7am Washington DC Dana Scully woke up the next morning and gloried in how wonderful it felt to stretch out in one's own bed. More than six weeks had passed since she had been able to do that, but, surprisingly, she was not in the mood to sleep in. She bounded out of bed, actually looking forward to going to work, though she admitted most of her eagerness stemmed from being able to be with Mulder again. First work, then maybe pizza, a movie, espresso - and afterwards? Better slow down, Dana, she told herself. He is already as nervous as a fox at a beagle rally. Besides, hadn't she been down this road before? Hadn't she already convinced herself of how impractical, not to mention unprofessional, it would be for them to have any kind of a relationship beyond what they had? Then why did she feel like she needed more convincing. Dana plunged under the shower, remembering diving off the boat into the cool water. Their enforced vacation had come to an end far too soon. Unfortunately, that fickle female, Fate, had obviously found the time to enjoy herself and work against them again. Even in Key West, with miles of ocean between them and the outside world, circumstances over which they had no control managed to get in the way of their exploring any of their deeper feelings. Figuratively at least, there never seemed to be time to stick their toes in the water and see if there were any sharks. True, once Mulder had been on the verge of saying something meaningful but then... Dana tossed her wet hair out of her eyes in frustration. That man was impossible! She had given him the right signals to show she was interested, but he had not responded. Not in any obvious way. Not until tonight and that had not been obvious either. There was something odd about tonight. Something odd about him. Maybe the trip had been too - artificial. Now that they were back, she might see the change she was looking for. As she dressed, Dana reviewed her impressions about Mulder from the night before and decided that, yes, a nice normal X-file would actually fit the bill rather well to settle him down and help him feel on safe ground again. She would like it, too. Perhaps it was time to go slow and let him catch up. Yes, just the two of them, out on the road. Just as long there was nothing too gross about the case or too violent or too dangerous. Nothing in the rain or in the snow and nothing - nothing - in the woods. Arriving at FBI Headquarters, Dana headed for her cubical on the third floor near the pathology lab to look over the considerable pile of mail that had collected since she had been gone. She also kept a desk in the X-Files office in the basement, but had asked the office staff to leave most of her mail here so that it would not get lost in Mulder's mess. Besides, they had been together almost constantly for more than a month. Dana wanted to give him a little space, a little time to miss her. When ten o'clock had come and gone with no word from Mulder, however, Dana found herself pacing the hallway outside the pathology lab. Dressed in the lightest colored suit she dare wear in November, the one that would set off her new 'glow' to its best advantage , she had accepted some nice compliments from both sexes, but still there was no sign of the man. Finally admitting that *she* missed him, Dana decided to take a little stroll down just to say 'hi'. There was no sign of Fox Mulder in the cluttered basement office. From the look of his 'In Box' and his 'Out Box', not the official ones but the piles that she knew he considered his in and out boxes, he had been 'in'. She called and looked around and, because the star field screen saver was displayed on his computer, expected to see him on his hands and knees excavating some unfiled toxicological report from one of the piles under the large work table where he kept such things. But no Mulder. Dana was definitely perplexed. Around the agency leaving your ID logged on was a definite 'no-no' and he could get in trouble if anyone other than she had caught the lapse. This was definitely unlike him. Shamelessly, Dana indulged in a little snooping in his e-mail. She did not consider this an invasion of his privacy, for they had no secrets from each other as far as work was concerned, and few others outside of that, with the obvious exception of how they truly felt about each other. They had even traded passwords, never knowing when access might be needed at a moment's notice. Clicking down she finally found it. He had been called down to Assistant Director Skinner's office for a nine o'clock meeting, and he was probably still there. What puzzled her was that she had not been included. Not that she was always called in when Mulder was, especially when Skinner was in the mood for reading the riot act, but, if they were being given a new assignment, she was always interested in being in on the very beginning. Dana found that a case started out more smoothly if she was around at the beginning to keep Mulder from making assumptions before she felt he had any solid evidence. Mulder, of course, always felt his theories were well-supported, even if his evidence was as insubstantial as that oddly colored patch of fog which was reported to have drifted across the face of the moon in 1952. Slowly, Dana took the stairs back up to her office. She actually did have a few cases to close out, for which her medical judgement was needed. She should attend to those before taking on anything new. Instinctively, she took the stairs because she knew Mulder always did, and she hoped to meet him on the way. He always complained about not getting enough exercise. Sure enough, hearing the sound of large male feet on the stairs, she looked up and saw him, though he did not see her. He was staring at the contents of a thick file he carried and being totally Mulder, that is, totally introspective. "Hey, Mulder," she said, smiling as he drew alongside. He would have seen her special slow and beautiful smile if he had bothered to look. He glanced up absently. "Hi, Scully. How's it going?" he muttered automatically and just kept moving, not waiting for an answer. Dana stared at his back until he had rounded the bend in the stairs, amazement on her pretty face. 'Hi, Scully. How's it going?' They had just spent the last month and a half together, scarcely a waking minute out of each other's sight, and he tosses her 'Hi, Scully. How's it going?' Sadly, Dana had to admit he had that look on his face that said he had a case, a serious one, something that disturbed him but did not yet excite him. But as disappointed as she was for herself, she was more disappointed for him. If only he had been given a couple of days, even one day, to bask in the simple contentment he also had seemed to find on their brief, but much needed get away. Wearily, Dana climbed the last flight of stairs to the third floor. He should be happy about one thing at least this morning, she thought. There was no hint of sunburn on his face. *** For Dana, the rest of the morning and most of her afternoon actually passed very quickly and was both productive and interesting. She participated in the peer reviews of cases presented by three rookie forensic specialists and was able to prove in all cases that there were significant items that the young go-getters had missed. She also felt that the reviews had been handled diplomatically so that none of the rookies had come away feeling that they were being put down for their deficiencies. Dana never knew when, needing a fresh eye, she would need to call upon one of them to play devil's advocate for her. By late afternoon she felt she had done a good day's work for her pay; however, she still was itchy about Mulder. A yellow sticky note never appeared pinned to her chair and there was no e-mail message from him. Nothing. Finally, unable to stand being ignored any longer, she headed back down to the basement. Dana found him slumped in his battered desk chair, his feet on his desk, looking as glum as when she had seen him on the stairs. He also seemed to be staring at the same thick file he had been reading that morning, only it was balanced, for the moment, on his knees. "Hey, Mulder," she said, repeating his earlier greeting down to the inflection. "How's it going?" He looked up from his reading and smiled a little, giving no indication that he had seen her that morning at all. Dana drew her own chair up close to his, a clear signal that she was not going anywhere until he talked. "I can see you have a new case. Anything I can do to help?" Without enthusiasm he picked up the thick file and passed it to her. "It's actually an old one, or a variation on an old one." He raised his eyes to her. Dana could sense this was going to be a long story, containing bits that could not be found in the official report. The file was put aside, time enough to examine it later. Dana listened carefully, needing to know why he looked so sad. "I was assigned to a case at the end of my first year out of the academy," he began. "I already had a reputation for unorthodox theories, but no long string of successes to balance them out. The successes I'd had were dismissed as aberrations, lucky guesses." Just remembering brought the frustration he had felt into his voice. "And I didn't have a regular partner because no one really felt comfortable working with me except when they had to." He gave her a small appreciative smile. She knew now that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. He was just having a bad day. "Then came this case... Angela Larson." The inflection of his voice went up as he pronounced all the syllables of that name distinctly. "She had a *significant* history. Reports of being followed, being molested. Her parents even reported her missing on three occasions, but she always turned up with no memory of what had transpired. Even then I was eager to investigate cases with this sense of the abnormal. I asked for the assignment." "Was it an X-File?" Dana asked. His eyes rested significantly at the cabinet under discussion. "No. Actually, I didn't even know about the X-Files then, but the possibilities intrigued me. I spent two weeks trying to substantiate her story. That's a long time when the victim isn't even missing, but I found nothing. Finally, I ordered a new batch of psychological tests ... regression hypnosis, for example, to try to find out what happened during her blank periods." "And?" Dana asked. When he was silent for a long time, she continued, "I gather from your expression that the results were inconclusive." Fox did not answer immediately. He was examining the cracks in the ancient ceiling. The FBI headquarters looked pretty good from the outside but he knew a new face had simply been wrapped around a very old shell and the internal arrangement of rooms, especially in the basement, testified to its real age. Thinking back on a case eight years previous, as if it were yesterday, made the rapid passing of years disturbing. "Not just inconclusive, but negative. They found nothing. I finally had to come to the same conclusion as her parent's doctors; that much of what she reported was caused by a singular assortment of phobias. She was just afraid, totally afraid of everything." He took his feet down off the desk and stared at the floor. "Scully, I'm afraid that I was not very discrete." "You don't have to tell me this, Mulder, if you don't want to." He must have seen the slight frown appear on her lips. She was good at hiding what was on her mind, but not so good that he couldn't tell that she was reading more into his statement than he had intended. Oddly, not like her. "Oh, nothing like what you're thinking. We got close, but it was not - like that." He seemed on the verge of being insulted that she would think such a thing of him. "I'm afraid I frightened her as much as her fear of what was happening during the blank times." His eyes betrayed some inward directed anger. He brought his right fist down on his leg and did not look at Dana. "I was so eager! I wanted so much to report a case as being caused by unexplained phenomena that I - unintentionally - planted a suggestion in her mind that her problems might stem from her being the victim of an alien abduction. It all seemed to fit at the time." Dana nodded. It would to him. Now she saw, partially, why he was upset, but if that was all there was to this case, why should he be bothered to this extent? "I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but if that's the kind of indiscretion you claim to have committed, you're still doing it. Not on a regular basis," she added, seeing his wounded expression, "but often enough." "Very Funny, Scully. But, my abduction theory was only part of the problem. I thought because she was not underage and she was willing, that I could talk this out with her directly. Add to that, her parents didn't want anything to do with me, my investigation or my theories, and you have the makings of a disaster. I was stupid thinking that I wasn't ethically bound to include the family." He looked up and his eyes were sad. "Scully, she was unstable." Dana made an 'Oh' shape with her lips. Hesitantly, she concluded, trying not be sound judgmental, "So she went off the deep end." He was staring off into space again, remorse showing in every muscle of his slumped posture. "All the way to the bottom. Her parents committed her, for eight years to a psychiatric hospital called Longmead. And nothing in her records from that period supports the possibility of abduction. The clinical judgement was that her reported harassments were part of some teenage fantasy, not helped by *my* theories, by the way. Her blank times were attributed to schizophrenic episodes." Dana sat back in her chair. That would certainly explain his misery, his guilt. "You were young, inexperienced. You can't blame yourself." He jumped out of the chair, anger flaring. She was surprised he had actually stayed put so long. His finger stabbed the air. "Why can't I? I was a trained psychologist. I was supposed to be good. I thought I *was* good. Read too many of my own damned press releases." He kicked the trash can and sent it rolling, its contents scattering. "I should have known better!" Dana had had a few psychology courses herself and having to deal with Mulder, she wished she had had a few more. "We go through life doing the best we can. Often that's not good enough, but," she lifted her shoulders, "we try. That's all we can expect." "No, it's not," he growled. "What's the Hypocratic oath? 'Do no harm'? Yeah, well, I blew it." Enough of this, Dana thought with exasperation. She knew him well enough that, if he wanted to wallow in self pity, she could not stop him. Only work could do that. Back to the subject. "So what does this have to do with your current assignment? Is the case being reopened?" He seemed to have forgotten the case for a minute. Dana could see him physically shake himself to bring his mind back to the present. "No, this is something entirely different. Angela Larson was released three months ago. Four days ago she was the only witness to the murder of a convenience store owner, Mitch Legget, and the suspect she has identified is a member of the Chain." Dana's eyes grew wide. "This woman can't get a break, can she?" Dana was familiar with the Washington, D.C. gang that called itself 'the Chain'. This was no two-bit drug distribution ring. The FBI believed it was the keystone in a larger east coast consortium that dealt not only in heavy drugs, but prostitution, money laundering, extortion and a little murder for hire on the side. "Is she going to testify?" Most people wouldn't. Far too dangerous. Mulder leaned against the desk, his hands in his pockets. "That's the interesting part. She's willing, so the D.A. should be thrilled." "But he isn't," Dana noted. "Maybe he's thinking as a witness she might be less than persuasive?" "And he may be right. She's scared to death. She could easily fold on the stand. And the stress cannot be good for her mental health." "No other substantiating evidence? Security camera?" "The electronics lab thinks the owner let his maintenance contract expire. The tape is overexposed, washed out." Mulder stared at the opposite wall, but his eyes were unfocused. "So they need her and have offered to put her in the Witness Protection Program to keep her safe. The trouble is, she's about as afraid of the police as she is of the Chain. The D.A.'s office is bending over backwards to find someone she can trust to protect her and support her through this." Dana prided herself on putting two and two together and coming out with four. Mulder often came out with five, but then his mathematics, like his physics, often defied commonly accepted laws. Now her eyes showed a stormy ocean blue as the truth sunk in. "Oh, Mulder, no. She hasn't." For the first time, a ghost of his slightly crooked smile graced his lips. "I always said you were bright, Scully." "Then she has asked for you to function as her case officer? Her bodyguard?" "Ancient and stressful as our relationship was, she has." "I'm surprised she remembered your name." "She didn't. She 'described' me." There was that slight self- deprecating smile again which Dana hated. "There aren't too many agents in my age bracket who would hazard alien abduction as a possible explanation for erratic disappearances. It took about three seconds for the local FBI office to supply my name." Dana thought. "Mulder, your reputation precedes you." "Lucky me." Dana pondered. This was weird, human coincidence weird, but not an X-File. His guilt is talking. She knew Mulder could be overly sensitive sometimes. Dana stood up and walked over to stand in front of him, hands on hips. The movement was meant to signify, As if it were a given, she said, "Well, I take it you said, 'no'." His silence and his refusal to look in her direction answered that one plainly enough. "Mulder! Even if they disregard the X-Files, which they usually do, you're still the best analyst in violent crimes. You're unique, to say it simple and clear. I'm surprised that Skinner would allow it and I'm more surprised you would accept. Your talents would be wasted. Such baby sitting assignments are for - " she did not say it aloud, but Mulder knew that only the most junior, or the most talentless, officers were assigned to that sort of thankless, boring duty. Suddenly, a thought came to her that made the storm in her eyes clear a little. "I heard they are not mixing sexes on assignments like this so much any more. Female client; male officer. Too much of a chance for allegations of sexual impropriety." Maybe if she dropped a few hints to the right people... "Scully..." Mulder said, warningly, "are you trying to protect my reputation?" She smiled at him with faked innocence, but he shook his head. "Thanks to our excellent record and our outstanding performance on the DOD's 'stress test' last week, my reputation on that score is squeaky clean. The D.A. is satisfied. Besides, Angela won't accept anyone else." Dana sighed unhappily. It had been a good try. Not that it mattered, Mulder obviously wanted this. But while he sat in some safe house playing solitaire, what would she be doing and with whom? "Since this affects me, too, may I ask why?" The look he gave her showed he was well aware of what this meant to her. That helped... only a little... but it helped. "Scully," he said, in his most serious tone, looking straight into her eyes, "I need to do this. She says she won't have anyone else, and the D.A. is frantic for a conviction. If we can do this, we'll open a chink in the gang's armor. They've been looking for years for this kind of a break. What's unfortunate is that Angela has to be the key, and she feels that I'm the only one who can get her through this, the only one who can can understand her." Dana looked hurt, but concerned for him, too. "Have you thought about how this will look on your record?" Mulder's mouth twitched. He obviously had. "Skinner doesn't understand it either. He only agreed to ask me because he owed the D.A. a few dozen favors. He says he can put it down in my files as vacation, if I want." "Some vacation. How long are you expecting this little 'vacation' to last?" Mulder posture relaxed a little as if now that she had accepted it, though reluctantly, the tough part was over. "The grand jury meets next week. That's the hearing. If I can work with her and get her through that experience, then I hope to bow out." Dana looked dubious. "You *hope* to bow out?" "I'll take her around, let her meet some potential replacements, find her someone she would like. Maybe I won't be needed even that long." His face showed an optimism that Dana certainly did not share. Fox Mulder could be so gullible at times. end of Chapter 2 ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 3/21 by Windsinger Date: 26 Jul 1995 00:08:47 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (3/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/26/96 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 3 Blue Monday 6 pm Northern Virginia Fox Mulder had another unpleasant surprise for Dana. His new assignment began immediately. He was scheduled to pick Angela Larson up at her office in an hour and a half. Not above grinding a little more guilt into the wound, Dana did not even try to hide her disappointment. She had hoped they would spend the evening together - to take the gloom out of the slump in his shoulders, to try to recapture a hint of the closeness they had found in Key West. For Fox, telling her had been hard. Unfortunately, the relief he felt, having gotten that task over with, was short lived. Now he had to follow through with the assignment, and the prospect did not please him any more than it pleased her. Odd as it felt, after all it was not her case, Dana accepted his offer to ride along on the initial pick up. Truth be told, she had a suspicious twitch in the back of her brain and wanted to see this Angela Larson. They stopped at Mulder's apartment first for him to pack a bag. Dana agreed to stop by a couple of times during the week to feed his fish, the few that were left that he had not already starved to death due to his erratic life style. Then they headed out route 66 and made for Tyson's Corner, a huge commercial development area in nearby Virginia. Angela Larson worked there as a checker for an office supply store. As they pulled up in the parking lot near the front door of the store, Dana studied Mulder's serious face. He was not looking forward to this meeting. "Just do me a favor this time, Mulder," she said, not unkindly. "Don't screw things up." She gave him an encouraging smile. His returning smile was much weaker, but he managed. "I know. By the book," he said wearily as he slid out from behind the wheel. Waiting in the car in order not to confuse the woman who expected only Mulder, Dana watched his long lean form striding towards the door. A figure moved in the shadows inside the lobby, and a woman came out just as he reached the sidewalk. She had obviously been watching and waiting, not wanting him to have to come in looking for her and risk having her co-workers see her leaving with a strange man. At the sight of her, Dana admitted to being both surprised and relieved. Angela Larson was a little thing, looking even smaller and more frail by the way she huddled into herself. She was young. If she had been twenty-one at the time of the first investigation, she must be twenty-nine now, though she seemed much younger. She was colorless, featureless and mousey. Timid as a mouse, too. Dana had half suspected a femme fatale, but could not have been more wrong. She hoped Mulder packed along a lot of reading material. It did not look like it was going to be a very stimulating week. As Mulder escorted her towards the car, Dana stepped out. "Angela Larson," he said, introducing her. "Special Agent Dana Scully." When the woman seemed to shrink away, he added, "Don't worry, she's okay. We work together." "Nice to meet you, Ms. Larson," Dana said, shaking the limp hand. "Angela," corrected a small voice. "They called me 'Larson' for eight years in the - hospital. I don't think I ever want to hear that name again." Dana smiled sympathetically. "Of course, I understand." Mulder was looking up and down the parking lot. If he had been a fox in the wild, his ears would have been twitching. "We shouldn't be standing out here. Why don't we go." Dana held the front door open for Angela. Mulder threw her a look. He obviously had wanted Dana to ride in front, but Dana was keenly aware that Angela was the client here and took priority, even if Mulder did not. Dana was, literally, just along for the ride. "I need to get my things," Angela said as they pulled onto the main street. "I know. They told me," Mulder said. "Falls Church, right?" She nodded. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Now can you tell me where we'll be staying?" the woman asked. Mulder glanced back at Dana, who had leaned forward to feel part of the conversation. "No, I'm sorry, not right now. As Agent Scully is aware, she isn't allowed to know the location of the safe house, because she doesn't work in that division." Dana agreed, then realized she was definitely out of place here. Maybe her coming along had not been such a good idea. She leaned back in the seat, physically removing herself. "Don't worry about me, *Agent* Mulder. You can let me out at the Falls Church Metro Station." Noting her sulk, Mulder glanced back. "If Angela doesn't mind your coming while she gets her things, I can drop you off at Bloomingdale's. Want to do a little shopping?" Dana huffed. Shopping was not her idea of a hot date but probably the best she would get on short notice. At least from there it was a relatively short cab ride back to her apartment and, enlightened male though he may be, Mulder still held the notion that shopping was some kind of female panacea for the blues. Angela had no problem with Dana coming along. "Fine," Dana replied shortly and spent the rest of the ride boring holes in the back of Fox Mulder's head with her eyes. No one spoke further until Angela began giving directions about two miles down the road. She directed them to a large, old house in a quiet neighborhood in the well established Northern Virginia community of Falls Church. Her room was on the top floor of a three story structure covered with pealing white paint. As they climbed the narrow stairs, Dana thought that it was fortunate for them that Angela's room had its own entrance. They were probably attracting enough attention as it was. Dana made a note to remember that she and Mulder were both too well dressed for this sort of undercover work. Downtown Washington was one thing. There stylish, conservative business costume was required, but it did not fit in so well in this working class neighborhood. *** Angela's room was sparsely and cheaply furnished. There seemed to be few personal items. Not unusual, Dana thought, for someone who had been in an institution for eight years and only recently reentered society. Dana hoped the woman had a social worker. But the place was neat and clean and, as Dana nosed about, she was pleased to see that there was even a little food in the refrigerator, and it was not even spoiled, which meant Angela already surpassed Mulder's accomplishments in the domestic arena. It also meant that their chances of not starving over the next week had significantly improved. If she could keep herself fed and herself and her place neat, Angela was obviously adjusting well to life on the 'outside'. Angela pulled a small suitcase from an almost empty hall closet, packed a few odds and ends, and then vanished behind a curtained area in the back of the room. Mulder dropped down on the couch and began flipping through a tattered copy of People magazine. Dana wandered and finally poked her head around the corner of the curtained area. It contained a bed, nightstand, dresser, and a small standing clothes closet. "Can I be of any help?" Dana asked pleasantly. The woman jumped at the sound of Dana's voice, then seeing who it was, went back to slowly folding a few faded articles of clothing. "No, thank you. I won't be long." Glancing casually about the room, Dana noticed the picture of a young man hanging in a picture frame from a nail on the wall beside the bed. "Brother?" she asked the woman. Embarrassed, Angela colored and gave a very little smile, the first emotion Dana had seen. "Boyfriend," the woman said almost proudly. Dana nodded impressed. The young man's picture was a little blurry, he had a bit of acne and probably was about 20 pounds overweight, but he had a pleasant smile. "They are going to keep paying my rent," Angela mentioned, not looking up from her packing. Her stringy limp hair fell forward over her face. "That's the least they can do," Dana said. "You know that you're taking a big risk, don't you? These men have explained that little detail, I hope." Still looking down, the woman nodded. "I want to help. It's also -" she hesitated "- something to do." Dana breathed in sharply. Could the woman be so lonely as all that? Dana reminded herself, then excused herself before she embarrassed the young woman any further. *** True to his word, Mulder let Dana off in front of Bloomingdale's. She came around to the driver's side when he rolled down his window. He rested his hand on the edge of the window opening. She casually placed hers so that their finger tips barely touched and was rewarded with a quick sidelong glance just for her. It was a gentle look, a little sad, full of meaning. He did not move his hand away as once he might have, but left their fingers touching. Dana leaned inside a little to address Angela. "It was nice meeting you. Good luck at the hearing." She turned to Mulder, a false smile on her face. "Watch your back," she told him, "and don't mislay your gun." "Watch out, yourself," he replied, putting the car in gear. "And don't let Skinner saddle you with any undesirables." "He keeps assigning me to work with you. I'd say he owes me one," Dana shouted as the engine roared. She stood on the sidewalk and watched Mulder's car pull out of the parking lot, heading south out of the city. Dana felt alone and, more than that, powerless. She did not know where he would be, did not have his phone number, and he was required to keep his outside calls to a minimum. She had not been this out of touch with him since the day they had become partners. She had become accustomed to taking care of him and knowing he was there to take of her, if she needed it. The feeling was disquieting. *** Tuesday 9 am FBI Headquarters The next morning Agent Scully's presence was requested in Assistant Director Skinner's office. she thought. She was, therefore, much taken aback to enter the office and be introduced to an absolute hunk of a man. Mulder was pretty in an intellectual sort of way, gentle-eyed, slim overall, though she had found early on that his clothes hid some finely muscled shoulders and a nice butt. But this guy was a Play Girl's fantasy. He had an inch or two over Mulder, who was himself tall. He had blond surfer's hair, an open, gorgeous face, a strong neck that said 'weight-lifter' in tall letters and shoulders that clothes could not hide. She found herself staring and tried to shock herself into attention by warning herself that the guy probably had the IQ of a donut. "Special Agent Dana Scully," Walter Skinner introduced, "this is Dr. Evan Byers." She took the large but surprisingly gentle hand which was offered and gave it a firm handshake. He had taken her measure, too, and seemed impressed, and not just by the handshake. "Special Investigator, Food and Drug Administration," he added. Now Dana was impressed. A doctor with the FDA. Maybe her luck was turning around. The evening before she had spent too much money, drunk too much wine all alone in her apartment and not slept well. Dana and Byers sat. Skinner came around to the front of his desk and leaned against it in his customary lecturing posture. "Dr. Byers is on loan to us. The FDA has uncovered a possible conspiracy, involving the manufacture of an illegal drug. Dr. Byers thinks there may even have been murder committed." Dana was fascinated. "Sounds like fun." Dr. Byers turned bright blue eyes on Dana. "Law enforcement at this level is really not in our mission statement," he said with a wink. Dana smiled. The guy had a sense of humor to go with brains. 'Mission Statement' was one of those new hot buzz words being used by government upper management. "Since you are 'unattached' at the moment," Skinner said pointedly to Dana with a frown, "I thought you would be the ideal agent to help Dr. Byers with his investigation." The frown, Dana realized, was for Mulder accepting the assignment with the WPP. The blond giant picked up his brief case and put it in his lap. "I have many of the technical specs here so you can see what we're dealing with, but we're going to need some bodies exhumed. I'm a researcher specializing in pharmacology, not a pathologist and certainly not a forensics expert. I'll need your help on this one." "No problem," she said, genuinely interested. "As Director Skinner said," she added, making it clear from the tone of her voice that she was not any more happy about Mulder's defection than he was, "I'm not busy at the moment, so let's get started." *** Wednesday 2pm WPP safe house, somewhere in southern Maryland Fox took a walk around the outside of the little brick house for about the twentieth time that day. He saw the same yellow house, about three hundred yards to his left, that he had seen the last nineteen times and the same brush choked dingle to his right. He could not keep doing this or he would wear a path in the late fall grass. Besides, it looked suspicious and he was supposed to be doing anything *but* looking suspicious. Unfortunately, he was restless. There was nothing to do. Two days and already he could feel the walls closing in. Angela read magazines, slept, and was almost completely silent. He tried to read but found he could not concentrate. What he wanted to do was go out and rent a computer. He should have borrowed Scully's. He knew he could fill a lot of hours learning to surf the Internet. Scully had told him that he should, and one of the reasons he had put it off was because she had warned him that the initial start up sessions would be time consuming. The problem remained that he could not convince Angela to go out. She was literally frightened of her own shadow. If he could not get her to go out, even to browse about in a computer store, he would never succeed in talking her into going into the city and being introduced to officers who might conceivably take over this wretched duty for him. It had taken him about twelve hours to realize he had made a mistake about accepting this assignment. If he had not had a guilty conscience to appease, it would have taken him about twelve minutes. He just did not have the temperament for this waiting around. The quiet was making him desperate and irritable. His stomach was irritable, too. Maybe he was getting an ulcer, but his stomach had been disturbingly upset that morning. He still felt sorry for Angela, partially responsible for the rough time she had had, but as long as she refused to open up to him, he felt his sacrifice was a empty gesture. Scully had warned him. Fox reentered the house with no spring in his step. Angela had isolated herself in her room again. He needed to break through that shield of hers sometime soon. They needed to prepare for the hearing on Monday if nothing else. He turned on the television but the house did not have a VCR or cable and the weekday afternoon fare was nauseating at best at least until the after school cartoons came on. Finally, he popped a rock and roll disk into his portable compact disk player, slipped on the ear phones, and started doing sit ups on the living room floor. He had been getting soft. If nothing else, he would return to his *real* job in better shape than he left it. *** Friday 6pm WPP safe house, somewhere in southern Maryland On Friday night Fox offered to cook. He felt some achievement in being able to boil water for the spaghetti and warm up the bottled sauce without burning anything. He did not feel pressured to try anything more elaborate because Angela's cooking was not any more inspired. At dinner time Angela sat at the table across from him, looking down at her plate. She had been silent since she sat down. He had tried to talk about the weather, the dismal record of the Red Skins football franchise and hinted at some items he had found in Scientific American, but she had not responded. "It's good," she whispered when they were almost finished. Actually, Fox had finished considerably earlier. Scully always complained that it was either feast or famine with him. Either he forgot to eat for days on end or he ate enough for a family of four in the time most people would take to eat a piece of toast. Tonight he had eaten quickly, but not too much. He had been sick the last two mornings. This evening he felt better, though his insides were a little tender. He hoped he could throw off this stomach flu soon. "It's good," she repeated in almost a normal speaking voice. "Oh, is there someone else here?" he asked, looking everywhere around the room but at her. "I thought I was talking to myself." The woman blushed and shrank closer to her plate. Her lank hair hung so over her face that he could not see her well. "I'm sorry. That was unkind. But -" he leaned over to her and whispered, "- it's been very quiet around here." "I did not want to disturb you," she muttered not looking up. "I'm such a bother already." Fox picked up his plate and took it to the sink. "Why don't you let me decide that. After all, you only asked. I accepted." "Why?" she asked suddenly. He looked up, his hands now full of greasy red sauce. He believed that was just about the only question she had ever asked him with the exception of 'Potatoes or rice?' "Why what?" "Why did you agree to stay with me. You didn't have to." He dried his wet hands off on the kitchen towel, not noticing that he left it covered with a lot of red splotches. He sat down next to her at the kitchen table. "I thought you had been having things pretty rough lately," he said in his gentlest manner, the one he reserved for children and old people. He had the ability to put people at ease when he chose. That was a knack he had in spades, Scully always told him, despite his lack of social graces in other areas. "The hearing will be tough. I thought we could work together to get you through it, but maybe I was wrong." "No," she said quickly. "It's good having you here, comforting not to be alone. I'm sorry I'm such a bore." "No, you're not. We just need to find something we have in common. Do you play chess? Do crossword puzzles?" "I'm pretty dull," she said, sliding the last of her spaghetti around on her plate. "Stop saying that. Cards?" "I learned to play gin rummy - at Longmead," she admitted hesitantly. "Okay," he said, smiling his winning smile, "let's clean up and we'll give it a try." Within fifteen minutes he got a smile out of her. Within thirty, a laugh. He found she actually was a very good player, much sharper than he had expected and he did not need to stretch much to let her win a couple of games. With his photographic memory no one ever liked playing cards with him much. Everyone except his sister, Samantha, who had always seemed to enjoy their games immensely. Probably because she usually won. Fox suspected that her memory had been better than his, only she had enjoyed hiding it. That and she had also been a pro at distracting him. "Ice cream?" Angela asked with a smile on her face after she had won a game by a narrow margin. He was staring at the cards, actually suspicious that she had cheated, but not knowing how she could have done it. "Sure. Neither of us can spoil that." She came back in a minute with two bowls. His was overflowing with chocolate sauce. "I guess neither of us is a very good cook," she apologized as the sauce dripped onto the card table. He started in, contented with how the evening was ending up, but the sauce had a funny taste. Maybe it was old. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, he was determined to eat it anyway. This felt as good a time as any to bring up the topic he had most wanted to discuss with her. "Angela," he began whirling his spoon around in the chocolate, "the main reason I agreed to take this assignment was so I could apologize." "For what?" she asked. "For messing up during the investigation eight years ago. You were vulnerable, confused, and I didn't help with all my stories about alien abductions. Your records say you got over all that." Angela was not smiling any more, and there was new color in her face. "Yes," she said quietly, "that's what the doctors say." She suddenly stood up. "I'm sorry, I need to go to bed. I'd like to talk to you about this, but I'm not ready yet. I need more time." She looked at him as if begging for another chance. Mulder was somewhat startled by the abrupt change in her. "As far as I know I'll be around. Any time you want to talk, I'm available." he grumbled to himself. *** That night Fox woke out of a sound sleep, again, with the very devil of an upset stomach. He barely made it to the bathroom. Ice cream and spaghetti was very apparent in the white porcelain bowl of the toilet. If he had not been nauseous already, the sight would have made him sick. As he sat on the cool bathroom floor, wrapped in a towel and waiting for the shakes to pass, he remembered too well that this was the third time he had lost a meal. The other two times had been first thing in the morning. - Damn flu.- Though, if he had been female, he would have suspected another kind of nasty surprise. Male or female, he was certain no progeny had have been initiated by any activity of his for at least five months. "Get a life, Mulder," Scully frequently told him. He hoped wryly that that was not what she had had in mind. end of Chapter 3 ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 4/21 by Windsinger Date: 26 Jul 1995 00:09:06 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (4/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/26/95 No infrigement intended here. (Gotta save space; long scene) Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 4 Saturday 8 am WPP safe house somewhere in southern Maryland Fox breathed, as he flipped back the covers. Even though he felt a little light and shaky, having lost his dinner during the night, he was not going to let that upset his plans. Saturday night was his night off, and he was going to get out of this house and see Scully if it killed him. As he came in for breakfast, he found Angela had laid out for him two pieces of toast topped with huge dollops of apple butter. Plain toast would have suited his stomach better. He chased the offering down with strong black coffee. At noon he was sick again. This time Angela heard him retching and came into the bathroom with a towel, wash cloth and sympathy. Then she sent him to bed. *** He slept until three-thirty. From four until six he either paced or stood at the living room window, looking out towards the drive, waiting for his temporary replacement. The man was late and Fox was perturbed and impatient. "Time for dinner," Angela called brightly from the kitchen. "Angela, I told you," Mulder began as he walked towards the kitchen, "I have to go out tonight. I'm just waiting for Agent Clark to arrive to stay with you." She turned a pan of meat loaf in her hand. With her apron and her hair pulled back she looked very domestic. "He won't be coming," she informed him. Fox cocked his head and stepped fully into the kitchen. "What do you mean he's not coming?" "He called this afternoon," the woman said matter-of-factly, "to confirm the time. I told him we wouldn't be needing him." He strode up to her, his anger flaring. "You what! Who gave you the right?" "I told him you were asleep," Angela said simply. "He found that highly amusing, until I told him you'd been sick." Fox just stared at her, a dozen colorful, purple phrases coming to mind which he was sorely tempted to use, but she was his client, and he forced himself to swallow every one. Instead, he swung away from her and descended upon the telephone. "Damn him, damn that bastard!" Fox fumed, his eyes narrowing as he whipped up the receiver. "He should have talked to me! I'll begin disciplinary actions on that lazy rookie for this!" He would call Clark at home. He would pull that pretty-faced son- of-a-bitch out of bed and make him come out here no matter which Director's daughter he was in bed with. Then suddenly, in rage- white frustration, he slammed down the phone without completing the call. He had promised Scully, promised he would play it by the book; no unauthorized outside contact, no personal phone calls, the required daily check-in's only, and on Fox's list of priorities those did not rate as calls at all. He had even missed a few. But Monday, Mulder seethed, on Monday he would storm into Skinner's office and that guy would not see the outside of a surveillance closet for a month! Fox knew what that was like; he had been there. He was suddenly aware that Angela was standing in front of him. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was staring at him stonily. "I don't think I would have liked him much." "You didn't need to *like* him for one night!" He growled, breathing fast and hard, struggling to keep from saying any more. Damn, no matter how much she was messing up his life, she was the witness, and he the servant of the people, and he had no right to talk to her the way he was. Fox shook his head. he thought grimly. Angela threw the meat loaf pan on the table and sat down. She would eat if he would not. Fox paced the length of the kitchen and living room for the next three minutes, not much of a stretch for his long legs, fighting to bring his anger under control. He had a temper, he had had to deal with it all his life, ever since Samantha ... since Samantha had disappeared and the tauntings at school had gotten to be too much. He could do this. He had to. Finally, Mulder sat down across from her at the kitchen table, but he did not eat, did not feel like eating. From the look of it, neither did she. "Angela, I apologize." The admission was hard and he really hadn't sounded very apologetic. His voice was still shaking with frustration and bitter disappointment. "I overreacted, I'm sorry. But, Angela," he said fervently, trying to make her understand, "I have a life outside of your case. It's not much of a life, but it's mine. There are things I need to do, people I need to talk to." Angela put her fork down, the bite untasted. There were tears trickling silently down her cheeks. His anger had frightened her. "You know I only trust you." "It's my day off," he repeated. "I'm not a prisoner here." Angela threw down her napkin with more spirit than he had yet seen. "I'm sorry if you find this a prison! I've tried not to bother you. I've tried to keep out of your way. Give you space. Sure, pick up and go. It's only *my* life! Something which isn't important to anyone." She fled the table and went into her bedroom. Reluctantly, he followed and found her lying face down on her bed with her arms covering her head. Fox sighed. Where were all those psychology courses when he needed them. He had to try to be understanding. If he was ever to get off this assignment, he needed her cooperation. "Angela," he said more gently, "I haven't forgotten, but it's just that I don't think this is working. We've talked about that being a possibility. I'd like you to think about bringing in another man, or a woman, if you prefer, to stay with you." She was silent for a long moment, her face buried in the bedclothes. When she finally turned her face towards his, she would not meet his eyes. Hesitantly, she began, "Agent Mulder, I have something I need to tell you. I think it's important." She reached for the box of tissues and he handed it to her. "I've been trying to get up the nerve for days, but I just wasn't ready. I'm still not ready, but I promise, I'll tell you tomorrow. Afterwards, if you want to leave me, I won't stand in your way." Fox raised his eyes to the ceiling and ran his hand through his hair. Her deal did not sound very promising, but it was a start. At least she was accepting the possibility of his leaving. "Angela, it's not like I would be abandoning you. I'd still be available to talk with you sometimes. It's just that I don't need to be here day and night. I have other responsibilities." She rolled off the bed, blew her nose, and started removing her apron. She still did not look at him. "You've wanted me to meet some other people. We can do that tonight. As long as you'll hear me out tomorrow." Fox's entire body shook with exasperation. He had been trying to get her to do that all week. Why tonight of all nights? But it would mean that he could get into town and maybe see Scully. Even if he was only able to see her for a few minutes, the inconvenience of having Angela along would be worth it. "Alright," he agreed. "Get ready. I'll put away the food." *** Saturday 6 pm FBI Headquarters "That's a nice smile. Penny for your thoughts?" Dana Scully roused herself to find she had been staring blankly at the canteen's soda machine. Turning, she found herself looking directly into Evan Byers large, aqua-blue eyes. she thought, She smiled, almost blushing. "My thoughts? Just recalling a little meeting I had with Skinner today." "Ohhh, that must have been *some* meeting," the big, blond man said with exaggeration. She tossed her red-bronze hair. "You're as bad as Mulder. Do you men only have one thing on your mind?" "Yes... especially when you provide us with such good straight lines." Dana was sitting at a table in the far corner of the FBI's fourth floor lunchroom. She had been sitting there, holding her styrofoam cup of cold tea, for quite some time. In fact, she had just finished looking at her watch for the twentieth time when Evan appeared - Evan, who now had his hand on the back of the chair opposite her. "I was just finishing some reports and I thought I'd come down and see what they have in the machines that's worth eating. I saw you sitting alone. If you have a date, I'll just - " He indicated he would leave, if she wanted, but made it look like he would be grieved if she did. Dana laughed and gestured for him to sit down. "Waiting for someone, yes, but not a date." "I could ask who, or I could ask about your meeting with Skinner." Dana elected to take the safer course. "I think I'd rather tell you about Skinner," she told him. "He found me in the X-Files office today." She shot Evan a sidelong glance and saw that he was not surprised. He had noticed that she disappeared a couple of times a day and he suspected that the basement office was where she went. But he had never pried. Dana only knew that she missed Mulder terribly and that she had a deep, instinctive need to seek that place, just to feel a little closer to him. "What did he want?" Evan asked, pulling her out of her melancholy. Dana shook her head, incredulous. "He wanted to know if it would make me too uncomfortable if he asked my mother out on a date! Just for companionship, he says." "Skinner? Your mother?" Evan tried to look shocked. "Is that incestuous? He is your boss, after all." "I think there would be a problem only if they got married." Evan's eyes were wide. "Is that likely?" Dana fantacized absently, Dana shuddered. "She's only about five years older," she explained to Evan. "It's possible, but, I know my mother. You see, my father died only a few months ago." She looked suddenly wistful. Odd, how the worst of that pain had drifted away over time. "I told Skinner to go ahead and ask, but I doubt that it will ever be more than that... companionship." There had actually been more to their conversation than that. *** Skinner had paused, before leaving, probably because he noticed the forlorn expression on her face. "How are you doing, Agent Scully? Byers working out okay?" Dana nodded. "Evan's fine. He's fun. He's committed. He's intelligent." "He's not Agent Mulder." She did not meet his eyes. Skinner knew. "No, sir, but then no one is quite like Agent Mulder." "That," Skinner said with sincerity, "is true. A fact for which we in management can be grateful." She looked up and very seriously asked, "Sir, this - change in his duties - this won't hurt his career, will it?" Skinner crossed his arms. "I realize this is something he has to see through, one way or the other. No, I don't think it will have any lasting effect, so long as the situation resolves itself soon and provided he doesn't make a habit of this sort of thing. He is too valuable as an investigator." He rose and did intend to leave this time, but paused to put an fatherly hand on her arm. "You're valuable, too, Agent Scully. Don't let this get to you. Okay?" *** Back in the present, Evan was asking. "All right. So now can I ask who you are waiting for?" Scully looked towards the door. Still nothing. It was getting very late. "Agent Mulder," Evan said with certainty and not unkindly. He had never met the man, but knew he was a very important person in Dana Scully's life. "Is it that obvious?" she asked. "You work hard, very hard," Evan told her with obvious affection, "but sometimes you get this distracted look on your face, as if you expect the phone to ring or someone to come walking in the door. But he never calls and he doesn't come." Dana's eyes grew warm. "You're a poet, Evan." He laughed, throwing the compliment off casually as he unwrapped a sausage and biscuit sandwich he had bought from one of the vending machines before he had seen Dana Scully sitting like a vision in the corner of the dismal room. "I toyed with English Lit before I decided upon medicine. Most likely I read that somewhere. There's probably not an original thought in my head." She gently touched his hand and Evan thought he had died and gone to heaven. He had to admit it. He had a big crush on Dr. Scully. "Don't put yourself down," she told him sincerely. "It was a nice thing to say." "And true?" "Hmmm. You've been working here less than a week. Why would you think so?" He peered under the biscuit top and wrinkled his nose at what he saw before glancing back up at her. "Because until his current assignment, the two of you have been practically inseparable, or so I'm told." "My, you've gotten hooked into the rumor mill quickly," she said, curious and not unkindly. He shrugged. "I ask." When she looked surprised, he continued. "I grew up with four sisters. All older. Gossip was a way of life. I also work for the FDA, a big government bureaucracy. If you want to learn anything, you have to be plugged in." He hesitated. "Also, women tell me things." Dana gave him a knowing smile looking across the wide breadth of his shoulders. "I wouldn't be surprised." "It can be curse," he said waving the uneaten stale biscuit at her. "You should know. You must get the same attention from men." It was her turn to shrug. "Some. Now if I were six inches taller..." She laughed. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with Evan. He was like one of her brothers already, probably came from growing up with all those sisters, but she was well aware his interests did not fall in the brotherly sphere. He had been asking her out with his eyes all week. He was just too perceptive to ask without at least a little encouragement, and, though, professionally, they got along perfectly, she had been careful not to send *those* kind of signals. "Anyway," she said returning to what she thought was a safer subject, "Who tells you things and what do they say?" When he did not look like he wanted to tell her, she added. "I really want to know. They won't talk to me because they have to face me every day and that would spoil their fun. I'd just like to know what I'm accused of." "Oh! You want the Harlequin Romance version!" Evan smiled evilly. "They say the two of you are having some wild time on all those road trips and the accounting people go over your field vouchers with a fine-toothed comb trying to find out how you actually manage to only pay for one room and have it look like two so that you can pocket the extra." She took a sip of her cold tea and made a face. "No worse than I expected." "Oh, there's more -" She looked suddenly sad and her lowered eyes glistened. "Please, that's enough." There was a part of her that wished at least some of the rumors were true. She felt Evan's large hand on hers. "Hey, I'm sorry. Just kidding. You are beautiful and I take it Mulder's eccentric. People will talk. They *want* to believe the wild stories, but they don't. Not down deep. I've talked to them." Dana gave him a weak smile. She would not tell him why she was so sad. "Are you going to eat that thing," she asked, indicating the almost freeze-dried sandwich. "You are supposed to microwave it, not eat it raw." He made a face. "I was going to eat it, now I'm not so sure." Evan looked around at the old peeling linoleum, the formica topped tables, the scuffed chairs and, on the walls, ancient, faded notices which were so many years out of date that even the tape had begun to yellow. "You know, Dana, this is not a very romantic spot for a rendezvous." Dana never noticed the decor when she was with Mulder. "Mulder and I can get into some gruesome conversations when we talk shop. We meet here so we don't freak out the public and spoil their dinner. Later, we go out and grab a pizza or Chinese." "That sounds wise," Evan nodded. Now it was his turn to look towards the door. "Look, Dana, I don't want to be in the way. When is he due?" "I told you, it's not a date, just his night off," she told him. "We don't have anything set up, because on this assignment he's required to keep communications with the outside at a minimum. It's just that in the past, when we've worked on separate cases, we would try to show up here on Saturday nights." Evan perused the bank of half empty vending machines. "Dana, I'm not trying to be pushy, but, if he doesn't show, maybe we could go look for something more edible than stale donuts and rubber sandwiches." She smiled. "Finding food better than this should not be difficult for a couple of over-educated investigators like us. Okay, if Mulder doesn't come." A tightness in Evan she had not noticed suddenly relaxed. "Hey, I'm thirsty. Want a soda? My treat" As he went for the drinks, Dana looked with concern at Evan's retreating back. As comfortable as she was with Evan, as handsome as he was, and as attracted as he was to her, she longed so for Mulder to come. His absence was like a physical pain. She conjured up an image of him and saw both the lovable boyish grin and his infinitely sad eyes. Where was he? Had she misread him these last few weeks. She thought nothing would have kept him away. Evan returned. "Coke without," he said, handing her the sugarless version, "and Coke with." He sat down and popped the top with a hiss of carbonation. "So, you were thinking about Skinner when I came in, but is the thought of your mother having a date so funny, or is her having a date with Skinner so funny? You looked like the Cheshire Cat." Dana colored, a little embarrassed because she realized she had only heard half the question, but she got the gist. "I don't know if I should tell you. You'll think I'm fishing." "Oh, you'll *have* to tell me now." That line was so good, she decided she would tell him. She liked Evan. She liked him a lot. If Mulder weren't there.... "I was thinking about how my mother has more dates than me. Pretty pathetic, yes?" Sitting in the FBI canteen on a Saturday night, waiting for Fox Mulder who may or may not come, *was* pathetic. Evan leaned back in his chair and held out his empty, thick- palmed hands. "Hey, do I look like I'm having a swinging time? Besides, you are waiting for someone and I have no one to wait for and no one waiting for me." The pain in his voice was a new pain, Dana could tell that instantly, and suddenly she felt out of her depth with this man. "Evan, I'm sorry -" He took a long drink of his soda. "My fault. I lost her. Too busy getting my degree to pay attention to her. But my best friend was there." He leaned towards her, his open, handsome face sincere. "Dana, I'll say this once. I'll never do to another man what was done to me, but I won't let a good thing get past me again either." Dana blinked. So there it was. If she wanted Mulder, Evan would not get in their way. On the other hand, he was there if she changed her mind. Dana felt a blush rising to her face. "Now, I wanted to ask you about this morning's autopsy," Evan began, changing the subject as abruptly as anyone could. "What was the significance of the cholinesterase results?" *** Twenty minutes later, Fox walked into the canteen with Angela plastered to his side. He was not in a good mood. They were late, very late. She had taken forever to get ready but the transformation had been surprising. She had not done much; showered, did something to her hair, wore a dress that fit her well and was even a little stylish and put on make up, but it was her demeanor when she stepped from the bedroom that gave him pause. She moved now as if she were on stage, in the spotlight, not at all like the timid mouse he had lived with all week. It was as if she had been deflated before and somehow, someone, had pumped her up. If she could do this at the trial, perhaps they had a chance of salvaging something from this ordeal. Still she had been silent. They had passed almost the entirety of the ninety minute drive without speaking a word and this sat fine with Mulder. But, once they had gotten out of the car at the J. Edgar Hoover Building, much of her new found poise vanished. She clung to his arm, as if each shadow hid an assassin. Fox knew he was not helping to calm her panic. He was looking forward to seeing Scully and, unconsciously, his heart and his pace had quickened as he neared the canteen, especially when he could make out the tones of her voice, even before he could distinguish the words. Inside the door of the canteen, however, he stopped. She was seated at 'their' table, as far from the cigarette machine as possible, and there was a man seated at the table with her. A big man, an incredibly handsome man, who made Fox feel like the gawky, fourteen-year-old nerd he once had been and felt too often he still was. And they were laughing together. Laughing and arguing at the same time. Fox heard terms being thrown out which he knew were medical, but he had only a vague idea of their meaning. It was clear that they were working on a case together. Their conversation was witty, energetic, intellectual and playful all at the same time. With an ache, he remembered that he and Scully once had discussions like these, but that was before he had made such a mess of things. Watching them hurt. He had not realized how much it would hurt, and the worst hurt of all was knowing that he had brought this all about. If he had not accepted this assignment, almost asked for this assignment from some misguided need for repentance, he would be seated with her now and not this handsome stranger. Fox halted in the doorway, trying to reel in his sparking irritation. He realized there was a real danger that the sharp point of his jealously might become directed at Scully, and that would be unfair. She had a right to go on with her life and Skinner obviously had done a good thing for her by linking her up with someone who was obviously her emotional and intellectual equal. At that moment, Dana looked up and saw him, saw the tall, dark form of him before his expression. A little guiltily, she realized she still wore a broad smile for Evan, and, flustered, she let that smile fade so that she could give Mulder a welcoming smile of his very own. But that smile lost much of its brilliance, as she noticed his frown. Wasn't he glad to see her? Then she saw the woman practically pasted onto his side and felt a pain stab deep into her stomach. Who was that, and why would he bring a date *here*? Was she so far from his thoughts that he had not even remembered she might be expecting him? He definitely did not look happy to see her. Only when they approached the table did Dana recognize the woman as Angela Larson. She had done something to herself, but her timid attitude had not changed. The recognition did not ease her feelings of betrayal. What was she doing here? This was supposed to be his night off. Luckily for the awkwardness of the situation, the table seated four, so no one had to leave. If Angela was there, Dana reasoned, there was no point in trying to get rid of Evan. Dana introduced Evan, and Mulder introduced Angela, but, Dana noticed, he discretely did not call Angela 'friend' or 'client' just 'Angela'. Mulder was scarcely paying attention, when Dana described the case she and Evan were working on. She had pointedly not referred to Evan at any time as her partner. Meanwhile, Mulder seemed restless. He kept fidgeting and looking around the room. Dana could not figure out why he was so distracted. Fox, however, had a perfectly good explanation for his distraction. He was hoping that a few of the hulking bodyguard types would be lingering about. Someone he could introduce Angela to and with whom she could feel safe. Someone besides Fox Mulder, but it was a slow night. For being supposedly a smart guy, he was continually amazed by his own stupidity. He had known the chances would be slim on a Saturday evening, but had allowed himself to hope. He had just been so desperate to get rid of her, and it had been his only chance to see Scully. But why was Scully looking at him in such an odd way. Angela hardly said ten words but luckily those ten words were said to Evan. It turned out they had both grown up in Philadelphia, so, they discussed that for about two minutes, during which time Dana was finally able to observe Mulder closely. She knew what he looked like when the nightmares were bad. This haggard bonelessness was not it. She knew what he looked like when the details of a case were whirling around in his brain, trying to fit into patterns and giving him no peace. His eyes were not lit up like that. In fact, his eyes looked dull, lifeless. "Mulder," she said with concern, "you don't look so good." "Hello, would have been nice," he replied, his voice lacking its usual light. He was drumming the fingers of his left hand on the formica. He did that with his right hand when he was anxious, but Angela was sitting too close to his right side for that. Dana wondered. Then she happened to notice his drumming hand. The skin near the tips of his fingers seemed discolored. "Mulder, is there something wrong?" she asked, leaning forward to have a closer look. Fox, not noticing her intention, restlessly shifted his position to look over at a laughing jostling group that had just entered the canteen, but, he saw with disappointment, these were technicians from the electronics lab. The change of position moved his hand out of her sight. "What was that, Scully?" he asked, turning back. "You don't seem yourself, Mulder," she answered in a low voice. "Is there anything wrong?" "I've had the flu, that's all," he admitted with some irritation. Dana thought that having the flu would certainly explain why he looked so poorly. "Funny time of year for the flu," she commented, "but I've noticed very busy people often get sick when they suddenly slow down. It's temporary. I dare say you'll live." She had an idea then, a way to help dissipate this unnatural situation. "If you want, I'd be willing to check you out." Mulder frowned, which was his initial reaction whenever Scully questioned him about his health. Normally, he hated examinations, even Scully's, but tonight this sounded like a good idea. The excuse would allow him to be alone with Scully, so he could tell her how much he missed his old life. He felt awkward talking in front of Angela and this over-age surfer. Maybe Evan, who looked like a good sport, could take Angela off his hands for a few minutes. There was not even time for him to react, however, to show Scully he appreciated her concern, before he saw Angela's eyes on them. He thought he saw a frown of displeasure cross her features and then recognized that it was instead a grimace of pain. "What's wrong?" he asked, leaning towards her. He admitted he did not have to lean very far. Such an intrusion upon his personal space made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I have a headache. I think it's a migraine coming on. I'm sorry, but, please, I need to leave." Mulder sighed, hung his head and stared at the floor. The trip had been doomed from the beginning; the late start, Angela tagging along, Evan with Scully, Scully obviously doing well and happily without him, and no likely agents or officers around for Angela to meet. He gave his farewells, his face a montage of conflicting emotions that Dana could not read. Dana watched them go, distressed. Fox did not see how unhappy Scully was. He saw only Evan's obvious pleasure at the unexpected departure of his rival. Dana did not see how miserable Mulder looked. She only saw Angela, who did not seem to be in pain any longer. From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 5/21 by Windsinger Date: 26 Jul 1995 20:57:39 -0400 Hi, Okay I lied. I began posting yesterday instead of today like I said. Yesterday I posted section I: The Witness and the Bodyguard (chap 1-4). Today it's Section 2: Suspicion and Seduction (chap 5-8). Tomorrow, Lightning and Enlightenment (chap 9-11), etc (Seeing a pattern here?) THE ABDUCTEE (5/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/26/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty THE ABDUCTEE - SUSPICION AND SEDUCTION Chapter 5 Sunday 10am WPP safe house, somewhere in Southern Maryland Fox Mulder woke to an odd sensation. He had slept. He stared at the clock and had to make note of the hour three times before he would believe it. Ten o'clock. He stared out the window. Yes, the sun was shining and the birds were not making such a terrible racket, so the day probably was as advanced as the clock said, but he never slept this late. In fact, Fox could not remember waking at all in the night or dreaming. That was unlike him because, usually, he slept so poorly. Maybe if he wanted to sleep better on a regular basis he should take up 'baby sitting' full time. On second thought, if boredom was necessary for a good night's sleep, perhaps he would accept the insomnia as payment for an interesting life. Realistically, he felt he should properly blame his extended nap on the remains of the damn flu. He flipped back the covers and, stepping barefoot on the cool floor, realized that he felt - good. Physically well, anyway. Mentally, however, he cringed thinking of the disastrous meeting in the canteen the night before. The hearing was tomorrow and he would be seeing Ian McDowell, Angela's WPP coordinator. As it looked like he was not going to get off this assignment anytime soon, he would ask for approval to make at least one personal phone call out a day so he could stay in contact with Scully. Even if the call had to be made from a pay phone thirty miles away, it would be worth it. At least he now had a plan and that eased his mind a little. For the moment, however, Fox was going to appreciate feeling well for a change. No nausea this morning. His head was clear of the cobwebs that had been clouding his thinking and causing the tension between his eyes. His body felt oddly light, but he took that as coming from not eating much over the past few days. Overall, he could not detect a trace of flu symptoms. Maybe with the long sleep he had finally shaken it. Fox took a long shower, not bothering to conserve the hot water since, by the lingering wetness in the tub and on the bath mat, it was obvious that Angela had already taken hers. Perhaps there were advantages to sleeping late. He wished he could do it a little more often. Emerging from the warm steam of the small bathroom wrapped in his terry cloth robe, Fox sniffed the comparatively cool air of the house. Bacon, honest to goodness, artery-clogging bacon. And coffee, perked, not instant. Amazed, he padded barefoot into the kitchen. Angela was moving the strips of pure, junk food gold around in the skillet. The popping sound was music to his ears. "Morning," she said shyly. She looked good. As she had the night before, Angela had taken a few extra minutes with her appearance. Her hair was clean and brushed and pulled back, but not too severely. Her dress fit and accentuated her thinness. "You slept a long time." Mulder peered over her shoulder trying to see if she was making enough of that luscious stuff for two. By the sound of the crackling, she was making enough for four. She was. "I hope some of that's for me." "All of it, if you want. I was thinking you might be hungry." "You must be psychic, I think I've finally shaken this 'bug' and I'm starved." She began laying the crisp strips out on a paper towel. "Good. Why don't you get dressed while I make some eggs. How do you like them?" Eggs, too? He had died and gone to heaven. Scully would have a fit. Normally he liked thinking about Scully, but not today. He wanted to feel good for a change and he could not think about Scully and not see her with that surfer boy. "Sunny side up and turned just at the end? If you can stand to look at runny yolks." She drained most of the grease and took two eggs from the carton. "Not a problem. That's how I made them for my father." "You don't have to do this," he said feeling odd to have her cooking him breakfast. They had been taking turns with their minimal dinners, but, otherwise, they usually just helped themselves. More often than not, though, Mulder realized, Angela had begun preparing enough of whatever she was having for two. This morning was different, though. What she was doing now required more than minimal preparation and was being done with him in mind. "I don't mind," she said, head bowed slightly, more like her old posture. "Anyway, it's sort of an apology." He had been partially out the door heading for his room, but hearing her words felt required to sit down at the kitchen table to listen to her. He wished, however, that he had gotten dressed before they started this. He did not feel prepared to receive confidences. With his bare feet and bare legs getting colder by the minute, he felt a little vulnerable. "I want to apologize for yesterday," she said, softly. "I messed up your day. I sent Agent Clark away, we fought, I dragged myself along on your night out and then I got that silly migraine so you had to take me home so early." All true, and he had been furious with her. "About Agent Clark - you did what you thought best," he said wording this carefully. He wanted to keep in her good graces, but resentment lingered and he did not want to let her off too easily. "I *was* out of it in the afternoon and you could not help the headache." "I'll try to make it up to you. You've been wanting to practice for the hearing and I've been putting you off. After breakfast?" She smiled at him again, and her smile was a little less shy. Fox stood up, seeing a quick way out of this discussion. He also felt a great sense of relief. The practise session was something that needed to be done and he had been wondering how he was going to talk her into it. Maybe the hell of yesterday would be worth the anguish, if she was finally going to be cooperative. "After breakfast is fine. Let me get dressed, so we can have it." "I'm glad you're not too angry," she said, watching his bare legs as he made his way back to his room. *** Sunday noon FBI Headquarters Dana looked over at Evan Byers across the top of their fourth victim. The big man had a slump to his shoulders and just when she was beginning to think he was inexhaustible. "Hey, Evan, you going sour on me?" she asked in answer to his glazed expression. That made his eyes brighten. "Whoops, sorry." He handed her the specimen bottle for which she had asked. "And you say you do this all the time? I'm glad I don't have *your* job." "I usually don't do four all at one time and on a Sunday," Dana Scully smiled at him not only with her mouth, which was behind the mask he could not see, but with her eyes which he could. She was so beautiful, Evan thought. During the long morning, as he watched her careful hands, so quick and confident, he had wondered at what other more intimate tasks they were as skillful. Evan had also been thinking a lot about Fox Mulder. He had to admit that after meeting the guy he was less than impressed. The man just had not seemed very interested in Dana. But then, from Dana's reaction, it was obvious that this meeting had been unusual. Evan had taken her out for Italian after Mulder and his companion's departure, but Dana had not been herself and it was early when she asked him to take her home. Dana was examining something with great curiousity. "Evan, have you ever seen this before?" She was studying the current victim's hand. Not the hands exactly, but the skin around the nails and the tips of the fingers. There was a dark greenish tinge. She tried to remember where she had seen something similar before. Evan glanced over her shoulder. "I haven't had a case like this in long time," Evan said, very interested in her finding. "This man's been poisoned and, by the looks of it, someone got hold of an old can of rat poison. That's a real cocktail of nasty stuff." "I haven't heard of anyone using that in years. Not since the 60's when it was a popular *modis operandi* for mystery writers." Scully pulled the arm of the light bar down to brighten her field. "Arsenic mostly, isn't it? And Warfarin, that old anticoagulant?" "Among other things. After it hit the papers that a few children had gotten into some and died, most people stopped keeping it around, just too dangerous. The few companies still manufacturing it began putting in an additive to leave this trace, just in case someone should decide to try to do away with their old maiden aunt. Done right, this stuff can can cause a particularly slow, debilitating death." Dana looked up from her examination. She was impressed by the depth of his knowledge. "You continue to surprise me." He shrugged looked at her over the white mask. "I did my dissertation on poisons. Fascinating stuff," he offered. "Looks like we finally got a break in this case." "Yes, but what do we put down as cause of death?" "We'll have to take some tissue and fluid samples and look more closely at the gross morphology. Probably the arsenic. Warfarin was a weak anticoagulant, even in its day. The current varient Coumadin is still used, though a man couldn't die from that unless he had a bleeding disorder beforehand. I've also seen records where death was due to complications from the other additives in the mix, most of which have no place in a human body." "We'll have to go back and check the other victims again," Dana sighed. She prepared to start the recorder. "Bets are," Evan added, "the coroner was a young guy. No one sees this stuff any more. Shall we finish up before or after lunch?" Dana considered. "Let's get it over with. Lunch is just going to have to wait. Not your fault, but I'd like to see a little of my weekend." "After this, want to take in a movie?" Evan asked carefully. "Maybe someone's showing the Return of the Body Snatchers." *** Sunday 1pm WPP safe house somewhere in Southern Maryland So far, Fox thought, as he dozed on the couch listening to the radio, the day was certainly an improvement over all of the others he had had that week. Breakfast had settled well into Fox's stomach. Being hungry helped and he had eaten his fair share, but not as much as he would have before the days of illness had shrunk his stomach. Still, the fat, protein and carbohydrate had put his blood sugar on a surprisingly level plateau and given him a warm glow. Angela had also made him more of the herb tea that she had fixed the night before as a peace offering when they returned from Washington. She said it was good for migraines and, by the time they had gotten home, he had felt one coming on. He wondered if the tea had helped him sleep. If so, he should ask her for the recipe. As promised, Angela worked with him for a long time on practicing for the hearing. They concentrated for three solid hours, much longer than he had thought she would last. He laid out the scene for her, explained the players; the prosecution and defense lawyers, the expert witness, the judge and court officials, and all of their motivations. Then they role-played. He took the roles, alternately, as both the prosecution and defense lawyers and they worked on her responses and prepared her for the difficult cross-examination. The questions he had had to ask about her past and current mental health were the most difficult and he found himself getting lost in his own need to know. "Ms. Larson," he had asked, striding before her as the defense lawyer, while she sat in a kitchen chair in the middle of the living room, "you have recently left Longmead Hospital after spending the last eight years there. What kind of facility is Longmead Hospital?" "A sanitorium specializing in psychiatric care," she said evenly. He had corrected her original reply which described it as a mental institution. "And why were you there?" Clear-eyed she stared at him, clearly answering to Fox Mulder and not to any lawyer. "When I was young I had fantasies. I know them for what they are now." He looked deeply into her eyes, his own guilt asking, "When you think about your time there, how do you feel?" "I try not to think about it, but I realize it was necessary," she replied, her answer as laden with meaning as his question had been. "I harbor no grudge against anyone for what happened to me. These things just - happen. It was no one's fault." Then she smiled, but just for him. "Besides, I'm better now." Later she had asked to let him pretend to be her and she had role-played as the prosecuting attorney. He had given ridiculous answers, but she had taken it all in stride. As with her card playing, he had found that she had a quick and lively mind. They both spent the better part of the last half hour, laughing. They had gotten silly and that had evaporated the last of the tension between them. Thinking about it as he lay on his back, his legs stretched out all the way to the end of the short couch and beyond, he found that the experience left a bittersweet taste in his mind. He had not allowed himself to act so childish in many years, except with Scully and then only rarely. That hurt a little, remembering her and Evan laughing. But he also remembered getting silly with Samantha those last years before her disappearance. It was unusual for him to remember the happy times as well as the pain over her loss. So Fox came away from that session, having to deal with some rare emotions, relief being the most prominent, and now he was indulging in a fantasy of his own. He was busily engaged in analyzing a match of skill, muscle and strategy between two similar forces as they vied for a small and useless target. In other words he was listening to a professional football game, and it was going to be a great game, too, the Red Skins versus the Cowboys, the big rivalry. Angela breezed into the room a half hour later after having started something for dinner. She had a pack of cards in her hand. She smiled at him but waited for a commercial to come on before speaking. "Gin rummy? You can leave the game on I don't mind. We'll play for who does the dishes." Fox smiled back wickedly. The afternoon was shaping out very pleasantly. The Red Skins were even ahead. "You're on. And you haven't got a prayer," he warned her, rolling off the couch and onto his feet. *** Sunday 2 pm FBI Headquarters Dana elected not to take Evan up on his offer of a movie. She left the pathology lab, feeling utterly drained. Four autopsies before lunch were definitely too much, even for her. At least they came away with the satisfaction that they were on to something. She wanted a shower, but had reports to write. She preferred to complete her paperwork immediately following such examinations. It was a discipline she had followed since her academy days, whenever possible; however, when she worked with Mulder, her findings were often reported after considerable delay. She stared at her desk for a moment. Its neatness depressed her. She turned on her heel and took the stairs down three flights to the basement. The X-Files office was dark. A pile of interoffice mail sat on Mulder's chair. At that moment Dana missed Mulder desperately. Why wasn't he here to take her away from all this .... normalcy? In short, life was dull without him. She felt guilty, too. Angela's presence at the canteen had thrown her off and she had not been thinking straight since. She moved the mail off Mulder's chair and switched on his computer. She wanted to feel close to him. The chair seat was definitely too far off the ground to be hers. When she put her fingers down to enter her user ID, even the keyboard felt dusty. She had not read her e-mail since Friday and decided to see if there was anything new. Procrastination was not usually one of Dana's failings, but it was today. She scanned a list of uninspiring office memo clutter and passed them by. Then she spotted an odd entry. The message had come off the Internet and the originating address included the name 'Greene' and the country designation of 'UK'. Phoebe Greene was one of Mulder's old flames from when he had gone to school at Oxford and the relationship had ended badly for Mulder. 'Flame' was a good term for Phoebe. Dana did not know the whole story, but having met the tall, stunning woman, she was pretty sure Phoebe had treated Mulder little better than the dust under her feet. Phoebe worked for Scotland Yard and had involved them in a case a few months before. Dana had to admit that, though she had not been working with Mulder long then, seeing Phoebe and Mulder together had brought out the green-eyed monster in her. The fact that Phoebe obviously wanted Mulder back in her bed, though just for the duration of her trip, had made Dana very angry. Mulder was a big boy in many ways, but it had been painful to watch him be so used. His was a passionate nature and Dana suspected he had his share of one night stands, but she firmly doubted there were many that lasted longer than that, perhaps in large part due to this disastrous early affair. She had to admit he certainly acted differently towards Phoebe than towards any other woman Dana had ever seen him with - acutely wary of her and completely unable to resist the attraction at the same time. She had probably been the geeky Oxford graduate's first real infatuation. Luckily, the events of the case itself prevented anything significant from happening, and Dana had been there to pick up the pieces. At the time, Phoebe had scarcely acknowledged Dana's presence at all, except as a potential rival for someone she obviously still considered her property, at least when *she* wanted *him*. Now what would Phoebe be writing to her about? Dana was surprised the woman even remembered her name. The fact that the mail was directed to her, and not a copy of something sent to Mulder, she found all the more intriguing. "Dear Dana," the message began. Dana thought. "I've done some checking around and found you're still working with Mulder. Can't say I'm surprised. I got an odd request a few weeks ago and it's been on my mind. I didn't want to go to Mulder about this, so I've decided to lay it at your door. I leave it up to you to decide what you want to do with it. "I received a phone call from a woman who said she found my name crossed out in Mulder's little black book. That should have made me suspicious because to my knowledge Fox's is red." "She said that she and our mutual friend had become close and she wanted to 'surprise' him with some little 'love' gestures by reminding him of some good old times. She asked about what lipstick I used when we 'dated', what perfume, music, where his own special little erogenous zones are ... I am sure you get the idea." "Normally, I would have brushed off such a sophomoric request, but she got me on a bad day. The man I'd been engaged to had just decided to take off with someone younger. Mulder was always so easy and so much fun to tease. I let him have it. I gave her an earful. I guess old habits are hard to break." Scully shifted uneasily in front of the screen. She wished she was not reading this. "In the last few days, I've started having second thoughts. This woman didn't sound like someone Fox would go for and any phone number of mine Mulder has would be decades old. She must have done some digging to find me. Not the actions of a woman with a whim to put a little extra spark in her romance. "When I checked out and found you and our friend were still together I knew something was up. My estimation of your feelings for Mulder even a few months ago were such that, if he had a hot number on the side, you'd have either committed murder or packed up and taken off, trench coat and all. Keep him safe, Dana. This feels like a bad one. But don't keep him safe for me, keep him safe for yourself. He needs someone like you, he doesn't, and never did, need someone like me. Phoebe. P.S. Oh, yes. She also asked me to tell her everything I knew about Samantha." *** Sunday 5 pm WPP safe house somewhere in southern Maryland Fox wiped sweat from his forehead. She was winning again, had been winning slowly, but consistently, all afternoon. Just enough to keep ahead of him. It baffled him. She should not be, and the little smile that played around her lips and her eyes was daring him to find out why. In the background the Los Angeles Rams had just missed a field goal, only their first that year. The Red Skins had won their game earlier and he had turned on a west coast game. "They never should have let Jenkins go," she commented casually. Mulder's eyebrows climbed. She had been surprising him all afternoon by what she knew about football. Not a lot, but little things, like the fact that Los Angeles had traded away their back up place kicker, Brad Jenkins, for a future draft pick. And she had listened attentively as he explained points of the game with which she was not familiar. Not surprisingly, the hands they played while he was lecturing were the ones he lost. He sniffed the air appreciatively. Pot roast. The smell of moist red meat and onions and, unfortunately, the ever present carrots floated on the air. He had helped her peel potatoes earlier so they would have real mashed potatoes for supper. Not that reconstituted, freeze-dried stuff. He was feeling warm and domestic and normal. A Sunday like he had not had in a long time. Sigh. No beer, more's the pity, as he was not allowed alcohol on duty. Instead, he had filled up on popcorn and sunflower seeds, ignoring Scully's imagined whisper in his ear, Angela played a card and waited for him to respond. She was smiling secretively again, knowing that she would probably win this hand, of this, their last game, and he would have to do the dishes. And she had been spending bits and pieces of time in the kitchen all afternoon to make sure there would be a lot of them and he knew it. Fox accepted the challenge by doing some mathematics and spatial flip flops in his mind with the last few hands. What had just happened could not have happened. The card she had played, she could not have played. Fox loved puzzles and gleefully he found the answer to this one. "You *are* cheating!" he exclaimed, pouncing from his side of the table to hers with an unnatural quickness, this time managing not to injure himself, and deftly reaching for the hand she held under the table. Hastily, she put the hand behind her back, but not before he saw the cards she held. He made a grab from another direction and she shifted again, twisting out of his grasp, daring him with her eyes to take them from her. Laughing, because with his long arms he knew she did not have a prayer of escaping him, her being so small, he played cat and mouse with her a little while longer and then descended, coming up close to reach around to the back of her for the cards with both arms almost around her, almost touching. He never intended to touch her, but she moved in close. They touched. Her breast brushed across his chest. And a whiff of her cologne, something familiar, drifted into him making him catch his breath. He had the cards. He backed away a safe distance, his stomach fluttering, pretending that what had just happened had not happened. "You were cheating. All the time." He waggled a finger at her. "You're slick." "How else could I win. You have a unique advantage. I still win." "How? What makes you think that?" he asked in mock seriousness. "You cheated." "I changed the rules of the game and you never asked," she defended. "The point of the game was, you needed to figure out how I was doing it." Her hair was undone from their wrestling and her breath was coming a little quickly. "I still win." He looked at her, admitted to feeling a shiver of sexual heat where she had touched him, and not entirely accidentally, he knew. Too bad she was his client. Back when he was interested in casual affairs, before the last few months with Scully, she would have made a nice diversion and now that she was not afraid of him, maybe an interesting sexual partner. he warned himself, His body, however, was reminding him of exactly how long it had been. "Do I have time to take a shower before dinner?" he asked. Angela was in the kitchen when she heard the shower start. She began washing up some of the pans. She had plenty of hot water, which meant he was using cold. As she listened to the water in the pipes, a weary, sad expression came into her eyes, so different from the bright, playful woman she had pretended to be all afternoon. Wiping her wet hands on a towel, she took her purse from the counter and pulled out a vial. Frowning, she looked at it for a long moment, as if some decision had to be made that she did not look forward to making. Straightening her back, as if strengthening her resolve, she poured some of the contents into a plastic bag, took the rolling pin from the drawer and meticulously began to crush the tablets into a fine white powder. =====================================================================