
TITLE:           Walk Like a Man 
AUTHOR:          Windsinger (aka Sue Esty) 
E-MAIL ADDRESS:  Windsinger@aol.com 
DISTRIBUTION:    IMTP for the first two weeks, then Ephemeral, 
                 And Gossamer. All others, please contact the
                 author.
SPOILER WARNING: Fire, Fearful Symmetry, The End, CC season 7, 
                 previous VS8 and VS9 universe. 
RATING:          PG-13 
CLASSIFICATION:  X-File, A, MSR

 

SUMMARY: A side trip to report on a fire in the FBI field office 
brings Scully face to face with an old 'boyfriend' and Mulder 
makes a couple of new friends of his own. Mulder and Scully are 
soon hip deep in arson, riverboat gambling, prostitution, dog 
hair, revenge, and death.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROLOGUE 

September 12, 1am 

George Tienne, stared briefly into the small room. There was not 
much to it but a bed. A single, red bulb burned. The old Korean 
woman had been there and for the amount they paid her had done as 
adequate a job of cleaning up after the night's excesses as one 
could expect. In any case they were as clean as they needed to 
be. This wasn't the Hyatt after all, the man thought with a 
sardonic smile. He headed for the narrow stairs.
 
Leaving the stairwell, he first locked the flimsy door behind him 
and then turned to face the vast, shadowy cavern that was the 
warehouse floor. As usual, he felt a twinge of primitive 
apprehension. All that dark. Not 'as usual', he heard a growl. 
Confused, Tienne stared in the direction of the sound and spied 
three points of light, all roughly knee high, glowing from one of 
the deeper shadows. Pulling a small flashlight from the pocket of 
his silk suit, he pointed its wavering, feeble beam towards the 
three sparks. He need not have bothered. The spots moved forward 
until the figure was full in the dim light of the cavernous 
space.
 
With a sigh, Tienne flicked off the beam and slipped the light 
back into his pocket even as his heart rate slowly dropped back 
to normal. "What a bad boy you are," he said with nearly his 
normal voice. "And what's that you got there? A cigarette? A lit 
cigarette? Who would 'ave believed it." For there was a lit 
cigarette butt contrasting with the dark head and white teeth. 
There were also no more growls, just an almost comical grin, until the 
head lowered over a pool of what looked like water on the floor. 
The slightest puff and the tip of the butt reddened and a flicker 
fell to the floor. By the whoosh of flame the fluid had been 
anything but water. 
 
With an oath that was more alarm than fear, Tienne spun on the 
toes of his expensive Italian shoes to run, to find a fire 
extinguisher, to call the fire department. No, not the fire 
department. But before he could decide what to do something heavy 
and black streaked forward to latch onto the sleeve of his suit 
coat.
 
"What do you think yer doin'! You crazy?"
 
Even as he cried out the flames found fresh tinder in the piles 
of dust-dry packing material stacked everywhere about the 
warehouse. The flames were man-size now and racing hungrily across
the floor. 
 
In the man's terror, he stripped off his coat, but the demon's 
teeth only took a new hold, this time into the flesh of the man's 
arm. There it hung, a dead weight that would not be dispelled. 
Human screams were drowned in the fire's roar as the flames 
joyously swirled higher and higher around them both. 
 
~~~~~~~~ 

ACT I:   

September 13, 3pm 

She should have parked farther away, Dana Scully thought as she 
completed the distance between the Mississippi Visitor's Center 
and where she had parked their rental car. Easing back behind the 
wheel, she was pleased to see that her companion in the 
passenger's seat slept on. She didn't see how. Even with the seat 
pushed back as far as it would go, he looked uncomfortable with 
his arms and legs all in a jumble. She took a moment to examine 
his face. At least in sleep the lines of strain were less. He 
didn't seem to be dreaming either, another reason to give thanks.
 
As quietly as possible, she turned the key in the ignition. The 
motor chugged to life, not as smoothly as she would have wished. 
In response Mulder turned, stretched, or tried to, and reversed 
the drooping slouch so he was sitting more or less upright. 
Groggily, he blinked the sleep from his eyes.
 
"Sorry to wake you, but since you're up anyway do you need to 
make a pit stop?"
 
With an effort he squinted against the glare, towards the cluster 
of rest stop buildings that looked exactly like so many others 
all over the country. He probably didn't even remember what state 
they were in. Not enough sleep, not nearly enough.
 
"Where are we? We must be close if you're doing the bladder 
thing."
 
She jabbed him lightly in the shoulder.
 
"Ow!" He clutched at the affected area as if he were actually 
injured. The broad smile took ten years off that face.
 
"So I don't like to appear on the scene and immediately start 
looking for a bathroom. Do you need to go or not?"
 
He waved her on. "I'm fine. I'm not the one who had two cups of 
coffee at lunch."
 
"You're not the one who has to be able to function once we get 
there."  	  	 
 
The grin faded. She shouldn't have said that. 
 
"Trying to tell me that the Energizer bunny is not what he used 
to be? That I know."
 
Sulking, he slid back down onto his backbone, knees almost to his 
chin. Scully found her exit and headed towards town. She would 
have liked to cheer him up but had learned long ago that she 
might as well save her breath. Her talking about his moodiness 
only made him moodier. He'd come out of it. His mind was too 
active, too starved for input, to run in circles for long. If you 
want a sensitive man in your life, it was the price you paid. For 
this particular sensitive man, she'd sell her soul.
  
"Where's Skinner again?" he asked.
 
She had told him before, but he must not have been paying 
attention or he would have remembered. "Paris. Some Marine unit 
reunion."
 
"Paris? His unit served in Vietnam."
 
"You'd hold a reunion in a malaria-invested swamp?"
 
"Why not? Can't beat it for atmosphere. I just hope he gets back 
soon. Having Kersh hand out the homework assignments makes me 
nervous."
 
"Skinner will be back Monday. I know that you don't see eye to 
eye with Kersh --"
 
"Aim lower. The man hates my guts. He looks at me like I was 
something the dog just rolled in." 
 
Scully resisted giving her partner a sisterly pat on the head. In 
his present mood he wouldn't find the gesture either comforting 
or humorous. She settled for, "He just doesn't know the real 
you."
 
"That's fortunate."
 
"Skinner would probably have assigned us here anyway. We were in 
Arkansas."
 
A "hrump" from the passenger seat indicated that Mulder clearly 
believed it unlikely. 
 
He had a point. Skinner always had had an amazing ability to read 
between the lines of their well-laundered case reports. He was 
also a pro at reading body language or, in this case, of reading 
voices over the phone.
 
Returning to his subject, Mulder grumbled, "Kersh must have gone 
into my records." Hazel eyes stared morosely out the window. 
"I'll bet that he made notes on everything I hated and when 
something came up that fit the bill -- bingo!" His palms came 
together in a loud smack that made her jump.
  
"You don't have to go near the fire. It's really my case. You're 
--"
  
"I know, just along for the ride. Useless...again."    
 
Ouch, Scully thought. Lookin' bad. 
 
"Mulder, I know that it's primarily my assignment, but I'm still 
grateful to have you along. And you know that I'll be as quick as 
I can. It shouldn't take long. They called me in because I know 
what should be stocked in district level laboratories. I set up 
two during my internship. And look on the bright side...if the 
fire was anything like what was described in the report they sent 
us, then there won't be much to salvage. It'll be a total loss. 
One night, maybe two and we'll be home."	
 		  
The buildings of Vicksburg's small downtown area appeared on 
their right. Where the land dipped they'd find the river, the 
mighty Mississippi that they'd already crossed earlier in the day 
on their trip from Arkansas. Where the smoke curled high and 
black and oily, they would find the fire. Almost at the same time 
that the smoke came into view, Scully could smell it. Troubled, 
she shot a look in Mulder's direction. He hadn't moved. He still 
stared unblinking out the window though his jaw had tightened. He 
had to have smelled it, too, and she thought that she saw him 
swallow, not once but multiple times. 
 
After that, she was forced to pay attention to the road. Somehow 
even this place with its mild winters had managed to accumulate 
its share of car-mangling potholes and they were not entering the 
best part of town. Maybe not the worst either, but certainly the 
oldest. Within blocks of leaving the interstate she was 
navigating down a narrow street. On her left, tall warehouses 
which must have stored cotton for decades even before the Civil 
War, blocked her view of Old Muddy. On her right were mills just 
as old. Huge, dirty, many-paneled windows looked out on the 
street. The warehouses and mills were mostly empty now, decaying 
and stocked with pallets of goods no one needed anymore. Oh, a 
lucky few of the ancient behemoths were close enough to the good 
part of town to make it worth someone's time to renovate them 
into trendy outlets, boutiques, sports clubs or apartments, but 
she saw none of those here. One, however, had been leased and 
cheaply renovated by a certain budget-poor and space-hungry 
government agency.
 
Scully took a shallow turn where both road and river curved as 
one, and all at once there it was. Squatting on an entire block, 
black with soot and charred timber, it smoked under a low sky of 
the same color. She was almost relieved to see that it was nearly 
as dead as a building can get. Maybe what she had told Mulder 
about seeing home soon would actually turn out to be true. She 
would know soon, for at the far end of the dead mass she could 
make out the distinct flashing lights in blue and red, white and 
yellow. There must be two dozen emergency vehicles, though even 
their brilliant colors found it hard going to cut through the 
smoke-polluted air. 
 
She drove slowly past the south end of the building. They built 
well a hundred or so years ago. Even as damaged as it was, 
even with its roof and most of its upper floors burned through, 
much of the outer brick walls still stood. Ash-covered pools were 
everywhere, however, evidence that the fire department had been 
here and moved on, following or trying to get ahead of, the 
inferno's hungry advance. They hadn't kept very far ahead, but 
then buildings of seasoned wood and decades of accumulated dust 
burn fast and hot. At the north end of the block, the fire 
department was still cleaning up the last bits of orange flame. 
From what Scully could see as she pulled up behind the yellow 
police tape, there was a good deal less damage here than at the 
southern end.
 
"Local relations must not be too bad," Mulder's voice announced, 
the sudden break in his silence startling his partner. "The 
Bureau's offices may not be a total loss." His head was inclined 
towards a sign on an intact section of the old brick wall above 
where two fire fighters conferred. A blue and white four-by-three 
foot rectangle was miraculously untouched except for the streams 
of dirty water running down its face -- Federal Bureau of 
Investigation, Central Mississippi Field Office.
 
"Sorry. Guess we won't be going home as soon as we had hoped."
 
"When have we ever gotten so lucky?" 
 
Not that often.
 
For the next few minutes they watched the elaborate choreography 
of fire fighters, trucks, ladders, and hoses dramatically framed 
within the high arcs of water. All the while, the lights of the 
emergency vehicles cut like colorful light sabers through the 
murky haze. 
 
And always there was the smell. It wasn't the worst Scully had 
ever run into, not by a long shot. Then again maybe that sense 
had dulled in her over the years. It wouldn't surprise her 
considering the hours she spent among much more noxious odors. Or 
did the smell bother her so little because she saw it as another 
player in the drama that she found so immensely satisfying? The 
thrill racing through her body at this moment reminded her of why 
she had gotten into this. Law enforcement, fire and rescue, 
emergency medicine. Helping when help was needed. This excitement 
was why she had considered a nice, safe family practice for only 
about a minute and a half during all her years of medical school. 
She found that she longed to plunge in among all those lights and 
hoses. She wouldn't even mind the soot or getting her hair wet 
from the spray. 
 
But there was Mulder. She looked over her shoulder. He hadn't 
moved a step from his place beside the passenger door, which kept 
the car's body between him and the ruin of the building. Just 
then the wind shifted and a cloud of oily smoke rolled down the 
street towards them, temporarily obscuring the scene to an opaque 
gray. Scully felt as if she were watching the last gasps of a 
fallen monster whose bones, already blackened in death, stretched 
from one end of the block to the other.
 
Shifting her attention, she noted with satisfaction that her 
partner was equally fascinated, but then he also found flesh-
eating mutants that would just as readily eat him fascinating. 
She was struck again at how tired he looked. Even the complex 
emotions he must be feeling couldn't mask his obvious fatigue.
 
"There's nothing much to be done here now," she said. "It will be 
at least tomorrow before we can get near this end. Why don't you 
go find us someplace to stay. Call me with the specifics." 
 
His gaze shifted warily, as if she had asked him to make a coffee 
run. 
 
"Mulder, admit it, you're beat. Get some sleep. Find something a 
little upscale this time. Something with ESPN and room service. 
Just make sure that it's upwind from here." 
 
When his expression failed to change, she dropped her voice and 
looked up at him through her eyelashes. "While you're at it, get 
one of those rooms with a king-size bed." They would get two 
rooms so that everything would look kosher for the bean counters, 
and because they each liked to have their own space, but no one 
said anything about where they actually slept. "It's been a long 
time," she added just in case in his suspicion and weariness he 
missed her point. It HAD been a long time since they had done 
more than just sleep together. 
 
His response this time was a slight widening of his eyes, a 
straightening of his spine. There was still no alteration in his 
features, but his whole form seemed to have taken on a little 
glow. It was enough. It would do very well. Before the sudden 
intimacy became too uncomfortable she turned away, her body 
humming in pleasurable anticipation.
 
Before either had time to say more Scully's attention was caught 
by a tall, solid male figure, striding energetically in their 
direction. 
 
For a long moment she just stared. "Shit," she breathed. Hastily, 
she turned back in Mulder's direction as if her only intention 
was to reach for something in the back seat of the car. 
 
"You thought Kersh was after you?" she stage-whispered just 
barely loud enough to be carried over the sound of idling engines 
and swimming pools of water being forced under pressure through 
hoses. "You were wrong. He's after me, or both of us."
 
She lingered only long enough to catch the change in Mulder's 
expression. Eyebrows raised, face subtly changing with curiosity, 
he looked beyond her at their visitor. Reluctantly, she turned 
back, busying herself unnecessarily with adjusting the strap on 
her shoulder case.
 
The newcomer's voice boomed. "Agent Scully! Scully! They could 
have knocked me over with a feather when I heard they were 
sendin' you!" Ignoring her stiffly outstretched hand, the man 
grasped her in a rough, enveloping bear hug that lasted several 
tenths of a second too long for old friends. A single tenth of a 
second, however, was enough time for Scully to feel her partner 
bristling at her side, though how he had moved from the opposite 
side of the car as quickly as he did she had no idea.
 
"You must be Agent Mulder," said the deep voice with its affected 
Southern drawl. "Heard about you." He gave no hint of what he had 
heard, however, though the tales had most likely been neither 
good nor true. Neither did he extend his hand or look at Mulder 
very closely. His hands were still occupied in gripping Scully's 
upper arms, an affectation he must have picked up from the 
movies. "Let me look at you," which he did with an intensity that 
made Scully wish that she was wearing about three more layers of 
clothes.
 
"Special Agent Fox Mulder," she introduced, awkwardly, inclining 
her head in her partner's direction, "this boa constrictor is 
Horace Samson. He was the mentor assigned to me during my field 
internship."
 
"That's Special Agent in Charge Horace Samson to you, Scully, and 
what's this talk about 'mentors'? We were partners." Eyes never 
leaving her face, he added, "She ever tell you stories about us, 
Fox?"
 
"Mulder," the current partners said together, to which Scully 
added, "And that's 'Agent Scully', Agent Samson."
 
"Sure, sure, though don't be none too surprised if I forget. 
We're a lot less formal down here in the swampy South. She ever 
tell you, Mulder, that she had a kind of a thing for me back 
then? Older agent, hero worship, all that stuff. All under the 
blanket though, fraternization bein' frowned on, but where 
there's smoke, there's fire, they say. Ha! Ha! Get it? Smoke? 
Fire?"
 
All this time he still had her at arm's length as if she were a 
picture he was thinking of buying. "My, but you're looking good, 
Scully. Classy, real classy. Maybe you can show the female agents 
in my neck of the woods how to dress while you're here."
 
Scully extricated herself with difficulty on the pretense of 
digging into her shoulder bag for the file folder that held what 
little information they'd been given on this inter-bureau 
assignment.
 
"Speaking of 'here', tell us about 'here'. We weren't sent many 
details."
 
Horace Samson shrugged with obvious false modestly. "I've been 
squattin' here for two years, ever since my promotion --" 
 
"I mean about the building and the fire."
 
"Oh, that. Bureau got a ten-year lease on this monstrosity about 
five years ago. It was temporary, they said, while they argued 
over funding for a permanent structure. Argue is all they've 
done. Conditions of the lease required that we take the whole 
thing. Now you could house a battalion in there, but, 
unfortunately we couldn't move into most of it because the budget 
won't support the renovations and OSHA would have a field day if 
we tried to use it without, so we only use about a third. Fire 
started up before midnight, up the street in the end unit that a 
J.A. Lazarus Corp sublets from us. That's just used for storage 
as far as I know. As for me, I won't miss this particular black 
hole, I'll tell you that. It's been a maintenance nightmare."
 
"And where were you last night in the hours before midnight, 
Agent Samson?" Mulder asked in his driest tones.
 
Samson's face darkened for a moment to a swarthy purple and then 
just as quickly it pinked as he started to laugh. "Good one! Yes, 
that was a good one!" 
 
Mulder took a step away to avoid a manly slap on the back which, 
from the thickness of Samson's arm, looked capable of bruising 
ribs.  
 
"Thought for a second you were serious, but then you don't know 
about the other fires."
 
"Other fires?" Scully inquired with interest. "There have been 
others?"
 
"Two others, also old mills, all within six blocks. Someone is 
starting their own urban renewal project, but that's a whole area 
of investigation that you don't need to worry your over-paid 
heads about. Our arson guys are already working with the local 
arson guys. Three is no accident."
 
"What shape are the labs in?" Scully asked, praying that the 
rooms had been reduced to ash. It would be good to be able to 
drag their tired bones home.
 
"Amazingly good. Water and smoke damage mostly, and heat, of 
course. They're housed in an annex, a series of those modular 
units in an inner courtyard. The old building's electrical and 
plumbing just couldn't be brought up to code. We should be able 
to save a fair amount of the supplies and equipment, but not 
without a lot of work." A big grin aimed in Scully's direction 
broadened even further the wide, beefy face. "Which is where you 
come in."
 
Scully hoped that the SAC didn't notice her shoulders sag in 
disappointment. She hadn't even needed to look to know that 
Mulder's had as well. "Can we get in there yet?"
 
"To a limited extent. I have staff moving things out now. We've 
taken over an empty grocery store some blocks from here where 
we'll actually be separating the wheat from the chaff. That's 
primarily where you'll be working, but not until tomorrow. If you 
want to see anything today, you'll want to change." He eyed her 
in a way that indicated that he was not simply estimating her 
size. "I think we do have coveralls, boots and a hard hat that 
will fit you. They'll be a little big, but I'm sure that a woman 
of your experience can manage." The sliver of a grin that 
followed the oh-so-innocent comment was enough to heat a certain 
red-head's temper to a near boil. Before she could muster an 
attack, however, Samson's attention had turned to Mulder. 
"Nothing left your size though, I'm sorry to say," though from 
the tone of his voice he wasn't sorry at all.
 
Scully stepped in before the two actually began snarling at each 
other. "That's no problem. Mulder has a critical report to finish 
from our last case, don't you, Mulder? As we discussed, why don't 
you go find us a couple of rooms."
 
Mulder's eyes narrowed as his shoulders bunched again but after a 
moment, she saw the wrinkles in the suit jacket smooth out. He 
had given up quickly, too quickly. He must be even more tired 
than she thought. 
 
"Here, now," announced Samson, "you needn't bother about scouring 
the city for accommodations." With that his big right hand went 
to his coat pocket from where he pulled two keys. With a sudden 
snap he tossed these to Mulder who, rising to the challenge, 
deftly caught them despite the intentionally bad throw. These 
were not the modern programmable pass cards most hotels now use, 
but real keys, the kind with large and, in this case, well-worn 
plastic tags. "I took the liberty of getting you some rooms. A 
real bargain and right across the street from the command center 
and our temporary office digs. Sorry, no Ritz this time; got to 
save our mutual boss a few bucks. Course, it's going to smell 
gawd-awful being so close to the scene, but after a few minutes 
bathed in the stuff, who's to notice?" Having clearly noted 
Mulder's well-tailored suit -- one of her partner's few vanities 
-- the SAC asked, "You don't mind roughing it, I hope? Good for 
public relations considering that the businesses around here are 
going to suffer." Almost happily, Samson glanced over his 
shoulder at the devastation. "Well, come on Dear -- excuse me, 
'Agent' Scully -- let me show you what's left."
 
Scully made a mental note of the section of the building his hand 
pointed towards. "Why don't you go on, Agent Samson. I'll follow 
in just a moment."
 
With a wink in Mulder's direction that could have implied 
anything, Samson headed back to what remained of his field 
office. Good thing, too, Scully thought, as her partner's right 
hand had unconsciously clenched into a fist at his side. 
 
"Never thought that jocks were your type," he quipped with a 
brittle smile. "He's got former fullback written over every 
sagging muscle."
 
"Horace may have said there was smoke but that was just the dust 
from my back-pedaling," she replied, stiffly. "At its height our 
'relationship' was about as warm as day old coffee. Coming out of 
medical school, my first assignment was forensics, as you might 
imagine, but I wanted field agent status. You know that rookies 
are always teamed with a mentor." 
 
"And Samson was someone's idea of bad joke."
 
"The ol' boy neckwork strikes again. Stick it to the little 
woman," she replied glumly, squaring her shoulders as if 
preparing for battle. First, however, she took a step closer and 
allowed her hand to come up stealthily between them so that she 
could just touch his sleeve. "You going to be all right?" She 
meant the fire, of course, not Samson. She had no serious 
problems with the big lug as she knew Mulder didn't. Even now 
Mulder's eyes had left the broad back of the ASAC. His attention 
had returned to the blackened brick and timbers of what remained 
of the warehouse. 
 
"Problems? Me? Seriously, I can manage. I just don't have to like 
it in the same way that I don't have to like disemboweled bodies, 
formaldehyde, old urine, or Brussel sprouts. How about you and 
that man's sticky hands? I thought you were going to slug the 
guy."
 
"And I thought _you_ were. No, don't worry about me. I can deal 
with Samson. We do have a 'history' of sorts though not the fairy 
tale he remembers. I've let him have his fun. If he didn't get 
the hint, however, he'll end up with my fist in his teeth next 
time he tries to feel me up."
 
"That's my girl. Subtlety incarnate."
 
She laughed on cue though something in her tingled with an 
unexpected brightness. 'My girl.' It was the sort of thing that 
should have rankled but didn't. Had he been trying to get a rise 
out of her or had he meant the remark as an endearment?
 
But he didn't seem to have meant either. Distractedly, he was 
studying the building. More significantly, he was idling flipping 
the keys Samson had given him so, somewhere in that brilliant 
mind, thoughts were grounded in the here and now, even if 
subconsciously.
 
"I guess that you'd better give me one of those keys," she said.
 
"No," he replied, drawing out the word thoughtfully, "I don't 
think so. I have a bad feeling that the dives I normally pick are 
going to look like the Taj Mahal compared to Jim Bo Bob's 
selection. And then there's the room numbers." He held them up 
for her to see.
 
"In addition to broadcasting to the world where we're staying, 
they're a floor apart and likely to be on opposite ends of the 
building."
 
"The creep," Scully snarled.
 
"I'll see what I can do," he said pocketing both keys.
 
She wanted to give him a kiss. Much as it was against their code 
of no overt intimacy when anyone could see, she wanted this more 
than anything. Nothing passionate, just a peck on the cheek but 
he was gone, physically as well as mentally.  Pausing first to 
slide the driver's seat back as far as it would go, he had folded 
his lean form into the car. Within seconds he had backed up and, 
with a wave and the travesty of a smile plastered on his face, 
was heading down the empty road parallel to the long block of 
what was left of the warehouse. She watched until he reached the 
end of the block and turned right, lost from view. Without 
enthusiasm, she set off in search of Samson. 
 
Once around the corner and out of sight from Scully and everyone 
involved in cleaning up the last of the fire, Mulder stopped the 
car and turned off the engine. For a moment he sat as if making a 
decision. Finally, he unwound slowly from behind the wheel.
 
Blackened beams towered above him. In many places, crumbling 
walls of brick remained upright but precariously so. 
Occasionally, there was a glitter from broken glass or pool of 
standing water. 
 
Samson had confirmed their suspicions. This was the first area 
where the fire had been controlled, also where it had started. 
Occupied with saving what they could of the offices of the 
building's most illustrious tenant, the fire department had moved 
on from here rather quickly. Mulder looked for remaining hot 
spots and found only a few places where smoke rose lazily into 
the leaden sky. His body tensed when, to his right, a beam 
shifted, charred wallboard slipped and a stream of water flowed 
down to spit and sizzle momentarily on a warm area below. Nothing 
more than that. Slowly, tense muscles relaxed. 
 
He knew why he was here. True, the Lively case so many years 
before had broken his near phobia about fire -- it no longer 
paralyzed him --  but, as he told Scully, that didn't mean that 
he enjoyed being around it. Just to be sure that the demon stayed 
in its cage, therefore, he took readings from time to time when 
he found a place like this. He was glad to be able to report that 
his reaction was no worse than it had been over the last few 
years. No better either, but no worse. He could manage. True, he 
was a little light-headed from the smell -- even the long months 
trying to recover what he could from the charred remnants of his 
beloved X-files hadn't cured him of that. 
 
As if the strain on one sense heightened others, he thought he 
could hear the gentle plop of a single drop of sooty water. His 
lips actually curled in a grim smile. He was thankful for the 
hyper-awareness that came with the adrenaline rush. Their lives 
had depended on such awareness before and would again. It was 
reassuring to know that he would still have that, whether fire 
was in the vicinity or not.
 
Their lives... Scully's life was what he meant. Scully of course, 
had always been important, but these last months her place in his 
life and his future, as heart of his heart and bone of his bone, 
had taken on a new and deeper significance. That made their 
mutual survival even more critical if that was possible. And so, 
this need to be sure. Even his agreeing without protest to get 
some sleep had been for her, for her safety. Theirs was a 
dangerous life and he felt more acutely than ever with every 
twinge in the morning, with every second off his running time, 
his own mortality, and hers. So again, the need to be prepared... 
always. 
 
'After all, just look at me!' he thought. Over 40. Middle-aged. 
Still in pretty good shape, but it took longer all the time to 
stay that way, took longer to recover from even the little 
injuries, not to mention the big ones. Was his own biological 
clock telling him that it was time to settle? And what did that 
mean to a person with his kind of history?
 
Undiscovered country, that was for sure, and something he was 
going to have to work on, which meant taking the time. Meanwhile, 
there was still the job, and his safety and Scully's, fire or no 
fire.
 
With irritation he rubbed the back of his neck to dispel a little 
numbness there. And where had these serious thoughts come from? 
Maybe he really did need to get some sleep.  
 
Not eager to crawl back into the car immediately, he stood a 
while longer, leaning against the bumper, thinking of nothing in 
particular, when a change in the wind brought a cloud of ash down 
on his head. Coughing, he reached through the open window for the 
remains of a soda and accidentally leaned on the car horn. 
Leaping back from the sharp blaring, he stared guiltily around. 
He need not have worried. There wasn't anyone close enough to 
hear. The nearest team of firefighters was far, far down the 
block. They could possibly hear a bomb go off, but nothing less 
than that. 
 
He was taking a drag on the soda straw when he heard the first 
cry. Instantly, he stopping drinking, stopped breathing. Couldn't 
be. But within five seconds the sound came again, very like a 
child's cry -- and it seemed to be coming from deep within the 
burned out hulk of the building, maybe forty feet to his left. It 
was so weak that if he had been any farther away it would never 
have registered. The cry couldn't be what it sounded like, of 
course. No child could have lived through such an inferno but 
Mulder, more than anyone, knew that stranger things had happened. 
 
Again the cry, the whimper, weaker this time, like a child and 
yet not like a child. A child with smoke-damaged lungs and 
scorched throat might sound that way and there was a particularly 
impressive pile of unburned debris in the very direction from 
where the fading whimper seemed to originate. 
 
Mulder raised his voice to call out to anyone from the emergency 
team who might be able to hear but as they could never have heard 
the car's horn, they wouldn't be able to hear him either. He 
thought of the time lost if he were to run or drive from help. 
Calling Scully would take as long, as his cell phone was locked 
in the trunk deep in his bags. His instincts told him to just go. 
But then there was the building -- dirty, still hot, unstable, 
unsafe. Scully would kill him. 
 
So when had that ever stopped him?
 
He dove in. Actually, dove was not the right word. He had to 
watch every step, had to be careful that each irregular surface 
would hold his weight before going on. Still, he hurried as fast 
as he could. Remembering that the cry began as a response to the 
car's horn, he called as he picked his way through the rubble, 
"Is anyone here?" After waiting a moment, and despite the fear 
that the charred remains of plaster and wood beams and floor 
boards would come raining down, he shouted again, more loudly 
this time.
 
The choking half-whine, half-cry came again and more clearly than 
before. There was no doubt in his mind now that there was someone 
here. The sound was only fifteen feet away, but each foot gained 
took at least twenty seconds and that didn't count the detours. 
By repeatedly calling and receiving answers of a sort, Mulder 
located the place, if not the victim. Under a metal staircase 
that had survived, twisted from the heat though nearly intact, he 
made out what appeared to be the remains of a cluster of desks 
and file cabinets. One of the desks was of the huge World War II 
executive kind made of solid hardwood that would burn slow. It 
was badly scorched but in amazingly good shape thanks to the 
metal staircase above that had protected it from the worst of the 
falling debris. The crying originated from somewhere near there.
 
He crawled over one burned timber after another, heat still 
rising from some, only to step into one filthy puddle after 
another. Wiping his sweating face with a grimy hand, Mulder began 
to seriously question his trying to do this alone. What if he 
twisted an ankle here? And it was so hot, both from the humid 
heat coming up from below and from either side of him, as well as 
from the sun, which was blazing down from somewhere above the low 
ceiling of smoke. His throat, raw both from coughing and from the 
ash and dust, was making it increasingly painful to breathe. 
Still he had no choice but to push on for the responses to his 
anxious calls were becoming weaker.
 
The short distance seemed to take an interminable time to cross, 
but at last he could begin hurling debris from in front of the 
big desk even while he coughed and called out. Some bits were 
heavier than others. A chunk of what may once have been part of a 
floor strut was hot and burned his hand. Everything he touched 
was filthy. Sweat dripped filth into his eyes. At least he was 
receiving constant encouragement for his labors from the victim 
in the form of an irregular and odd-sounding cough. So weak was 
it that he could only picture a child or a thin and terribly old 
person. Employing every bit of muscle he'd maintained from the 
years of pounding the streets and working out in gym and pool, 
Mulder levered away a final huge piece of sheet rock thus 
clearing the way to the dark cavity under the desk. 
 
The sound of the strangled coughing was instantly clearer. It 
came from the kneehole, of course. As good a place to seek 
shelter as any if a couple hundred pounds of wall hadn't come 
slamming down. Cautiously, Mulder bent over and reached his hand 
into the blackness. "It's all right," he coughed in a voice so 
rough that he barely recognized it as his own. "Don't be afraid, 
help's here." There came a rustling and to Mulder's utter 
surprise something soft and dry and unseen crossed his palm. For 
a moment he stood transfixed, puzzled, and then a broad grin 
transformed his streaked and blackened face. "You," he wheezed, 
"have just ruined my suit."
  

September 13, 11pm 

Dirty, sweaty and exhausted, Scully trudged up the steps to the 
motel's second floor. The work had been unpleasant to say the 
least.  Most of the salvage was dripping and filthy. Cardboard 
crumbled under her hands. The other workers interrupted her 
constantly asking what this or that object was and if it was 
valuable enough to be worth saving. Worse had been the task of 
keeping Samson at arms' length. She'd almost decked him twice. 
Good thing Mulder hadn't been around or there would be one good 
'ol boy who would be looking for an oral surgeon. 
 
Scully looked down at the key in her hand. Mulder never had 
phoned but he had registered a room in her name, which was next 
to his and connecting, though this place had never heard of a 
king-size bed. He'd been correct about the original room 
assignments. Samson had originally placed her next to him and 
signed Mulder up for one on the far side of forever. Mulder had 
taken care of the problem, however, and so could be forgiven for 
neglecting to call.
 
It was not surprising then that Scully was now looking forward to 
receiving a little TLC. For starters, a bubble bath and then a 
foot massage -- at the latter of which she had found her partner 
to have extraordinarily skill. The former? Having Mulder in her 
bath was fun but not what one would call relaxing, and most of 
the water somehow ended up outside of the tub. Mulder also had 
had hours to sleep so he had better be willingly to go out for 
some decent food. This fifties fleatrap did not have a restaurant 
and the only carryout the front desk recommended catered 
exclusively to the pizza crowd. And, Scully mused as she fumbled 
with her key, if he was actually able to find something green and 
crisp and low fat, then she would be very, VERY grateful.
 
As the door opened, her nostrils were assailed by a renewed scent 
of the fire. At the same instant her eyes registered the 
wrongness of the room. Automatically, she took a deep breath, 
holding it even as she reached for and brought up her weapon. 
 
"FBI!" she announced..
 
No answer. For the first time she was able to consciously absorb 
what she was seeing. What possible trouble could have found them 
so quickly? An old enemy always came first to mind. In this case 
what came second was a flashback to nightmare charcoal drawings 
of gargoyle demons. She could still see them, pinned to the 
walls, littering the coffee table, burning in the fireplace. 
 
No, not again. 
 
With relief, closer inspection revealed that this was not the 
problem here though there certainly was some kind of a problem. 
The room, which must have been dingy enough to start with, looked 
like an entire kindergarten of hyperactive, fingerpainting 
children had gone at its walls and furnishings but the only color 
they had been given was black. Tiny blurred black footprints 
textured the utilitarian rust-colored carpet. Equally marred were 
the much-rumpled bedspread and walls. The depressing little 
room's one lamp had been knocked over, it's shade marred with a 
large smeary handprint. It appeared as if all of the towels from 
the bathroom had been run through a coal bin and then strewn 
about the room. Scully called again, louder. Still no answer. A 
touch test revealed that it was not paint but something very much 
like coal dust. Clearly soot from the fire. 
 
Almost afraid to look but with her weapon still at the ready, 
Scully peered into the bathroom. Involuntarily, her eyes widened.
 
This was worse. In addition to black 'fingerprints' on floor and 
walls and even some spots on the ceiling, there was an inky ring 
around the wet but empty tub. There was also a different smell to 
add to the fire smell, something herbal and hauntingly familiar. 
That was when she spied the empty bottle that had once been full 
of her favorite and very expensive shampoo.
 
Damn! 
 
Running a finger through tub ring showed that there were chunks 
of black hair mixed in with the black and oily muck. The hairs 
weren't terribly long, but too long and too dark to have come 
from her partner. 
 
Dazed, Scully walked back into the main room. There was more hair 
mixed with the dark stain on the bedspread, which was also very 
damp. And there on the nightstand -- Sacrilege ! -- was her 
hairbrush, clogged with the same black hair.
 
Double damn!
 
The connecting door to the next room was ajar. On her way she 
passed the room's one chair. A bundle of rags were tossed over 
the back and they were clearly the source of the fire stench. No, 
wait, those weren't rags -- well, at least they hadn't been that 
morning. It was Mulder's suit and the lumps of ruin on the floor 
were what remained of his best work shoes. Sweet Mary, what had 
the man been doing?
 
She had reached the gap in the open door. Without opening it 
further she could see into the bathroom of the next room. It was 
nearly as bad as her own, bathrub ring from hell and all. It was 
with a mixture of relief and irritation that she identified the 
soft sound that drifted on the smoked-tinged air. Snoring. And 
she knew whose. 
 
Lowering, but not replacing her weapon Scully entered. Somehow 
she was not surprised to find that whoever or whatever had 
trashed her room had done an equal job on Mulder's. The state of 
the decoration, however, was less of a concern to her than 
finding its occupant, and find him she did. 
 
There was Mulder, every glorious inch of him, spread-eagled 
across the sagging mattress wearing nothing but his black silk 
boxers -- her favorites -- and a good deal of the ever-present 
black soot. He was totally out as only Mulder can be when he 
finally gets to sleep after days of near abstinence. The shocking 
part was that he wasn't alone. Along his side lay a large, black 
lump. Scully didn't even have time to tense before it moved. An 
elegant head raised itself from Mulder's not-so-clean shoulder 
and looked calmly in her direction. A dog, a large slender dog, 
half Mulder's length. Mostly black, with brown accents and white 
stockings that started below the knees, the animal was beautiful 
but of no breed that Scully could immediately name.
 
Curious, Scully bent over the suspiciously shiny head and took a 
deep sniff. She wasn't surprised to detect the scent of her 
frightfully expensive shampoo. With growing understanding, she 
noted that the pads of the animal's feet as well as its drooping 
ears were wrapped in inexpertly applied white gauze which 
suspiciously matched the bandage on Mulder's right palm. On the 
nightstand, in addition to the remains of first aid salve, rolled 
gauze bandage and tape, was a vet's bill. Scully whistled at the 
charge. Maybe she should have gone into veterinarian medicine 
after all. Mulder's fluffy friend meanwhile had rolled lazily 
over to a half-sitting position and had begun flopping a feathery 
tail up and down on the mattress with remarkable energy. Scully 
noted that 'he' made no attempt to surrender his position. 
 
"Very well, you can have him for tonight, but, I have to warn 
you, Mulder doesn't swing that way." With a smile Scully left the 
room quietly closing the connecting door behind her. Her 
expression turned to renewed exasperation as she beheld the 
condition of her room. Wearily, she found an almost clean place 
on her bed to sit and phoned housekeeping.
 
End of Act I
  

ACT II:    

September 14, 8am 

It was with hesitation that Scully cautiously opened the 
connecting door the next morning. She hadn't knocked just in case 
either Mulder or his new friend was still sleeping. Both were 
awake, but so intent were they with each other that neither 
noticed the movement of the door. Mulder was polishing his second 
best, and much-scuffed, work shoes.  When you chased after X-
Files the way they did, you never went anywhere without backup -- 
a rule even Mulder didn't universally ignore.
 
"Now you listen up," her partner was saying. Clearly, he had 
picked up the slang from their time in the South. The enraptured 
canine sat before him, ears perked, and enchanted by his every 
word. "If you want to hang out with us there are just a few 
things you have to get straight. One, not a sound until Scully's 
had her coffee; two, no chewing on her shoes; and, three, no 
making messes on the floor." The animal whined in reply. "Yes, I 
know that you were good and patient and waited for me this 
morning. I'm just warning you to keep up the good work. Four, if 
pizza is what we've got, pizza is what you'll eat, and, five, if 
I have company, you sleep on the floor."
 
A very dainty 'yip!' for such a good-sized animal came in answer.
 
"Yes, and you have my permission to gnaw on any bad guy you can 
find and, I promise, finding them will be like shooting pigs in a 
barrel."
 
"I think that's 'fish in a barrel'," Scully corrected. "Pep talks 
to the troops?" Her partner spun around with a broad grin.
 
"I take it that you two have met?"
 
"Last night, not that you noticed." 
 
"Then you haven't met formally. Satan, say hello to Scully."
 
With a step as light and springy as a dancer's, the dog trotted 
over to where she stood, sat down, and held out one white 
foreleg. The gauze on its paw was no longer as pristine as it had 
been the night before.
 
Scully liked dogs and bent down and shook the proffered appendage 
with the solemnity with which it was offered. "Nice to meet 
you... Satan?"
 
"I had to call him something."
 
"Only you, Mulder. Sleep well by the way?"
 
"Like a rock. Want breakfast?" And there was indeed breakfast -- 
bagels and fruit, juice, and coffee. If this was Mulder on a good 
night's sleep, she'd have it more often. "Satan and I went 
shopping," he announced, clearly pleased with himself.
 
"And how did you meet your new buddy?" Scully inquired, reaching 
for a cup of coffee.
 
He proceeded to give her the whole story and it all made sense in 
a Mulder sort of way. Her eyes drifted around the wreckage of the 
room. He winced. 
 
"It wasn't that he didn't want to take a bath. Once he got his 
wind back, some food and water, and a little painkiller for the 
burns, he was pretty frisky and just thought it was a great game 
to keep slipping away from me." Playfully, he batted at the 
animal who, as playfully, crouched and snarled back. "Quick 
aren't you, boy?"
 
Scully sighed. "Well, that explains the mess and my missing 
shampoo. But my hairbrush, Mulder..."
 
She had never seen those bedroom eyes look more penitent. "I 
wanted him to look nice for you. I was going to go out last night 
and get you a new one, I really was, but after the last few days, 
and carrying him out of that building, and then the trip to the 
vet and the bath, I guess I just..."
 
"You passed out on the bed."
 
He reached into a plastic grocery bag on the floor and handed her 
what he found. "But I did get you one when I was at the store 
this morning."
 
It had a red plastic handle and plastic bristles and probably 
cost five ninety-nine, but she reminded herself as she counted to 
ten that it was the thought that counted. What caught her 
attention was what else he had bought on his trip to the store -- 
two kinds of dog biscuits and at least half a dozen brands of dog 
food. Mulder had the softest heart in the universe and as easily 
wounded. An uneasy feeling began to mix unpleasantly with the 
coffee in her empty stomach.
 
"Mulder, how long do you think you're going to be able to keep... 
Satan. A well-trained dog like this must have an owner, a family 
that loves him. People who are worried sick about him right now."
 
A shadow crossed Mulder's face. Not a big one, just a little one. 
"Of course I know that, but they did let him out to practically 
burn to death in the fire."
 
"Dogs get out. That can happen to anyone."
 
He looked down at his new friend who stared up adoringly into the 
agent's solemn face. 
 
"I wanted a dog for the longest time when I was a kid -- Sam, too 
-- but Dad always said 'no'. And I mean a real dog not like - ah, 
you know - Queequeg. As he began spending more and more time away 
from home, however, Mom began to see a point to it and for one of 
the few times in my life stood up with us against him. He finally 
agreed that when I was thirteen --" Mulder's voice caught.
 
Scully knew what had happened when he was twelve.
 
"Of course, it never came to be. For a long time I was barely 
capable of even taking care of myself. Then after Dad and Mom 
split, I could have done anything and she wouldn't have noticed, 
but by then it was unthinkable. Sam had wanted one as much as I. 
But if we had had one, I would have wanted one just like Satan." 
He looked her way with a sort of wavering smile. "I just wanted 
to pretend, I guess. Just for a few hours. Guess you never quite 
take the boy out of the man."
 
No, you never do, Scully agreed to herself, and if the boy's life 
is full of pain, the man carries that burden with him as well. 
 
With an inaudible sigh, she began struggling with the nearly 
indestructible bubble packaging on the new hairbrush. It would do 
for the time being.
 
"Satan's nice, Mulder, he really is and I'm glad you saved him. 
Thanks also for breakfast, but I've got to get to work. You can 
make yourself useful, by the way. Lots of manual labor to go 
around. They probably won't even mind if Satan hangs around; 
they're a nice group of people. Samson's the exception."
 
"Aye, aye, Captain." With a grin, he gave her a snappy salute as 
she rose from her perch on a clean edge of his bed to head back 
to her own room. "And, Scully --" She paused without looking 
back. "-- I did call. The animal shelter opens at ten. I'll call 
back then and see if anyone's reported him missing."
 
Curtly, she nodded before hastily escaping back into her room. A 
little cold water, a little more make up than usual on the eyes, 
and maybe he'd never know how close she had come to tearing up 
right then.
 
Dogs and kids... and Mulder, the biggest kid of them all. No, 
that was unfair. He was a man -- the best she knew.
  
September 14, 9am 

As Samson had said, the fleatrap motel -- which had more fleas 
than Satan, Scully was willing to bet -- was indeed convenient. 
It was only a block from the former supermarket, now temporary 
district office. For nearly two hours they worked with the rest 
of the displaced employees among the acrid smell of smoke and wet 
cardboard, unpacking who-knew-what-unimaginable stuff that only 
Scully could identify.  Samson had still not deigned to make an 
appearance when, just after ten, Mulder excused himself without 
enthusiasm to call the animal shelter. He thus missed the SAC's 
breezy and sparkling clean appearance. Scully had just given her 
report -- that there was very little salvageable and that she saw 
no reason why they couldn't leave the next morning -- when Mulder 
and his sidekick returned. His face was a mixture of emotions. 
The way he looked at Satan, however, and the way he looked at 
Samson made it pretty clear to Scully that there had been no 
report of a lost dog answering Satan's description -- and that he 
was not overjoyed to encounter Horace Samson again.
 
If the ASAC noticed the hard set to Mulder's jaw, he gave no 
sign. He did, however, greet Satan with lavish affection. The dog 
wriggled in delight and seemed to enjoy the game of leaping feet 
into the air after an imaginary treat. Mulder just frowned, a 
little hurt crease deepening between his eyes. 
 
"Satan just likes everyone," Scully told him in a low voice.
 
"And here, I thought he had some taste," Mulder murmured.
 
"So where'd you meet up with this fellow?" Samson asked after a 
few more games.
 
"Found him trapped in the area of your warehouse where you said 
the fire started. It looked like he'd been there from the 
beginning."
 
"Honest? Then you've done the community an invaluable service, 
Agent Mulder. Stud's the goodwill ambassador to this entire 
neighborhood." 
 
"Stud?" Mulder croaked.
 
"He answers to just about everything but that's what I call him. 
You're a randy man, aren't you, Stud. Half the bitches in this 
quarter of the city have carried his DNA at one time or 
another... and who's to blame them, fine fellow like this."
 
"But who owns him?" Scully asked.
 
"There's no report at the animal shelter," Mulder confirmed.
 
"Oh, someone does. He's always clean. Like Tramp, there are 
plenty who will feed a friendly stray, but not many who will wash 
one."
 
Scully's eyebrows lifted in Mulder's direction. His response was 
to show no reaction. 
 
"I'll ask around," Samson said. "Someone will know. Now more 
important is a little complication that came up this morning. You 
didn't see anything or 'smell' anything unusual when you were 
moving around in that part of the building yesterday, did you, 
Agent Mulder?"
 
Scully felt a definite 'uh oh' radiate silently from Mulder's 
direction.
 
"I thought I had a survivor. A child. My mind was on other 
things."
 
"Absolutely. I just hope that you're moving around won't confuse 
the arson and homicide teams too much."
 
"Homicide?"
 
"Arson team found a body this morning in that general area. Of 
course, old building like that, it could have been a vagrant. His 
steno burner may even have started the fire. He could have been 
smoking in 'bed'."
 
"Then why investigate it as if it were a homicide?"
 
"Three burned buildings, three bodies. Forgot to mention the 
other two victims yesterday, didn't I. Two might be a coincidence 
but not three, and since my people are all busy chasing their 
tails trying to reconstruct their current casework, I've asked 
your boss and mine to lend me you two. More in your old line as I 
understand it, am I right, Agent Mulder? We do have a lease on 
the building so one could legitimately say that this last one 
occurred on federal land."
 
Dreams of home fading into the uncertain future, Mulder checked 
out Samson's version of their new orders and found that the SAC 
was correct. He had contacted Kersh who had even paged Skinner at 
his conference in Paris for his approval. They were stuck here 
and Samson seemed suspiciously cozy in his communications with 
Kersh. What if the man currently sitting in Skinner's chair was 
trying to catch them together? It would be something to embarrass 
Skinner about not to mention what the Bureau would say about 
partners 'doing it'. He may even have hoped to catch them during 
their previous case, but Mulder's personnel file must not mention 
that sleep was a rare commodity when he profiled. Hell, Kersh 
might even have convinced Samson to find an excuse to run the 
equivalent of a bed check. A fire alarm in the middle of the 
night and a convenient camera would do it if their rooms were 
separated as originally intended. 
 
The mournful glance that passed between the partners moments 
after Samson's announcement showed that the same thoughts had run 
through both their heads and that they had come to the same 
conclusion. Their nights were going to be very lonely.
 
After that Scully went off to wrap up her part of the salvage 
operation and Mulder to get a start on their new case. They met 
for lunch at a little barbecue place around the corner from the 
burned hulk.
 
As they settled at a small table on the edge of the restaurant's 
tiny outdoor patio, Scully looked around at the sparse crowd. 
"Now I know why we were treated like royalty."
 
The corners of Mulder's mouth twitched. "I don't think that the 
red carpet treatment was for us --  though my understanding is 
that this place's yearly expenses are practically paid for by the 
FBI lunch bunch who are now laying down their VISA cards who-
know's-where. No, we have our present company to thank for our 
warm welcome."
 
Satan gave them a doggy grin and a tail wag from just outside the 
low row of planters that separated the patio from the public 
sidewalk. "The word of his rescue has spread like wildfire. He 
really is a kind of folk hero around here... though along the 
lines of the Scarlet Pimpernel or Robin Hood."
 
"Not Johnny Appleseed?"
 
"Cute."
 
"And don't sell yourself short," Scully said, her eyes smiling at 
her partner from over the top of her menu. "You're the hero of 
the day."
 
Self-consciously, Mulder rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess 
so. In every other jurisdiction in this country I would have, at 
the very least, received a severe reprimand for disturbing a 
crime scene -- no matter that I didn't exactly know that it was a 
crime scene at the time."
 
Scully grinned at her friend fondly. It was unusual for him to be 
actually thanked for something. "Accept the flowers when they 
fall, it happens seldom enough. And I am proud of you. I would 
also have killed you if you had gotten yourself hurt, but I know 
what the others don't -- what it took for you to wade into that 
mess. I'll just have to find a way to reward you."
  
Startled by the heat in his partner's blue eyes, Mulder pretended 
to bury his face in his menu. "Scully, it's too dangerous," he 
murmured. 
 
Under the cover of the open menus her hand crept over the table 
to briefly clasp his. "Then get what sleep you can now because 
once the heat's off - watch out," she cooed.
 
Hands were back on their own sides of the table by the time their 
wait staff appeared. Scully ordered a barbecue beef sandwich. 
Mulder found her order interesting. Scully ordered red meat like 
other people ate ice cream; it was comfort food. If she was in 
need of comfort, he knew where she should be getting it.
 
"Sorry," he said, gesturing towards her plate when their food 
arrived. 
 
Again, she had followed his train of thought. "It's not what you 
think. Not entirely, anyway. I really was thinking that that if 
there are any leftovers your friend would prefer this to 
lettuce."
 
That got a laugh from both of them. One they needed badly.
 
Over lunch they talked about the South and the news and the 
doings of Scully's family until after they had eaten. More and 
more, they tried not to talk about work all the time. It had felt 
odd at first, not any longer. Over coffee they got down to 
business.
 
"I'm going to look at the bodies this afternoon," Scully 
announced.
 
"Enjoy. I have half a dozen interviews with the cream of the Old 
South. The first victim was a sleazy bail bondsman; the second 
was a sleazy riverboat gambler -- yes, they still have both 
riverboats and gamblers; and the third was a sleazy real estate 
developer. Seeing a pattern here? Someone's not just practicing 
urban renewal but trying to short cut the judicial system. Even 
more, I don't think anyone's going to mind if we don't solve this 
one except perhaps the insurance companies. The only connection 
between these guys -- besides the sleaze factor -- is that all 
spent a lot of time on the local floating casinos. There are four 
tied up right now, less than half a mile from here. Do you think 
that a few games of Twenty-One would be considered a business 
expense?"
 
"Depends on how badly you play," she smiled.
 
He grinned back. "And here I thought you were going to tell me 
that I'd need to declare my winnings."
 
"That'll be the day. You don't even play the lottery."
 
While Mulder paid the check -- in anticipation of his winnings -- 
Scully reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. 
Almost apologetically, she passed it across the table.
 
"What's this?" he asked.
 
"They've hired some of the neighborhood crowd -- retirees and 
college students -- to help with the clean up. They heard about 
Stud's -- er, Satan's -- rescue and that we were looking for the 
owner." She gestured to the paper. "Three different people have 
told me that that's the block generally considered to be his home 
turf. Maybe before you get tied down to a green felt table you 
might take a swing by there."
 
Crestfallen in a way that only Scully could read, Mulder put the 
paper in the top pocket of his second best suit. He had barely 
looked at it. "If Satan has a loving family nearby, then why 
hasn't he left me? It's not like I have him on a leash." Sensing 
he was being talked about, the dog quivered all over with 
excitement. Perhaps he thought that Mulder was going to slip him 
some more barbecue. He'd already eaten a third of Mulder's lunch 
and half of Scully's.
 
"Maybe he's just being polite. You did save his life. Much longer 
in that hot, closed place without water and he would have died. 
Have you told him that he can go home?" she asked gently.
 
The lightness of the morning gone, Mulder stretched his body 
upright. "I'll go. Meanwhile, we both have a lot of work to do."
  
September 14, 5pm 

Three of Mulder's interviews with victim family members were no 
shows. The other two had little to offer, none of it 
complimentary. As a result, Mulder found himself in the late 
afternoon with three hours to kill before the serious casino 
crowd appeared. With reluctance he pulled the slip of paper from 
his breast pocket. 'River and Appletree' was all it said. After 
asking for general directions he found that it was roughly a mile 
from his present location. It was a pleasant day; he would walk. 
If he got lost, he could always ask directions again.
 
It turned out that he didn't need to. As soon as it was clear 
where they were headed, Satan took the lead, galloping over at 
least ten times the distance Mulder covered as he chased sticks 
and stalked pigeons and said hello to human and canine 
acquaintances that they passed. The closer they got to River and 
Appletree that was just about everyone, both two-footed and four-
footed. In the first half mile Mulder heard the gregarious animal 
called at least a dozen names: Duke, Prince, Blackie, the Man, 
Bingo, Happy and just Dog to name a few. As they grew closer, 
however, one name began to be heard more and more. Thor. "Is that 
your name?" Mulder asked his companion. "Thor?" If an animal 
could turn himself inside out, Thor would have. 
 
River and Appletree did not define a very prosperous neighborhood 
but it was a friendly enough place as long as the visiting 'suit' 
had Thor as an ambassador. Or was that a bodyguard? As they 
passed a crumbling row house bedecked with window boxes of dying 
flowers, two large Dobermans came tearing towards the sidewalk 
from their hiding place under a sagging willow. They got out just 
two barks apiece, and Mulder had begun to reach for the pepper 
spray he always carried, when Thor showed the wrathful god-like 
side of his nature. The transformation was astonishingly quick 
but effective. Within seconds the attacks had dissolved and the 
Dobermans had turned tail. Thor's teeth and growl retreated, his 
doggy grin returned, and all was right with the world. 
 
Mulder studied his companion with admiration. "You can accompany 
me into D.C. any time."  
 
They had gone only a few more steps when Thor gave an excited 
bark and bounded forward, as if his legs were all springs. A door 
had opened on one of the poorer apartment buildings and a thin 
old woman emerged with a broom. Skin as wrinkled and brown as old 
leather, hair as white as spun sugar, she had begun to sweep the 
porch. She barely had to look up at the barking before Thor was 
there, his entire body gyrating with happiness. Anyone could see, 
however, how careful he was not to leap up on the old woman and 
to keep his head high and thus be on a level where she could more 
conveniently reach to pat him. 
 
Mulder hesitated a dozen yards from the building. The happy 
reunion twisted within him leaving a trail of could-have-been's. 
He should just slip away. It would be easy enough to do though he 
would detour a block east to evade the Dobermans. Thor had other 
ideas, however. Like a black streak he was off the porch, had 
seized Mulder's coat sleeve, and was tugging him forward. The old 
woman waited for them both, the wide smile that had broken her 
face into a thousand wrinkles fading slightly. 
 
"You have something to do with bringing this bad boy home?" she 
called.
 
Mulder forced a smiled. "He got himself in a tight place. He let 
me know that he needed some assistance."
 
"Bet he did." The old lady looked down at the dog sitting at 
Mulder's side, sitting, but not calmly. Excitement was popping 
out all over the muscular body. "Well, what's keeping you. The 
boy's been frettin' himself sick. Git on up there, y'hear!" Like 
a child with a dollar burning a hole in his pocket and a candy 
store at his feet, Thor looked up imploring into Mulder's face. 
Only after receiving a gentle nod did the dog take off again, 
this time to leap from trash can to dumpster to the landing of a 
fire escape that he climbed running. Finally, five stories up, he 
disappeared inside an open window. The old woman and Mulder had 
watched the whole performance, Mulder with amazement and the 
woman with satisfaction. 
 
She turned back to 'the suit' with a grin. "No one better ever 
move that trashcan," she said. "And you should have seen the day 
that someone left the top off the dumpster. 'That' never happened 
twice. You would have thought that World War II had started all 
over again. That old boy was right annoyed." Her expression 
sobered as she viewed her companion with curious interest. "Now 
I've never seen him do that before, ask anyone's permission for 
anything except for the boy, of course. That's high praise coming 
from Thor. You must be somethin' special."
 
Unbelievably, Mulder felt himself reddening, the hurt no longer 
as tender. "The feeling is mutual. I'm very happy to have met 
Thor. I was glad to be able to bring him home though it was more 
like him bringing me. The 'boy' you've mentioned, is he your 
son?"
 
"Spark? No, Spark doesn't have a mother that I know of, nor 
father. Just those of us in the neighborhood who've bonded 
together to take care of him." Her eyes glittered good-naturedly 
seeing how this tall, well-dressed, and good-looking white man 
kept looking up at the window of the crumbling apartment 
building. "Why don't you go up and see them. Thor would want you 
to and Spark will want to say thank-you."
 
Mulder hesitated. Being thanked always made him feel 
uncomfortable. The Lone Ranger had the right idea...just 
disappear into the West before things got mushy.
 
"You might as well go up, the boy won't be coming down. He's 
sick." Her old eyes still shone but with something other than 
humor. "I guess he won't be coming down ever again except for 
that one last time."
 
There was no choice now but Mulder knew that the experience was 
not going to be an easy one. He made it to the landing. "How old 
is he this Spark?"
 
"Who knows? Sometimes I think eight, sometimes eighty. Somewhere 
in between." She resumed her interrupted sweeping. "Top floor, 
apartment five-oh-eight."
 
Mulder didn't take the steps with any speed. The foyer with its 
yellowed tile and the worn stairway with its thread-bare carpet 
reminded him of the old junior high school on Martha's Vineyard. 
All around him the air was alive with noises from behind doors -- 
TVs, radios, a baby crying, an out of tune guitar, rap music. The 
smells of exotic cooking -- cumin and curry -- went a long way 
towards covering the more pungent scents of dry rot and old 
urine. He found the door to 508. There wasn't a traditional knob 
on the door, but instead a long four-inch handle. No sound came 
from within so he knocked softly. Immediately, there came the 
gentle tap, tap, tap of claws on linoleum and scratching on wood 
about three feet from the ground. Finally, the handle swung down 
and the door opened. 
 
Of course it was Thor. A wet nose and warm breath tickled the 
palm of Mulder's right hand and then the dog was gone. A nimble 
leap took the animal back onto the bed where, clearly, he had 
left to answer the door.
 
"You're Thor's new friend," came a whisper-thin voice from the 
bed. The mattress had been raised and placed so that its occupant 
could easily see through one of the small room's two windows to 
the street below. The window was open and there was no screen. 
Clearly, this was Thor's private entrance. The room had been 
painted a brilliant yellow so that it would glow golden in the 
sunlight, but other than that it was a barren, depressing place. 
There was a small battered TV, though it didn't look like it was 
used much, but no VCR, CD player, CDs, computer, pictures or 
books. There were medical supplies, however -- IV pole, wheel 
chair, and a cart with towels, large diapers, spit up bowl, bed 
pan and liters of fluids. A life stripped to its biologic basics.
 
Unable to avoid the meeting any longer, Mulder looked down at the 
figure in the bed. 'Eight or eighty' the old woman had said. She 
had been right. The body was certainly no larger than a child of 
eight, but that was because of its stick-like thinness. It was 
long enough to be older. The head looked larger especially as its 
scalp was covered with a shapeless woven cap of many colors. And 
the face... the face still showed where the boy had once been 
beautiful. All the best of every imaginable ethnic group. It was 
his eyes, his eyes, the same hue as his golden skin, which were 
ancient.  
 
"You can come closer. What I have isn't catching, not just from 
talking."
 
"I don't want to tire you. Should I ask someone's permission? 
Where are your --" No parents, the old woman had said. "-- your 
people?"
 
"You mean all my grandfathers and grandmothers? They won't mind. 
I do what I want --" he paused to catch his breath, "-- pretty 
much of the time." At Thor's shifting to snuggle closer, the boy 
looked down at his four-footed friend. "T-Thank you for Thor. I 
was so a-afraid." The words may have come from a tight throat but 
the sentiment was from the heart. The boy's hand came to rest on 
Thor's sleek head that lay pillowed on his chest. Mulder didn't 
know why he should be surprised but he was as he realized that 
when he woke that morning Thor had been lying with his head in 
the very same place only on his own chest. Now, however, the dog 
looked with total adoration at this boy. The emotion was clearly 
mutual. 
 
When the boy's attention returned to Mulder he seemed stronger 
than before. "How did you happen to be at the fire? You don't 
look like a fireman or a policeman, not dressed like that."
 
Mulder shrugged inside his suit. "Police is close enough. I work 
for the FBI. They had offices in that building. My partner and I 
are here to help with the clean up."
 
Half way through Mulder's explanation, Thor yipped nearly 
soundlessly and the boy turned his head for a moment so that they 
could share another one of those silent communications. "Then 
you're just passing through, you and your partner?"
 
"That's right, we're here for just a few days."
 
"Must be nice to have a partner, kind of like an automatic best 
friend, like Thor and me."
 
Mulder almost laughed at the thought of what Scully would think 
to hear their relationship compared to this interspecies meeting 
of minds. On the other hand, the boy wasn't far wrong. There were 
times when life would be so much simpler and happier if all that 
was required of him was to lie with his head in her lap. "I guess 
that's true, in a way. When you get along, it is like having a 
best friend, the best of best friends."
 
"So you and your partner get along? Is he a nice guy?"
 
"SHE is a very nice guy and very good at her job." He would not 
say that he would trust her with his life, not here with this 
young life hanging by a thread. 
  
Though his body barely moved even to breathe, Spark's eyes 
momentarily widened at the revelation of Scully's sex, then the 
boy seemed to turn inward, so quiet and for such a long time, 
that Mulder thought he had fallen asleep. The gold of the setting 
sun was flooding through the far window now. The picture of a 
slip of a boy with his faithful dog stretched out at his side 
would be a vision Mulder would not quickly forget. As quietly as 
he could, the agent moved with soft steps towards the door.
 
"So you'll be in town a few days yet?" came a whisper from across 
the room. Mulder turned back. The boy's voice had seemed as 
insubstantial as a shadow as if he were half-sleep. His hand 
still rested on the dog's head. 
 
"That's right, a couple of days, maybe three."
 
Spark coughed but without any real force. "Could Thor come visit? 
He won't be in the way. I don't like to keep him cooped up here 
with me. Besides he sees things and does things and then comes 
back and tells me."
 
A bitter-sweetness flooded the space between Mulder's ribs. It 
was a sad but lovely game that the dying boy shared with his best 
friend. "Sure, he can come visit. I'd like that. Do you want me 
to come get him?"
 
"You don't need to do that. Thor will do the finding. He's good 
at locating people he's been close to." The boy looked down his 
nose at the animal now. "Is that all you're gonna do? Lie there?" 
The dog's head came up like a shot, all attention. "Well, go and 
say 'goodbye' to the man." With one bound the animal was off the 
bed and half way across the room, leaping forward to plant his 
forefeet just below Mulder's shoulders. A large wet tongue licked 
his face. At that instant Mulder felt a little dizzy. Everything 
seemed to gray out for a moment as it sometimes does when you 
stand up too suddenly. Must be related to the emotion that 
tightened his chest. The moment passed as swiftly as it had come. 
Gently, he took the dog's forelegs and lowered the animal to the 
ground. "You take care of yourself," he said to the Thor and his 
boy simultaneously. After that he couldn't take himself into the 
cooling evening air and away from death's door fast enough.
 
End of Act II  
 


ACT III: 

September 15, 11am 

Scully washed her hands for a long time at the old lab sink. She 
had been more tired and she had attended to more odious bodies, 
but she had seldom had to work under worse conditions. The FBI 
had been given space in the basement of the oldest wing of the 
local hospital to use as a temporary morgue, rooms that hadn't 
been occupied in decades. They'd displaced a lot of roach 
families and every stirring of air from the laboring fan had made 
her imagine worse things scurrying along the floor. Dropping her 
'greens' inside a thirty-gallon plastic trash can labeled for 
laundry, she fled the place, hoping that by moving quickly the 
fleas couldn't attach to her ankles. Her body wanted coffee 
though she wasn't looking forward to the swill from the hot pot 
someone had set up on a rickety table by the stairs. A smile 
brightened her face as she saw that a pleasingly familiar figure 
was lounging against the exit's double doors. She noted that her 
partner had not come in, though there had been nothing to prevent 
him from doing so. Mulder didn't care for dead bodies at the best 
of times, and the charred, blackened victims of fire were his 
least favorite. 
 
Her smile of greeting widened to a grin when he extended a 
familiar cup in her direction. "A tall, mocha latte?" she 
guessed, inhaling the fumes with pleasure. "Ambrosia, I could 
kiss you!"
 
"Promises, promises," Mulder drawled. "I thought we should touch 
base. Is this a good time?"
 
"As good as any. Let's go outside. Even if it weren't a beautiful 
day, let's get out of here. I keep having images of rats feasting 
on my toes." As they emerged from the dim lighting into the full 
brightness of day, Scully noted that her partner looked a little 
gray. He appeared to need the sun even more than she.
 
They didn't speak right away but sat on a bench and lifted their 
faces to the warm rays. After the clammy dampness of the 
basement, Scully appreciated the quiet moment. The hot, silky 
liquid melted her insides as thoroughly as the sun warmed her 
skin. 
 
"You certainly came back very late last night," she said. "I 
heard you come in -- when was it? -- after three?" She eyed him 
speculatively. "Still have your shirt?"
 
He returned a wan smile. "I only dropped about a hundred. I 
stopped when it began to look obvious that I didn't know what the 
hell I was doing. After that I just tried to appear bored and 
carried my chips and my ginger ale from table to table. That's 
when the really interesting stuff began. It turns out that 
gambling is not the only game on the Lucky Lee and the Southern 
Star."
 
By the mournful tone in her partner's voice, Scully steadied 
herself for bad news. "What happened?"
 
"Nothing much except that I was asked twice if I wanted a little 
action and they didn't mean the card playing kind."
 
"I see. Male or female?"
 
Sighing, Mulder crossed his long legs. "Both actually."
 
Something in his face warned Scully that this was no time for 
jokes. "And?"
 
"A rather odious personage offered to pay me. He thought I worked 
there."
 
It was a struggle not to choke. "How much are you worth?"
 
"Don't be crude." Mulder was not laughing; he should have been,
considering the normal bent to his humor. She just waited. He 
would tell her in his own time. 
 
"I went up on deck to get some air -- I needed it -- and this boy 
of maybe twelve bumped into me." Mulder took a breath to steady 
his voice. "He then proceeded to rub himself against my -- 
Anyway, he had these little white cards -- an address -- if I was 
interested." Mulder hunched down as if he felt a sudden chill. "I 
took a card, but I didn't go, not last night, not without the 
vice squad at my back."
 
"I'm sorry," Scully breathed. They sat in silence for the moment, 
trying to capture in their souls the gentle sounds of water from 
a fountain and the song of birds. Scully noticed that in addition 
to the loss of her friend's peace of mind, something else was 
wrong. In what she thought was a change of subject she asked, "I 
don't see your shadow. I assume that Satan found his way home?"
 
"Who? Oh, Thor. Yes. Dog and his boy are very happy. He's where 
he should be." And Mulder obviously meant that, but then why did 
he still look so glum. Worse than glum, he was shaking and a 
trembling hand came up to shield his eyes from her. Anxious, 
Scully slid over until they faintly touched. The hell with it if 
someone saw them!
 
"What's wrong, Mulder?"
 
"Thor's owner -- just a boy -- he's dying. Spark is what he calls 
himself. AIDS. Won't be too long."
 
The cooling coffee nearly spilled from Scully's hand. "I'm so 
sorry. Are you sure that's what it is?"
 
Anger flooded up through his lean frame, but not at her. "By now 
I should damn well know Kaposa's sarcoma lesions when I see them! 
Worse, I suspect that six months ago, maybe a year, Spark was 
like one of the boys on the ship. He's a beautiful child even now 
and has no parents, but someone must pay the rent on the little 
room he lives in and for the medical supplies I saw."
 
What could she say. Scully reached between them for his hand and 
squeezed it. It was chill and damp. "Are you sick?"
 
"At heart."
 
She squeezed it again and felt a desperate returning pressure. 
More silence then for a little while to let the horror dim a 
little. "So where does this all lead us?" she asked. "Were the 
warehouses trysting places? Were these men involved? Is someone 
taking out the devils?"
 
"Yes, and yes, and yes in my highly educated opinion." He pulled 
a little white card out of his pocket. "This is a warehouse, too. 
If I lived close by, I'd get in a supply of hot dogs and 
marshmallows." Like an animal he shook as if to dispel an image 
from his mind. "What have the crispy critters revealed?" 
 
"What you would expect. Only a couple of odd things."
 
"Such as?"
 
She hesitated. "I'd like to wait till I look at the most recent 
victim. If I find the same anomalies, then I'll let you know."
 
Mulder nodded. He didn't push her. He was the same way. He didn't 
want to reveal his theories until he was sure either -- certain 
in his own mind anyway. Evidence was a secondary issue.
   
With a sign he stood, stretching. "Got to get back on the trail. 
All this makes it hard to want to go after the ones with the 
match, however."
 
"Prove what the dead were doing," she told him. "No one's going 
to push you much beyond that. The fires have to stop, though, 
before some innocent person is hurt."
 
"Some innocent person already has been, just not by fire."
 
"Want me to stop by and see this Spark," she asked. For the first 
time in their conversation he dropped the shield completely; his 
eyes were bleak as winter as he looked down at her. "I was hoping 
you'd ask, but there's no rush. He's well taken care of."
 
"Before we leave I will."
 
A nod and he wandered away, shoulders stooped. She watched him go 
and then returned to her own unpleasant task.
 
It was late afternoon before an even more subdued Agent Scully 
entered the supermarket, now temporary FBI field office. Mulder 
was not answering his cellphone. As usual when this happened she 
had to work to unclench her jaw before the tension brought on a 
headache. In deference to their changed realtionship, Mulder had 
begun to at least carry the thing and keep it charged. Afraid of 
running down the battery, however, he would often turn it off 
when he was within reach of a phone and then forget to turn it 
back on when he wasn't. 
 
Even though she always worried when unable to reach her wayward 
partner, Scully's anxiety was tempered this time because of the 
autopsy findings she would have to report when she did catch up 
with him. That part of their reunion, she would be happy to 
postpone indefinitely. 
 
Nonsense, she told herself. A simple test could as quickly prove 
innocence as guilt. 
 
A gray-haired retiree wearing old jeans and a ragged T-shirt 
covered with the ever-present sooty smudges directed Scully to 
the back of the store. The combined homicide and arson teams had 
taken over what had once been the dairy manager's office. The 
tiny cube was the one place that had not already been claimed. 
Scully's nose twitched as she entered. The room had that old ice 
cream carton smell. Not an unpleasant smell, but distracting.
 
At the moment, only one frightfully young agent occupied the 
room. "Special Agent...Mulder? He had a visitor. Black hair, long 
legs, a real looker." The smooth face that still wore traces of 
acne scars grinned.
 
"Thor," Scully surmised.
 
"If you say so. They went out over three hours ago and I haven't 
seen either since."
 
"I'll find them." She gazed down at the impressive pile of data. 
"How's the investigation going?"
 
The amusement left the young face and was replaced with an 
expression of awed respect. "Agent Mulder told us what to look 
for and, it's hard to believe, but it's all here exactly where he 
said it would be." The young man pointed proudly to the stacks 
while clearly indicating that he was reluctant to defile his 
hands by actually touching them. "These guys were dirty, and I 
mean dirty. If they weren't already dead, I'd take them out 
myself."
 
"I hope you don't mean that," she replied sagely. "If you just 
fire your weapon, the paperwork is unbelievable."
 
At that she left, more than a little pleased to see that her 
partner was for once getting the respect he deserved. It was nice 
to visit a place that didn't listen to the stories. 
Unfortunately, the visit hadn't helped her find Mulder, though if 
he and Thor were still together it would simplify her task 
greatly when she did find him. Standing outside the empty-
windowed market, she looked up and down the street wondering 
where to start. A drop of sweat trickled down her temple. The day 
was no longer pleasant. Humidity had rolled in from the South and 
now lay over the city like a heavy, wet blanket. Fretfully, her 
damp hand took another wrap on the handle of the plastic bag she 
carried. In it was a large block of paraffin that she'd purchased 
at a craft store immediately after viewing the last victim. 
 
In the end she found her partner easily enough. When the street 
was quiet she heard in the distance a familiar sound. It didn't 
take much investigative insight to head in that direction. As she 
drew closer, the repeated thuds of the bouncing ball were joined 
by the distinctive grunts that always seemed to accompany the 
exercise of male egos. After a couple of false starts -- once 
into an alley with no egress and once thwarted by a fenced 
parking lot -- she found what she was looking for. Behind a WWII 
vintage apartment building that was sandwiched between two old 
mills, a rainbow group of teenage boys were playing a vigorous 
game of basketball -- a group of boys and one tall man. He still 
wore his suit but had shed coat and tie. Scully stood to watch. 
She had often seen Mulder play. He was good, quick and yet 
graceful. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't bare-chested as he often played, so she 
was denied the sight of the strong swimmer's muscles moving 
across his chest and back. His pale blue shirt was unbuttoned 
halfway down, however, giving him a romantic, roguish appearance 
that would have to do. 
 
With men of his own age and height, Mulder played all out with an 
aggression she had seen burst out as anger time and time again. 
With boys and teens, he dialed back the intensity, always 
sensitive to their level, but never backed off enough so that it 
was easy for them. If you played with Mulder, he made you work 
for every point but you felt good about it at the end. All in 
all, it was a relief to see him relieving the tension; he had 
been way too tight when she'd seen him that morning.
 
As she watched, however, a crease appeared between her eyes, her 
brows slowly came together, and then she frowned. There was 
something odd about the play. Mulder was not laying back. When he 
wasn't making baskets or high-fiving his listless team members 
for doing so, he was using his greater height, reach, and 
experience to steal the ball from the other team. The boys were 
sweaty, hot, discouraged and even angry. This was true even of 
the ones who seemed to be on Mulder's team, mostly because he 
never seemed to pass the ball. She even saw him make deliberate 
fouls more than once but none of the boys said anything, their 
faces only darkened the more, not that the triumphantly capering 
adult in the midst seemed to notice.  
 
And on the sidelines, watching Mulder's every move with doggie 
glee, was Thor. But the dog was no longer Scully's primary 
concern. 
 
All at once while putting the ball back in play from the 
sidelines, a tall boy made a bad pass. Mulder went after it, his 
smile a wolfish grin. One of the smaller boys unfortunately got 
in the way of the charging man's left elbow. The boy went down. 
Mulder got to the ball, made the basket and congratulated himself 
but made not a move to offer a hand to the boy on the ground. 
 
Scully stepped forward but stopped as the youth got stiffly to 
his feet. Her frown had deepened from disapproval to alarm. 
Someone had to stop this. 
 
As it turned out, she didn't have to. The grumbling boys seemed 
to have already broken up the game on their own. 
 
So furious was she that she didn't trust herself to go to him but 
instead waited for him to notice her. He took his time. A couple 
more lay-ups, a little fancy dribbling. Finally, he deigned to 
head in her direction, a lazy smile on his sweat-drenched face.
 
"Right now I don't have time to talk about that 'exhibition'," 
she said coldly. "I need your help with another matter."
 
He barely looked at her. More than half of his attention was 
directed at trying to spin the ball on the tip of a finger. "What 
kind of help?" he asked in a flat voice.
 
Scully took a deep breath. "Remember at lunch that I said that I 
found some anomalies with the bodies of the first two victims. I 
found the same marks on the third, even more pronounced."
 
Half bent in his dribbling, he actually had to look up at her 
through his damp lashes. "Like what kind of marks?"
 
"I think they're bite marks, from a large animal." She waited for 
that to sink in. Not only did he not react, but his dribbling 
became more rapid. "Will you stop that!"
 
He did and stood, his hair wet, his clothes disheveled and sweat-
stained, and the basketball under his arm. "So?"
 
"Do I have to say it? Thor was found in the same general area as 
the third victim." She opened the plastic bag she carried and 
pulled out the block of paraffin. It was six inches square and an 
inch thick. "We need to measure his bite and get an impression. 
It will be crude, we won't be able to make a positive ID but we 
can rule out any obvious inconsistencies. I assume that's 
something that you want to do. You two get along so well that I'm 
sure that if you worked with him --"
 
But Mulder only shrugged, one eyebrow lifting to his left. "Too 
late."
 
Scully whirled. Thor had vanished or at least she thought he had. 
Then she caught a glimpse of something low and black loping down 
an alley.
 
"Shit! Well, aren't you going to run after him?"
 
Her partner's only response was to stretch and reach towards his 
back. "Can't. I think I pulled a muscle."
 
Scully stood stupefied for a long moment and then growled low in 
her throat, "We'll talk about this later," and took off at a run 
after the animal. At least she was wearing her most comfortable 
shoes.
 
At the entrance to the alley she did pause to look back. 
Unperturbed, Mulder was practicing hook shots again. Swearing, 
she ran on.
 
Thor led her a merry chase -- no, anything but a merry chase -- a 
sweaty, infuriating one. She now understood how the animal had 
remained free without leash or presence of an owner for so long, 
which certainly must be as illegal here as anywhere. Thor was 
friendly as a teddy bear, unless he didn't want to be caught and 
then he couldn't be. He must have God's own wisdom to tell friend 
from foe with such accuracy. Unerringly, Thor knew every passage 
and hole in the city where he could venture but his human 
trackers could not. He knew every fence that was just a little 
too high, every narrow pathway choked with garbage that less 
fastidious city creatures had pulled from trashcans, every blind 
alley that was not quite blind -- at least not for a creature 
with his size and flexibility. His least endearing trait was his 
habit of turning around and laughing at his tracker with his 
doggie grin while his tail wagged merrily. 
 
So Thor was the one having the merry chase. Only the hope that he 
would give up at any moment and lie down, paws in the air in 
order to have his stomach rubbed, kept Scully in the race long 
after she should have given up. 
 
Footsore and filthy, Scully wearily trudged back to the 
neighborhood court where she'd last seen her partner. He was 
gone. Two of the boys had returned, however. One was making long 
and ineffective attempts at the basket, the other was the smaller 
boy who had been roughly pushed to the ground during the game. He 
was still holding his arm.
 
Scully approached, cautiously. "You may have seem me watching the 
game. My friend was the man you were playing with. I'm also a 
medical doctor. You seem to have hurt your arm.  Can I take a 
look? It may save you a long wait at the emergency room."
 
The boy shrugged very much as Mulder had. He was about fourteen 
but small for his age. The other boy joined them as Scully began 
prodding the arm, checking for range of motion. "Tell me when it 
hurts and where."
 
He didn't speak but he did wince, which is all you could expect 
from a boy his age. "I think it's only a strain. Put some ice on 
it now, some heat tonight and take some Ibuprofen. Do you know 
what that is?"
 
"Our Mom will know," the second boy said. "She's a nurse's aide."
 
"Then tell her what I said and do see a doctor if it's not better 
by morning. I am really sorry that this happened. I've never 
known my friend to play so rough."
 
Both boys shrugged. "No big deal. We should 'a known."
 
"Known what?"
 
"He was with Thor," the older boy replied as if that explained 
everything. He then spoke curtly to his brother. "Come on, Luke, 
we gotta get home or Mom'll throw it out." The interview was 
clearly over.
 
Thus they moved off leaving Scully with a head full of questions.
 
Hoping to find Mulder there, and in need of a shower, Scully 
returned to the motel. An extra tip which would have to be worked 
into their expense account ensured that their rooms had returned 
to what must have been their original shabby cleanliness, but 
Mulder wasn't in his. He had been, however. Suit jacket, shirt, 
trousers and shoes made a trail from the door. The shower in his 
room had been used and his luggage rifled. Tennis shoes, jeans, 
and his favorite cutoff sweatshirt were gone. She knew the 
sweatshirt well for its threadbare softness made it also one of 
her favorites. By the time she'd showered and dressed, Mulder had 
still not returned and still did not answer his cell phone, so 
Scully decided to go shopping. Having had to use the inadequate 
bottle of cheap shampoo the motel supplied and the five dollar 
hair brush reminded her that she had items to replace. 
 
It was dark and beginning to rain when Scully returned and her 
heart lifted, first in relief and then in renewed irritation when 
she saw that the lights in Mulder's room were on.
 
She found him sitting with Thor in the middle of his bed eating 
an ice cream cone. They both were eating ice cream cones, her 
partner holding one out to Thor who licked daintily. An empty 
pint carton and a box of cones had joined Mulder's running shoes 
and the other obstacles on the floor. 
 
Scully leaned against the doorframe between their rooms, crossed 
her arms and gave him her very best 'look'. The partner she had 
worked with for nearly nine years should have known instantly 
that he was in trouble. This one reached the cone out to her with 
a friendly, "Want a lick?"
 
"No, I don't. Mulder, what's going on?"
 
She cringed as he gave that shug again. "I don't know what you 
mean."
 
"Yes, you do. Your behavior this afternoon." With alarm she noted 
the color of the ice cream. "Is that strawberry?"
 
He grinned, charmingly. "Yes. Change your mind?"
 
"Aren't you allergic to strawberries."
 
"No, I'm not; it's my favorite."
 
"No, Rocky Road is your favorite, you say that it's just like 
your life. We have to talk, but not now; I'm not in the mood. Is 
he --" meaning Thor "-- spending the night? Are the two of you at 
least going to stay in?"
 
Her partner looked down at his canine companion. "Are you 
spending the night?" Thor gave a soft yip in reply. "He's 
staying. So am I. It's raining and they have cable."
 
Scully swore, slammed the connecting door, and took another 
shower.
 
The dip in the bed came around midnight. she didn't even need to 
look at the cheap bedside clock. She could estimate the time 
because she could hear Letterman's voice dimly from the TV in the 
next room. The connecting door was open letting in just enough 
light to see the shape of the figure that had come to sit beside 
her on her bed. He was looking at her badge of all things, 
tilting it this way and that way to catch the light as if he was 
trying to actually read it.
 
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
 
He reacted to her voice first, snapping closed the wallet and 
guiltily dropping it back onto the nightstand as if it burned 
him. At last he reacted to the question.  When the answer came 
his voice was strained. "I guess I don't feel very well."
 
With a sigh, Scully leaned over and switched on the light. She 
only needed to blink a couple of times to get the full affect of 
his swollen, blotchy face and arms. She lifted up the sweatshirt 
and she was sure. "You have hives. A really good case. I warned 
you."
 
He looked almost -- scared was the only word that could describe 
it. It was hard to believe what with the things Mulder had seen, 
but then he didn't like the sight of runny eggs either. 
 
"Was it the strawberry ice cream?"
 
"Like I said -- told you so."
 
"It itches."
 
"I'll bet it does. Now stop that! Don't scratch. Let's see if I 
have any Benadryl."
 
With an inarticulate grumble rumbling deep in her throat, Scully 
crawled out of bed and opened the smaller of the two bags she 
carried. This one went with her everywhere, her traveling ER. She 
found the antihistamine and gave him the full dose. He made a 
face. "Oh, come on, don't be a baby." 
 
After more rifling she found some topical poison ivy cream that 
had calamine lotion as the primary ingredient. Then she begins to 
dab the pink lotion on the hives with a cotton ball.  
 
"I hate pink," he sulked. "Does it have to be pink?" 
 
"Live with it, Mulder. Now take your shirt off," she ordered 
wearily.
 
He complied, but with hesitation, hiding his face. She'd seen 
enough though. Was Mulder actually blushing? He had reddened. Had 
to be the rash. Mulder was as vain as a peacock around her and 
always had been.
 
She'd treat his back and then he could do the rest himself. As 
she moved across the broad shoulders, however, working the creams 
into each rosy splotch, she noticed that he had begun to shiver. 
This didn't make sense as the room wasn't cold. Lower down she 
revised her earlier assumption. No, not shivering, no gooseflesh 
had appeared, but a tense trembling. Then she knew what it was 
because her own body, attuned to his harmonics, had begun to 
respond in kind. 
 
Yes, that kind of trembling. The kind that led to other things. 
Sweet, deep, glorious things. 
 
'No!' she told himself, rising from the edge of the bed where she 
sat. This was not the time. It wouldn't be even if she weren't 
still furious at him for his odd behavior of the afternoon. 
Whirling, she thrust the tube of cream at him.
 
"Here, you can do the rest yourself. The antihistamine will also 
kick in in a few minutes and help you sleep."
 
But he just sat there, gazing at her with eyes as huge and bright 
and mysterious as the moons of Mars. He had looked at her in 
lots of ways before, with love, with lust, with joy, with sorrow, 
hurt, in pain, daring her, and even hating her but never this 
way. She couldn't put a word to it, but it was as if he were 
looking upon something totally new and simply wondrous. Slowly, 
he reached out a hand and, almost as if afraid, touched her left 
nipple where it had begun to stand out from her thin camisole. 
Scully felt herself sway with the sudden desire to touch him in 
the same way, as if this were something new and precious 
flowering up within her. 
 
Not taking his eyes from hers, he stood. That broke the spell for 
he didn't move with his usual grace. His foot caught in a 
trailing sheet. Afraid he would fall, she automatically reached 
for him and felt the warm skin of his muscular arms. The heat in 
her belly retreated somewhat, at least enough so that she could 
reason again.
 
Not tonight, Fox Mulder. Not tonight.
 
"Go to bed, Mulder," she said, though her voice didn't come out 
with any of the cool detachment she had intended, for his hand 
had come around to cup her breast. They were standing so close 
now that she had to tilt her head far back to see his face, 
hoping to read there what he was thinking. But he wasn't thinking 
at all, that was certain. What a turn on it was for her. Those 
dreamy, half-closed eyes turned her knees to jelly. She had never 
seen such total abandon on that beautiful face.
 
"Mulder..." came out a squawk this time. 
 
All at once he swept down on her. She had never felt so aware of 
the difference in their sizes as his mouth came down to cover 
hers. It was hard, hot and demanding. His body smelled of sweat. 
His arms clasped her to him with rib crunching force. Something 
hard, like hot iron, rubbed up against her belly. But beyond all 
of this was the growing fact that she could not breathe and not 
just from the alarming embrace. It was the way his mouth had 
enveloped hers as if he was determined to possess her completely. 
She began to struggle. At first she moved only a little, just so 
he would know that he was hurting her. She expected at any moment 
that he would ease off, but he didn't. If anything, his hold 
tightened. He had wrapped himself around her so strongly that one 
hand was free to roam, and it did. When that hand came around to 
squeeze her buttocks, his eyes closed completely. One would think 
from his soft, blissful moan that he was the one in pain.  
 
If there had ever been any pleasure for Scully in this ardent 
attention, the joy had disappeared totally. Her chest ached from 
lack of air as well as from the vice-like grip of his arms. With 
the situation rapidly turning critical, she struggled harder and 
for the first time felt the beginnings of real panic. She could 
not budge him. Like a wild thing she was forced to fight in the 
only way she could. She bit down -- hard -- heard a baritone-
pitched yelp and tasted blood. Extreme, maybe, but at least sweet 
air was flowing into her lungs again. She was still locked in a 
crazed man's arms, however. 
 
This was no love-making that she had ever known. His hands hurt, 
his body was hard and demanding like that of a mindless, wild 
creature and with every feminist bone in her body she knew that 
she didn't have to take it. She may be small but in their current 
configuration she also knew that she was not defenseless as well 
he should know. 
 
With one last "Mulder... Stop...!" such as she'd been gasping 
since getting something like her breath back, she let the anger 
flow. She didn't understand why he was acting like this, she did 
not want to hurt him again, but enough was enough!
 
Levering herself against his strong shoulders, she brought her 
knee up with all her strength, automatically following his first 
staggering gasp of pain with a rapid kick in the same general 
area. It was the first lesson in self-defense for women; don't 
just startle and hurt, they'll only come back angrier than ever. 
Incapacitate. 
 
It was easier that she thought it would be. He reeled back, bent 
over, gasping, tears of agony already flowing from his eyes. The 
bewildered, blotched and sweating face looked nothing like that 
of the man she knew.
 
With surprisingly fierce strength she threw back the connecting 
door and pushed him out into his own room, throwing the poison 
ivy cream after him. "When I say 'stop' I mean 'stop!'" she 
gasped. "And you can take care of your own damn hives!" Shaking 
with confusion, hurt and anger she slammed closed the door and 
turned the dead bolt.
 
She sagged back against the door she had just closed. 'What had 
just happened?' She couldn't think, didn't want to think, needed 
a bath. She usually found herself in the tub after Mulder had one 
of his attacks of sheer, irrational bull-headedness. Over the 
years that amounted to a lot of bubble baths. Seldom had she 
wanted one more than now, though she doubted that anything could 
wash the imprint of those iron fingers from her body and the feel 
of that hard, unloving mouth from hers. She could still taste his 
blood.  

With furious, fumbling fingers she began undressing only to see 
that there was a rip in her delicate camisole and two of the tiny 
buttons were gone. When had he done that? She couldn't even 
remember. 
 
The remains of the silk had barely slipped from her shoulders 
when a shiver ran up her spine. It felt as if she were being 
watched. Having learned to trust such instincts, she turned 
swiftly. From a dark corner, two inhuman eyes glowed. By habit 
she was about to call to Mulder but then the memory of the last 
incomprehensible minutes came back and she recalled her state of 
undress. Instead, clutching the ripped garment across her front, 
she edged to the nightstand for her weapon and challenged the 
eyes in the corner. 

It was Thor. She hadn't even realized that he had followed Mulder 
into her room and she had thrown her partner out too quickly for 
the animal to leave with him.
 
Too distraught to be concerned about the bite impression she 
needed to collect from her 'suspect', she threw open the room's 
front door. A blast of sultry night air flowed over her bruised 
skin. "You, out!" she commanded. "Go home or you'll get the 
same."
 
Tail between his legs, belly to the floor, looking utterly 
miserable as if he already shared his substitute master's pain, 
Thor crept from the room. He was barely clear before the door 
slammed behind him.
 
Trembling with delayed shock, Scully's crept to the bathroom to 
tend her aches and bruises. The salt of her tears turned sour the 
delicate perfume of her bath.


  
ACT IV
 
September 16, 7am
 
It was full light before Scully woke. She had been so cold when 
she had finally gone to bed that she had heaped on every blanket 
she could find. Now she was wringing with sweat. Another shower 
followed. She was grateful for the steam that fogged the mirror. 
The bruises were less visible that way. Wrapped tightly in her 
bathrobe, her body aching, she collapsed wearily down on the edge 
of the mattress. The night before she hadn't wanted to think, but 
now she did. She must. What had happened made no sense. Mulder 
was no monster. He was a gentle, considerate lover. Sure, they 
wrestled sometimes, mock battles over pillows and bedclothes, but 
he had always held his far greater strength in check, allowing at 
least the illusion of a fair fight...
 
... in exactly the way she had expected him to hold back during 
the pickup game behind the tenement. He hadn't, however, and the 
results had been disastrous. Then there was the ice cream, and 
his reticence, his refusal, to help with Thor.
 
She wasn't angry any more; she felt only a deep weariness. 
"What's happened this time, my love?" The trembling began again 
when she considered what she had done. How badly had she injured 
him? She should have thought of a less extreme way to break his 
hold, but that wasn't how she had been taught and the Mulder she 
knew would have known that. 
 
At least Mulder in his right mind would have.
 
Just then Scully heard the faintest of knocks on her connecting 
door. She didn't get up at first, allowing herself just to savor 
the relief she felt. He was up and moving at least. Then muffled, 
halting words came through the too thin sheet of plywood and 
paint. "Scully...?" After a pause again she heard, "Scully... 
please... just let me know that you're all right."
 
With cold fingers she undid the lock.
  

September 16, 8am
 
The dreams were not the worst he'd ever had, they were too 
shadowy for that, but they went on and on. He felt young and 
omnipotent, immortal the way only the young can feel. At the end 
he remembered becoming aroused in that horrible, wonderful way 
that, again, only teenage boys can feel. But this wet dream 
hadn't ended the way it should. It had ended with terrible 
confusion and the most horrible pain.
 
He woke to the most horrible pain. 
 
Tears of anguish running down his cheeks, he curled around his 
center on the sagging bed, his mind nothing more than a fuzzy red 
blur. His lip hurt as well. It had ballooned to twice its size or 
at least felt that way, and this skin itched! Bloody hell, what 
had be been doing? It came to him more slowly than it should 
have; if he'd been in a fight and kicked in the balls, then what 
had his unknown assailant done to Scully that he should find 
himself alone?
 
That thought got him out of the bed when nothing else would have. 
What he saw in the bathroom mirror confirmed what he suspected 
about his lower lip. His skin was both painful and blotchy. He 
recognized the hives but more by the pink calamine stuff on his 
arms then by the rosy patches themselves. There was more pink 
goop on his back. So how come there was none on his stomach that 
itched worst of all? Again, he shut his eyes and tried to think. 
Nothing came except for an itching in his mind that matched that 
of his skin. Scratching idly at a blotch on his hand he recalled 
a dim memory of the first time he remembered having them. Unable 
to understand what was happening to him, he'd taken his fears to 
his mother's room, relieved that his father was out of town on 
business again. Mom would make everything all right. Again he 
heard her soothing voice, felt her small hands, oh, so tender as 
she smoothed the medication on his back. A wave of arousal threw 
him from the memory.
 
Now THAT hadn't happened, not with his mother!
 
Oh, shit!
 
Mulder barely made it back to the bed before his knees gave way. 
That was Scully's touch he remembered. Her touch and his body. 
His body reacting to that touch. Never, never had he felt that 
way before. The wanting... the needing... the taking...
 
Suddenly sick to his stomach Mulder wrapped his arms across his 
chest as he began to shake. No, he didn't. He couldn't have. Not 
to Scully. Just a dream. Only there was the evidence of the cut 
lip and the pain, the terrible pain down below. Oh, shit...Oh, 
shit...
 
Somehow he hobbled to the door that connected their rooms. 
 
It was locked. 
 
In eight years he could count on one hand the number of times 
Scully had locked her door like this. Tears sprang to his eyes. 
No, no, no, don't let this be real. Anything but that. Had he 
hurt her? He took some solace in that fact that at least she'd 
been able to lock the door, that was something, but she had felt 
the need to lock the door and that was everything. He saw his 
world, his life, his hope for a future, begin to crumble. He 
wanted to disappear. How could he look at her again? He had to at 
least know how she was, to see with his own eyes what he had 
done.
 
Then? Then he would see.
 
At first he only scratched at the door, wanting to get her 
attention but only if she was awake. When no answer came, 
however, he knew that he couldn't wait. What if she needed 
doctor? He knocked a little louder. He would break down the door 
if he had to but not yet. He didn't want to frighten her any more 
than she was already. It was after the third time that he heard 
the faint noises on the other side. In time the door opened, 
though only a crack. 
 
A face as pale as his own looked up at him, red hair sticking out 
in all directions as if she'd gone to sleep when it was still 
wet. Neither spoke. Wary eyes swept him from head to toe. His 
muscles locked, he even held his breath, afraid that any move 
would be misunderstood. Finally, she opened the door a little 
farther and for the first time the light from his room fell fully 
on her face. He staggered back at the sight of the bruises around 
her mouth. His own tender tissues reacted with a deep twisting 
pain of their own.
 
She stood and watched it all. His grimace and honest reaction of 
shock and horror drew a tiny, grim smile from those swollen lips.
 
"I think you'd better come in," she said swinging the door fully 
open. "I think that you're hurt worse than I am."
 
He managed to make it across the floor somehow to sink gingerly 
onto the edge of her unmade bed.
 
"What did I do?"
 
"Don't you remember?"
 
He stared down at the fading hive blotches on his arms and then 
back up at her face, misery written all over his. "Just shadows. 
I dreamed."
 
"Maybe they weren't dreams. Did you dream about playing 
basketball?" she asked. 
 
His only response was to look more confused.  
 
"Eating strawberry ice cream?"
 
"Scully," he replied in a small voice into which fear was 
creeping, "I'm allergic to strawberries."
 
"I know. I tired to warn you. You and Thor shared a whole pint."
 
His head came up with a sharp snap. "Thor?" A possibility, like a 
shot of electricity surged through him. 
 
Sensing his mood shift and knowing all too well the way his mind 
worked, she sat suddenly straighter in the chair facing him. "Oh, 
no," she whispered almost inaudibly, but the message had already 
flashed between them. "Not here, not now." 
 
Mulder knew what the 'Oh, no' meant - Oh, no, not an X-File -- 
and yet it would explain everything that so badly needed an 
explanation.
 
"When was the last time you saw Thor?" he demanded to know..
 
"Don't you mean when was the last time you did? Because you were 
with him all afternoon and he was here just a few hours ago. I 
threw him out right after our little altercation."
 
So he had been there all along when all the strange and terrible 
things that he couldn't completely remember had been happening. 
Mulder just sat there, hands between his knees staring off into 
space, his brow creased in concentration. "After I left you in 
the park, I was walking back to join the task force to see what 
they'd found. All at once he came bounding up. He knocked me 
down. I thought he was just happy to see me. We wrestled for a 
bit and..." Mulder's hand went to his cheek "...then he started 
licking my face. He wouldn't stop. I..." his voice faded. "It all 
gets fuzzy after that." His entire body seemed to crumple as he 
buried his face in his hands. "Shit, oh, shit." It had been in 
him. What had been in him?
 
Gently but firmly, he felt her pull his hands away. "Mulder, I 
know what you're thinking. Don't. There was nothing bestial about 
what happened. Canine possession? Mulder, I know that you can do 
better than that."
 
His weak, sheepish grin told her that he thought that he could, 
too. "Unfortunately, it's not going to turn out to be anything as 
simple as that. After all, I didn't howl at the moon, did I? 
Besides, dogs don't play basketball. Now if I'd been playing 
tennis or frisbee..."
 
Her brows drew together, all serious again. "Speaking of 
basketball, I ran into two of the boys you played with later. 
They didn't seem surprised that you played so rough. In fact, 
they blamed themselves for agreeing to play with you." To the 
question in his eyes, she answered, "Because you were with Thor." 
 
Wheels began to turned in Mulder's head. Now that was 
interesting. 
 
"There's another thing that I mentioned last night but you 
forgot," she added almost reluctantly. "All three of the arson 
victims show wounds on their extremities that look very much like 
bite marks from a very large dog."
 
The wheels stopped turning. They didn't need to. "I think I'd 
better see a boy about a dog and I think you'd better come with 
me."
 
"Couldn't leave me behind if you tried."
 
He started to rise then and then thought better of it. Oh so 
carefully, he sat down again. "First things first, about last 
night... and us. Just how awful was I?"
  
She came to sit close beside him, hesitating before she began to 
roll up the sleeves of her robe. He read the seriousness in her 
and stilled, barely breathing. 
 
"I'm not showing you this to hurt you or blame you, but because 
you're bound to see it all eventually." 
 
He thought he was going to faint as he gazed open-mouthed on the 
vivid red marks on her upper arms that were already darkening to 
purple.  
 
"Oh, Scully..."
 
"You were a bit over-enthusiastic."
 
"That's not what I would call it." He was sick to his stomach 
again. "If you hadn't --" he gestured down at his crouch "-- 
would I have --?"
 
Her distress must be mirroring his. "Oh, Mulder, no. At the time, 
I thought, maybe. With no inhibitions you're stronger than you 
know, but having given it some thought I don't think that it 
would have come to that. You see I had a similar experience once 
a long time ago. There was this teenage boy. I found out later 
that the other girls called him Octopus Man. Given an inch of 
encouragement, he'd be all over you."
 
One corner of one lip made a feeble attempt to curl upwards. "The 
bus is barreling downhill and no one is at the controls?"
 
Scully was well aware of the power of the emotion they were 
discussing. "That would explain it. But that boy never got past a 
certain point. Of course, at the age we were then, he was not so 
much larger than I." Her mouth suddenly took on a musing pout. 
"You know, the male's sexual awakening happens when he is not yet 
fully grown, but females his own age are. I never thought of 
that particular arrangement as a species survival trait."
 
Mulder glowered, finding no humor in the situation. "So how was 
it? Did I - did he - act as if he even knew what was going on?"
 
"Oh, you - he - knew, but the train wasn't stopping, not for 
anything. That is not you by the way." She tired to smile but her 
mouth didn't curve entirely right. "You like to take your time."
 
How hard she was trying to lighten this. Caught up in his guilt 
and terrible visions of what could have been, the tentative touch 
of her hand on his thigh came as a surprise, but it was a welcome 
surprise, her hand so soft, the expression in her eyes so warm. 
"How are... things... with you?"
 
'Things' began to stir.
 
Ouch...
 
Reluctantly, he slid his leg out from under her hand. "I don't 
think that you'd better do that for awhile."
 
"Sorry. Have you tried ice?" 
 
"Are you out of your mind, woman?"
 
"Want me to take a look? In my professional capacity, of course."
 
"Not just now, thank you. Just pass me a handful of the strongest 
pain killers you have."
 
After that he went quiet except for the new storms rising within, 
while she dried her hair. Her eyes seldom left his face.
 
"Mulder, get over it. It wasn't you. We just have to find out 
what it was and make certain that it never happens again."
 
"Oh, it will never happen again, of that I'm certain." The storm 
broke, drenching him with cold anger. "Let's go make that house 
call."
  

September 16 10am 

After attending to their wounds, the agents dressed and 
breakfasted on doctored bad coffee from the motel lobby. Neither 
was hungry. The drive took no time at all and the only problems 
Mulder had getting there were with one-way streets, which had 
been no impediment to a man and dog traveling on foot. When two 
Dobermans leaped out of hiding from behind a bush in a tiny yard 
as the car approached, he knew they were close. There was the 
building, a block ahead on the right. This time no old woman was 
stationed on the steps with her broom to welcome them. Together 
they climbed the narrow stairs through litter and trash and air 
filled with the same multi-cultural scents of peanut oil and 
curry that had pervaded the air before. Outside Spark's room, 
Mulder called the boy's name, at the same time knocking once, 
before letting himself in. He could imagine Thor vanishing 
through his window to escape the incriminating evidence of 
Scully's block of paraffin, but the elegant black head only 
raised itself listlessly from the boy's bed where dog lay next to 
the emaciated form of his god.
 
Even to Mulder's eyes it was clear that the boy's condition had 
declined over the few days since they had first met. The child's 
skin had taken on a yellow, waxy cast and there was barely a 
flicker in the eyes that opened at their abrupt entry. Mulder 
felt his anger drain away.
 
Scully had gone to the boy's bedside immediately. "I'm Agent 
Scully, Agent Mulder's partner, but I have a feeling that you 
know that. I'm also a doctor. May I...?" 
 
The thin shoulder's moved ever so slightly in a shrug, the weary 
acquiesce of someone who had seen more than their share of 
doctors. "Won't do any good," came the low voice, "but knock 
yourself out."
 
As Scully began her examination, Mulder moved to the bedside 
drawing up the room's only chair. The child was so ill, keeping 
his interrogator's mask intact was going to take some work. 
 
"What you did, Spark, that wasn't very nice. I thought we were 
friends."
 
The boy's hand crept out from underneath the worn sheet to caress 
Thor's sleek head. 
 
"I wanted to know. I didn't think you'd mind."
 
"Wanted to know what?" 
 
The voice was weak but not apologetic. "What it would be like to 
be grown up the way you are. I've never met anyone like you 
before."
 
"That's for sure," Mulder heard Scully murmur under her breath. 
He caught her eye and realized that she had expected something 
like this. That she was ready to accept this after rejecting so 
many of his other theories warmed his heart. But there was 
another emotion in her face, one he saw only in the morgue when 
he gazed down upon some young and beautiful child, its life cut 
short. When she spoke, her voice as kind as he had ever heard it.
 
"Spark, you're very sick."
 
The child's face with its faded but unearthly beauty looked up 
into hers and said without hesitation, "AIDS."
 
"Yes. There's nothing I can do here," she said. "You should be in 
a hospital."
 
"But it won't help."
 
Scully's eyes touched her partner's again. "It would give you a 
little more time."
 
"But they won't let me bring Thor."
 
"True, they won't."
 
"Then, no thank you."
 
She sighed. "You should at least have hospice care."
 
"I do. Andy came early this morning. He just left. I wanted him 
to stay, but he couldn't." For the first time the boy's peaceful 
demeanor wavered. "He said that he'd try to come back, but there 
are so many..." His chocolate brown eyes turned to the window, to 
the street and the activity below. It was Saturday. Children were 
playing, children who didn't have one hand on death's door. 
 
Mulder's hands clasped and unclasped between his knees. "Spark, 
you know that Scully and I work for the FBI. If you are not too 
tired, I'd like to ask you some questions now. There are things 
we need to know. I think you know what I'm talking about." 
 
"I'm not too tired. I'm glad you're here."
 
"Tell me about the fires. How they got started. Tell me about the 
men who died, why they died and how."
 
The boy's big eyes stared into the man's hazel ones. "You know 
already or you wouldn't be asking me."
 
"You have to tell us in your own words so no innocent person is 
blamed."
 
The boy reached out his smaller hand of frail bone towards the 
man's large one. Mulder wanted to take it but glanced at Scully 
for her agreement first and both of them knew that it wasn't AIDS 
he was worried about. At first there was hesitation in her face 
but finally she nodded. 
 
At the boy's touch Mulder felt, not a jolt of electricity, but a 
warmth that spread soothingly throughout his whole body. At the 
same time the sick room faded until it seemed very far away. He 
stood on a plain of shifting shadows, a vaguely familiar 
landscape, but before he could peer any further into the gloom, 
he became aware that his arm hurt, not the one hot from Spark's 
touch but the other one. The ground also seemed very near. He was 
a child again, being dragged through dark, wet streets by a man. 
Uncle, came to his mind. There was no stopping until they reached 
a small door in the wall of a huge, black building. A series of 
knocks and the door opened and he was thrust inside. It was even 
darker inside than out and just as quiet. It smelled of the river 
and old dust.
 
A tall figure took him by the shoulder and spun him around. 
Before he could move they had unzipped his jacket and unbuttoned 
his shirt and a small light played over his body. There was more 
than one man - three at least by the reek of cigars - but he 
couldn't see their faces though they could see his. He shivered 
in the cold, empty room and wrapped his thin arms around his bare 
chest.
 
They didn't talk to him. Their cold business-like voices mingled 
with that of his uncle. Now they took away his clothes entirely 
and made him turn around and around like a roast on a spit. More 
hands, far too many hands. Terrified, he was dragged up narrow 
stairs, an ungentle slap warning him that he'd better start 
walking and stop crying. They entered a tiny room where a single 
red bulb glowed. There were new smells of sweat and old cologne 
and something sick. He cried his hated uncle's name again and 
again but the old man had taken his blood money and fled, leaving 
only the hands of the strange men and the red-lit room. 
 
They hurt him, they hurt him very badly. They hurt him in ways 
that he didn't want to think about. He limped home that day and 
every day thereafter, but not until the bleeding colors of dawn 
touched the skin. He walked fast with his small fist wrapped 
around the blood money his family so desperately needed. Tip-
toeing past his uncle asleep before his new wide screen TV, he 
meet his younger brothers and sisters just rising from their one 
bed to get ready for school. But no more school for him. He was 
too tired. Besides he no longer belonged. How could he sit in a 
classroom at a desk with other children knowing the un-childlike 
things he did? He was changed. As the sun left the sky, he rose 
to walk the dark streets to one black and looming building or 
another. Each had its hidden, red rooms; each the too-friendly 
whispered voices; and the fat, hot bodies rubbing against his, 
lips against his and on his and on him, forcing his mouth --
 
"Stop it! Stop it!" shouted a voice but far, far away.
 
Mulder exploded out of the horror like a drowning man rising from 
the grip of an icy, black sea. His body was shaking 
uncontrollably. His only anchor to the present was the warm, 
living body that rocked him, that held him close. The scent in 
his nostrils this time was the scent of heaven, the blessed, 
familiar perfume she wore.
 
"I just wanted to show him," said a small voice far away. The 
nightmare was fading but not fast enough.
 
"He asked you about the fires. Don't try to tell me that 'that' 
was about the fires."
 
"It was why." 
 
Mulder could not stop the tremors, but for once he didn't mind. 
He'd shiver for a solid week if he thought they could actually 
shake off the memory of those large, rough hands.
 
"How were you able to keep going back?" he was finally able to 
stammer. He only asked 'How' because he knew 'Why'. For those 
four small brothers and sisters who kissed him each morning and 
each evening, who seemed to know without word or understanding 
the enormity of the burden that he bore for them.
 
"How?" The sweetest smile came to the boy's lips. "Because 
something happened a few weeks later. It started out bad, but 
turned out to be the best day of my life. It was cold that night 
and raining. I remember it dripping down my neck. I so didn't 
want to go to 'work'. I was sick with it. Instead, I hid outside, 
in an alley in the dark. I thought seriously about dying, because 
my uncle would kill me if I didn't show, but then I couldn't go 
home either. And then I heard the tiniest sound." The boy's hand 
reached out to touch one of Thor's drooping ears. In response the 
flag of a tail beat faster. "He was just the lit'lest thing, only 
a little larger than my hand and so weak. He'd been thrown out in 
a bag into the trash but had crawled out. I thought then how 
alike we were; trash, that is. I had a muffin and one of those 
juice boxes. I gave him some of that and wrapped him warm in my 
sweater and put him in a box and hid him in a dark place. I told 
him not to move or make a sound till I got back. He'd been making 
these little grunting puppy sounds before but after I told him to 
be quiet, not a peep. And he was still there when I did get back. 
Weak as he was, he even licked my finger. I was never so happy in 
my life. I just loved him SO much, I just wanted him to live so 
badly, that I guess I poured all my love into him, all my soul.
 
"It doesn't make sense but when I climbed the stairs to the red 
room after that, I barely felt it. It was like I was wood, like 
it was happenin' to someone else though I would never wish that 
on anyone. And that's the way it was till I got sick; Thor and me 
together except while my body was upstairs, he waited outside, or 
more truly we waited outside, he and I together." The huge brown 
eyes looked up at Mulder. "I don't 'spect  you to believe that."
 
"You'd be surprised what I believe. So what you told me at our 
first meeting was true. After you got sick you really did send 
Thor out to see things and bring you back stories, only that 
wasn't quite true, was it? He never really had to 'tell' you 
anything because a part of you traveled with him." 
 
A resolute expression put color into the boy's pale cheeks. 
 
"So what happened yesterday? The basketball game? You did more 
than send Thor to spy on me." 
 
Excitement animated the little body. "I'd never tried that before 
and it was so easy. You wanted to help me so bad that you let me 
in, you 'wanted' me in." The enormous chocolate eyes glittered 
with something like worship. "There's never been anyone like 
you."
 
"As I said, got that in one," Scully breathed. 
 
"As for the game, I was always the smallest. I wanted to know 
just once what it was like to be bigger, taller. I wanted to know 
what it felt like to win." 
 
"Hmmm, we'll talk about fair play later. And the ice cream?" 
 
"I like strawberry." 
 
"You could have killed Agent Mulder," Scully admonished in her no 
nonsense voice.
 
"I didn't mean to."
 
"And last night... that was you, too," she said. Mulder noted 
with relief that the statement was not phrased as a question.
 
"How'd you guess?" Spark asked in all sincerity.
 
Amused, Mulder cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "Yes, Agent 
Scully, how did you know?"
 
Coolly, she answered the boy. "It's come to my attention that 
Agent Mulder has some skill in that area, skill which was 
decidedly lacking last night."  
 
Spark didn't have time to ask how Agent Scully had come to be 
acquainted with Agent Mulder's skill in these matters, for at 
that moment Thor issued a low, warning growl. His head jerked, 
first towards the window, then towards the hallway. Before either 
of the partners could react, the apartment's cheap door burst 
open and a masked, fatigue-dressed figure spun into the room, a 
lethal automatic revolver raised. Nothing could have been more 
unexpected. Neither agent was in any position to reach their 
weapons quickly, certainly not in time to beat a bullet that 
would come from a gun already aimed at Mulder's chest. 
 
His hand was only half-way to his shoulder holster when the room 
echoed with the distinctive 'Splat!' but at the same time a black 
blur passed before Mulder's eyes. Another shot and another. 
Scully was rolling low. Thor had the invader's gun hand in his 
jaws deflecting the aim so that the next shots went safely wild. 
It was when Mulder felt a new one whistle by his ear from the 
direction of the open window that they were far from being out of 
trouble. 
 
From the balls of his feet he launched his body towards the knees 
of their attacker. A whine screamed by like an incensed bee. Thor 
yelped and Spark screamed just as Mulder brought the gunman down. 
Two seconds, keeping below the level of the window, and the man 
was cuffed. Scully, first crawled over to check on Spark and 
seeing no blood on the terrified boy bent low and streaked out 
the door, reaching for her cell phone with her left hand even as 
she raised her service weapon. Mulder heard her call for backup 
as her heels hit the stairs with a shower of staccato clicks. He 
kept his own heel on the back of their attacker's neck, which 
went a long way towards muffling the obscenities that steamed out 
of the man's mouth. At the same time he worked himself around as 
best as he could to try to see from where the other gunman had 
been firing. The roof of an adjacent building lined up almost 
perfectly. With the sounds of sirens already blaring from only 
blocks away, Mulder caught a fleeting glimpse of the second man 
disappearing through a rooftop door. Staring from the side of the 
window down to the street below, he noted that Scully had all the 
help that she would need. What looked like two nightshift police 
officers and as many security guards had poured out of their 
apartments in nearby buildings, a little groggy from their 
interrupted sleep, but armed to the teeth. They scattered 
following Scully's directions. 
 
With a jerk on the cuffs, Mulder pulled his trash-talking captive 
to his feet and pushed the man towards the door. He paused at the 
last moment to look back at the bloodless face of the boy whose 
eyes were fixed on the floor now streaked with footprints in 
blood. There Thor moved weakly, whimpering. "Stay still!" Mulder 
ordered both animal and boy. "We'll be back in just a few 
minutes. Promise." 
 
Both partners were back in less than five after handing off the 
two perpetrators to the local police with promises to be in to 
give statements as soon as possible. Breathing hard from having 
taken the five flights, two or more steps at a time, Mulder found 
the boy of little more than skin and bone sprawled on the floor 
with the head of a panting Thor in his lap. Within moments Scully 
slid down beside them, her hands moving swiftly through the black 
fur. 
 
"I don't think it's very bad, Spark," she assured the boy after 
her initial examination. "Grazed his hip. You were a brave, good 
boy, Thor. Thank you." 
 
Lovingly, she ruffled the dog's silky head, very much the same 
way she ruffled his own hair from time to time, Mulder thought 
wryly.
 
"We should really take him to a vet to be sure though," she told 
the teary-eyed boy.
 
Spark's response was an emphatic, "No! They'll want to keep him. 
We've never been apart." Belatedly remembering the days Thor had 
been lost in the fire and later stayed with Mulder, the boy 
amended with, "Well, almost never. Please, if he's really not so 
bad could you fix him up here?" His pleading eyes were fixed in 
Scully's direction.
 
"That's what I thought you'd ask," she said with a nod towards a 
small suitcase she'd brought back with her. "I think I might have 
something in here for our brave hero." She opened her well-
stocked first aid kit. "From time to time, it's been sufficient 
to handle the heroics of a certain other male of my acquaintance. 
Meanwhile, Mulder will be looking for bullet fragments; we'll 
need them as evidence. The one that hit Thor just kept going."
 
A short time later while Scully completed her treatment with only 
a vague murmur about whether this was a step up or a step down 
from autopsying pregnant elephants, Mulder sat down next to the 
boy. He held up a set of plastic evidence bags containing the 
remains of five slugs. "These men meant business, but they 
clearly weren't after you."
 
The brown eyes lowered displaying lush lashes. "No, you. You went 
sniffing about on the boats, didn't you? Someone got scared and 
hired those goons to take you out. Pretty dumb going after two 
'suits'."
 
"Right, pretty dumb but then that's more often than not how the 
bad guys get caught. They might even have succeeded if it weren't 
for Thor, to which I offer my thanks as well." Hearing his name 
mentioned the canine's tail wagged so energetically that it got 
in the way of Scully's bandaging. 
 
"The good news is, the bosses didn't pick their hit men very 
well. These two are going to talk like a couple of magpies. There 
will be no trouble tracing them back to their paymasters. 
Attempted murder on two FBI agents? Your local police will be 
able to close them down. That is what you were trying to do with 
the fires and the deaths, yes?" The boy hung his head. Mulder 
went on. "That's what I was doing on the boats, you know. I had 
to find out who started the fires and killed those men. That's 
what put my life in danger -- mine and Scully's and Thor's. You 
joined with Thor, didn't you? You did it all."
 
There was no remorse in the child's voice, only anger. "They were 
evil. I wasn't the only one they used. It had to stop." The boy's 
mouth curved up bitterly. "Don't you see, the gentleman of the 
night are always on the lookout for more, the more exotic the 
better. What about the boys -- and girls -- to come?"
 
"Just promise that you won't do anything like this again. We have 
them now. We'll shut them down lawfully." This group at least.
 
"So Thor and I aren't in any trouble?"
 
"I didn't say that. And while we're at it, let's talk again about 
what else you've seen through Thor's eyes." By the look of 
defiance on the boy's peaked features obviously quite a lot.
 
From the floor where she was just finishing attending to Thor's 
injury, Scully spoke in a voice that was soothing yet absolutely 
firm. "Intruding into other people's lives, invading their 
privacy? That's wrong."
 
"And what they did to me wasn't wrong?"
 
"I seem to remember an old adage about two wrongs," Mulder 
commented as he rose to help his partner repack her supplies. 
Mid-action he felt the unpleasant pull of still-tender tissues. 
That discomfort had been momentarily forgotten in the earlier 
scuffle. 
 
"Then there's your traveling through Thor to me," he said, doing 
his best to sound paternally displeased, "don't you ever do that 
again either. Not to me, not to anyone."
 
Guiltily, the boy's head drooped. Then seeing Thor standing, 
albeit shakily, he reached out his thin arms for comfort. Thor 
made it up onto the bed and into those arms though with less than 
his usual bounce. Hugging his friend to him, the boy sank back 
against the pillows looking far too small and old for his age. 
From the bed the chocolate eyes followed Mulder as he started to 
leave with Scully.
 
"Please don't go. Could you... could you stay and talk to me 
today, at least until I fall asleep?"
  
Seeing her partner's hesitation, Scully gestured him closer to 
whisper, "I know you want to stay, so stay. I'll go deal with our 
two would-be assassins. We promised a statement. I'll also get 
things rolling in terms of closing down this sordid little ring. 
Take all the time you need."
 
It was a generous and kind gesture and all at once he wanted more 
than anything to kiss this loving woman, only there was Spark and 
his sad, hungry eyes. 
 
The hell with it.
 
Bending, he kissed her softly on the forehead which they still 
did though more often than not their kisses moved from there to 
more intimate territory. Her eyes closed in pleasure and with a 
returning squeeze of her hand, she was gone.
 
"See," came a small and yet triumphant voice from the bed, "I 
knew that she'd like it."
 
Mulder whirled. "Not the way you did it!"
 
The smile vanished from the boy's sharp features and his hand 
clenched more fiercely into Thor's thick fur. "I said I was 
sorry. I just wanted to know what it was like between a man and a 
woman who actually cared for each other." In the bitterest of 
ironies, the boy who knew more of the dark side of sex then 
Mulder hoped that he would ever know, didn't know about the best 
parts.
 
"If not that, then talk to me about other things. Everything. 
Like how was it to grow four inches in one summer?"
 
"Painful, and it was six."
 
"Cool! Tell about the first time." The fixed brown eyes glittered 
with pleasure but behind them was a great hunger.
 
Heaven help us, Mulder mused. 
 
After a moment, he took off his suit coat, loosened his tie, 
rolled up his shirtsleeves, took his place again in the chair 
beside the bed, and sighed. "I'm glad Scully's gone." 
 
The boy grinned expectantly with his perfect white teeth. 
 
"There's painful parts to this and it's not something I'm 
especially proud of, on the other hand..." A flood of bittersweet 
memories warmed him. "I warn you, it's a long story if you really 
want to understand it all."
 
"I'm not going anywhere," the boy responded eagerly.
 
Another sigh. "Very well."
 
"How old were you?"
 
"Fifteen. It had been a terrible summer and some of my so-called 
friends asked me to go with them to the State Fair and there was 
this gypsy fortune teller..."
 
"How old was she?"
 
"An older woman. In her twenties, if you must know, but am I 
telling this story or are you?" 
 
Spark closed his mouth and made a zippering motion across his 
lips.
 
"All right then. Let me start from the beginning..."

~~~~~~~~~~~


Scully found herself dozing in the cab even though the ride was 
less that two miles. She had done a good night's work, but then 
she and Mulder were such heroes with the locals that it hadn't 
been hard. They booked the two would-be assassins on attempted 
murder and better yet got the ringleaders of the pedophile group-
those who still lived- on murder-for-hire charges. She had not 
expected to see Mulder and hadn't. The man didn't just have a 
soft spot for children in distress, he had a whole bloody swamp. 
The girls reminded him of his sister, ripped from her life, her 
family; the boys reminded him of himself, equally traumatized, 
lonely and abused, psychologically if not physically. The man-to-
man talk would do them both good. 
 
The smell of wet street rose up to her as she crawled tiredly 
from the cab in front of the boy's building. The last of the 
street lights glittered in the puddles. As the sound of the 
taxi's engine faded away, there remained only that odd, almost 
unnatural quiet of a city just before dawn. 
 
At that moment the front door of the building opened and Mulder 
himself sidled out. He was awkwardly burdened with a large 
shapeless bundle, which was wrapped in a blanket that Scully 
recognized as being from the sick room. She met him at the bottom 
of the short flight of stairs within steps of where their rental 
car was parked. He hadn't glanced up as he had come slowly down 
the steps, but with his face nearly hidden he had looked about as 
weary as she had ever seen him. Preoccupied with maneuvering the 
steps with his burden, he was unaware of her presence until she 
was beside him. 
 
Red-rimmed eyes gazed on her gratefully from his gray and haggard 
face.
 
"Mulder, what is it? What's happened?"  Fingers on his chin she 
turned his face to the east and the soft colors of coming dawn. 
There were tracks of tears on his stubbled cheeks. His eyes 
lowered towards the bundle he carried. The blanket-wrapped shape 
was large enough for the boy's emaciated body.
 
"What is this? Spark? Is he worse? Are you taking him to the 
hospital?"
 
The dark-haired head jerked in a negative sign. "Thor..." The 
word caught in his throat. Hurriedly, Scully folded back an edge 
of the blanket. Her probing fingers found cool, stiff skin under 
the thick, soft coat. That bubbling life force was still. 
 
"Oh, Mulder...I don't understand. His injury wasn't that bad."
 
He clutched the bundle to him, his tired eyes closing. He opened 
his mouth to speak but couldn't get the words out. Giving up, he 
inclined his head towards the trunk. After she had unlocked it, 
he laid the motionless bundle tenderly in the back. With aching 
slowness, he straightened up and reached blindly for her hand.
 
"Spark's dead, too."
 
"No..." but she had half suspected that already. 
 
"I was just telling him stories." Pent up before, the words 
tumbled out. "We'd been at it for hours. He was just lying there, 
eyes half open, this little smile on his face. I don't know how 
long he had been like that but too long." His grip tightened, 
grinding bone; his low, ragged voice staggered on. "He just 
slipped away. And...Thor...was lying beside him and when I bent 
to touch him I found he was gone, too..." The eyes closed, tears 
on their lashes. "They went together. That bond they shared..." 
Shaking himself as if from a dream, he pushed back from the car. 
"I've called for an ambulance. They'll be here for Spark soon, 
but Thor, I couldn't just leave him there. Just to be dispos--" 
His voice broke. For an instant his fury at the world surfaced so 
that he almost slammed the trunk closed. At the last second, 
however, he caught himself and shut it gently, applying only 
enough pressure so that the lock clicked. His eyes lifted then to 
a window on the top floor. 
 
"At least you were there," she said, placing a small hand on his 
shoulder. "No one should have to die alone." Tenderly she turned 
over his hand and kissed the palm. 
 
And you're not alone either, my love, and never will be.
 
"Come on," she said. "I'll come with you. We'll find out who his 
friends were in the building, try to contact his family, find 
something for the funeral." 
 
Wordlessly, he nodded. They started forward. Suddenly, he took 
her into his trembling arms and buried his face in her hair. 
After a long moment, hand in hand, they climbed the steps 
together.
  
~~~~~~~~

Epilogue 

September 19 

That night in the midst of death, they celebrated life. There was 
no talk of risk. That no longer mattered. Over the next two days 
they cleaned up everything they had to with the field office and 
the local police. Everyone cooperated in quiet efficiency, not as 
if Mulder would have noticed. Even Samson was surprisingly 
subdued. No cracks, not a one. He certainly went up several 
notches in Scully's book, but then the man would have needed to 
be made of stone not to see the grief that her partner wore about 
himself like a shroud.
 
There was no funeral. Only Agents Mulder, Scully and a half dozen 
'family' members attended the graveside service. The words were 
few and impersonal. The eulogy was performed by a minister who 
clearly knew little or nothing about the boy. 
 
It was at dusk that the real service began. Called by word-of-
mouth they came by the hundreds; gray forms wrapped in mist. So 
silent were they that the tracks made in the wet grass were the 
only signs that the figures were not themselves the ghosts of the 
Civil War dead out for a stroll. The partners were only two of 
the number. In solemn procession at the head of the throng, 
Mulder, stiff with control, carried Thor in his arms. At the edge 
of the still-open grave they waited as from all directions the 
mourners came. Children, parents, shopkeepers and young 
professionals from blocks around - all came who had heard the 
inseparable sounds of athletic shoes and the 'click, click' of 
clawed paws on their streets and sidewalks. 
 
As the last assembled, six silent men pulled the vault from the 
earth. A stony-faced octogenarian opened it as well as the small, 
lonely coffin within. By then there must have been two hundred 
souls all woven about in the fog that had flowed in from the 
river.
 
Two hundred and two, Mulder corrected to himself.
 
In the end the blanket covered both. It was a tight fit but the 
overwhelming consensus was that the two involved would rest 
easier now. When the partners and their fellow shades passed back 
into the land of the living, they left behind them in the 
twilight a new-covered mound bedecked with flowers and candy and, 
here and there, a dog biscuit. Oh, yes, and one peanut butter and 
jelly sandwich.
 
"That was irregular as hell, Mulder," Scully whispered as they 
neared their car, "if not down right illegal."
 
"As illegal as it is to die so young? Or if it isn't, it should 
be."
 
"How did they get the cemetery and mortuary staff to agree to 
this? I doubt that the family was even asked."
 
"The family was no family." Then Mulder remembered his 'dream', 
"Well, maybe the brothers and sisters, if they had not been so 
afraid of the uncle. That individual, by the way, will be 
receiving a visit from Social Services as soon as our report 
reaches a certain director's desk. As far as the community goes--
and the cemetery and mortuary staff are part of the community -- 
the official version of the story will be that a favorite 
keepsake was forgotten when the coffin was closed. Re-opening has 
been done before, only the humane thing to do for one so young. 
Internment was not even complete. Certainly He who ultimately 
bestows all forgiveness - or 'She' depending upon your level of 
PC -- won't mind."
 
"And the unofficial version?"
 
"Better this than having their children for the next hundred 
years sit before their cereal bowls and ask whether the child who 
was up all night walking the streets had found the dog he was 
calling for."
 
With understanding she took his hand and led him towards their 
car. Her small one was warm, where his was still cold. Home soon.  
 
Trusting her to steer him clear of the forest of gravestones, 
Mulder briefly closed his eyes. Somewhere, he thought he heard 
the joyous bark of a dog, Lassie finding Timmy after one of their 
harrowing adventures, their Last harrowing adventure.
 
But then it might have just been his imagination. 
 
THE END 
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes: The story Mulder tells Spark about his 'first' 
time is actually an older story of mine (and shorter than this 
one) entitled, Carnival Dark, Carnival Light. If you are 
interested you can find it on my very inadequate web site at 
http://members.aol.com/windsinger and on Gossamer under Author, 
Esty and, probably a lot of other fan fic sites as well.