by Debra Longley
art by HLynn

Title: Tranquility Lost Author: Debra Longley E-mail: d_a_longley@hotmail.com Completed: December, 2001 Category: MT, M/S angst, MSR, X-File Rating: R Spoilers: assumes knowledge up to Season 7, not including Requiem; minor for CindyET's The Bennington Triangle, for VS9 Summary: Posing as a bickering married couple, the agents investigate Tranquility, a spa where all-body treatments and stress reduction activities go hand in hand with mind enrichment. Is Mulder taking his role way too seriously or is something more sinister involved? Archive: IMTP for the first two weeks; any others just let me know. :-) Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and any recognizable characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox Television. They are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Unrecognizable characters belong to me. Author's Notes: This was written for I Made This! Productions as one of the episodes of Virtual Season 9. IMTP may be found at https://imadethis2.tripod.com/ Locations are real, although I've taken some liberties with them. Tranquility is imaginary, although it's based on several existing spas. No disrespect is intended. Thanks: Special thanks to betas Suzanne, Susan, and Sally for their suggestions and encouragement, and to artists Heather and Theresa for making this little fic come alive with their talents. Feedback: Did you or didn't you? I'd like to know. "Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!" - Shakespeare Othello, Act III, Sc. iii ~~~~~ Teaser ~~~~~ SENATOR RYAN'S RESIDENCE CONCORD, MA Eighteen miles northwest of Boston, a colonial-style mansion was the home of Senator Gordon Ryan and his wife Evelina. In their bedroom, they were lying in a four poster bed. She felt him move beside her and turned, pressing her body against his. He was soft and warm, his breath stirring her hair. When he tensed, she knew he was awake. He rolled over to the edge of the bed and sat with his back to her. She lay motionless in silence. The sense of loss he felt caused intense pain in his chest. Had she ever really been his? "Are you awake?" he asked in a voice that held no warmth. She clutched the duvet to her breast and stared at him. His rigid spine spoke volumes. "Yes," she responded dully. All of a sudden she flung it off, padding across the carpet. "I don't know who you are anymore, Gord!" She was looking at him as if he was some kind of alien she had never seen before. There was a long silence then her husband sighed, getting to his feet. "You're being dramatic." "Dramatic?" she parroted. "You can't even make love with me anymore." "Hell, Lee!" He grasped her by the upper arms and shook her lightly. The woman was close to tears. He released her, and she whirled away from him. "I can't answer you. You've been different ever since we went to that place." The Senator caught her wrist, pulling her back to him. Facing her, he saw that she was flushed, and, in her red nightgown, she was one color from head-to- toe. Still, she reached up and pulled down his head, resting his lightly lined forehead against hers. He moved away abruptly as if her touch had burned him. A dull ache appeared behind his eyelids and he rubbed his thumb and index finger over them. He glanced at the digital clock radio on the night table. "I don't have time for this," he insisted. He never had time anymore. She hated that clock. She wished clocks had never been invented. As she thought it, 5:11 a.m. turned into 5:12 a.m. She stared at it, as if doing so would stop the passage of time and make everything all right again. 5:13 a.m. appeared nonetheless -- just like clockwork, she thought hysterically, triggering a giggle. She was acting like a crazy person. Her brown hair was mussed, the gray strands around her face unruly, accentuating her behavior. To Ryan, it didn't make any sense. Hadn't he given her everything she had ever wanted? "I don't understand -- " "How could you," his wife interrupted, "when I don't understand it myself?" Strength drained from her legs, like a rapid rush of water swirling down a basin, and she sank heavily on the bed. Her arms ached from the knowledge she might never hold him again. She wished she had known that the last time really *was* the last time. With another obvious look at the timepiece, Ryan said, "For God's sake, Lee, I have to get dressed and catch a plane. I have a meeting on the Hill today." "I could go with you," she offered, her voice subdued. "Not this time. I'll call you tonight from the hotel." His response stung. She folded into herself, as if she could no longer support her shoulders. He took her silence as submission and didn't look at her again. Instead, he stepped away from her and went into the dressing room. ~~~~~ Act I ~~~~~ MULDER'S OFFICE FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC The basement corridor was quiet, the hum of voices and keyboards usually present on the upper floors conspicuously absent. The office door was shut tightly, trapping its three occupants in a seasonably warm room that smelled faintly of dust and Mulder's cologne. The office seemed no bigger than the storage room it had been in the past. Its surfaces were covered with sprawling file folders crammed with paper, and piles of newspaper clippings and magazines. Also visible were 3-ring binders containing computer printouts, and nonfiction books, their worn and well-thumbed pages folded over to mark their places. Mulder was settled behind his desk, his knees crossed and his hands folded on the desktop blotter, prepared to listen. Its surface held a yellow legal pad and pen, and three used coffee cups. Presiding over the room, Mulder sat opposite a woman seated in the visitor's chair, and Scully, who sat beside her. The woman wore a tasteful ivory linen suit and a single strand of pearls. Her brown hair was fastened in a bun at her neck; some runaway gray strands framed her round face. Its plumpness made her look younger than she was. There were smears of mascara under her brown eyes and she clutched a shredded tissue in her right hand. Mulder rose to his feet, the chair creaking as he changed position. He came out from behind his desk, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to speak. He could feel a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades. Clearing his throat and interrupting the silence, he asked gently, "How might we help, Mrs. Ryan?" The woman was caught off balance by his voice and her mouth quivered. She dabbed the tissue at her nose then balled it into her fist. Looking up at him, she saw merely nonjudgmental interest on his face. Satisfied, she took a steadying breath, readying herself. "Evelina, please, Agent Mulder." He lowered himself, propping his hip on the corner of the desk and leaning forward. Scully noticed that the right knee of his pants was wearing thin and found it oddly endearing. "Why don't you start at the beginning, Evelina?" he suggested. His attentiveness was encouraging. "My husband is Gordon Ryan," she began. "He's a senator for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence." Mulder nodded in recognition. "Gordon works too hard; he was looking tired and had lost weight. A colleague recommended a place: an exclusive spa with the best of treatment, indulging both body and soul. Even its name was ideal -- Tranquility. We decided to book a four-night weekend package; it was high-priced, but it was a second honeymoon of sorts. May I have a glass of water?" "Of course. You're doing fine," Mulder assured her. "I'll get it," Scully offered. "Mulder?" He shook his head no. No one spoke until she returned with the cup. The senator's wife took it from Scully and sipped a little bit, setting it on the desk. She started again. "There were people of all ages and shapes there. The staff responded to our every need; it was good to be pampered. But before long, the serenity I was feeling was lost." "Why?" Mulder asked. She lifted her hand to her throat, fingering the pearls around her neck. "It sounds absurd, but Gordon had changed, almost before my eyes. He was a stranger, with a whole other side. He was keeping things from me, distancing himself...." Her cheeks flamed. "Unaffectionate." Briefly, she was back in their house in Concord, when it was it was all brand- new and good. "Every time I try to find out what's wrong, he pushes me away. These past weeks I have looked deep into my soul; I still love him, support him. I can't accept losing him. Will you help?" she asked the agents, a little embarrassed by her outpouring. She used to feel private lives should be kept private. Mulder's open expression let Scully know his interest was aroused. The next words he spoke confirmed it. "We can't take on a case without authorization," Mulder answered, "but I do think we should find out a bit more." Sunlight streamed through the narrow window, and she placed her hope on it, the way it seemed to carry the drifting particles of dust. For a moment, she believed things would be the way they had always been, before Tranquility had come between them. Evelina got to her feet, reaching for Mulder's hand. She wondered if he would feel her trembling. Mulder slid his hand into hers, his grip firm and warm. The look on his face was sympathetic, not condescending. He reached out and put his left hand on her shoulder before releasing her hand. She was grateful for the gesture and decided she liked him. Walking her to the door and closing it behind her, Mulder went to make a fresh pot of coffee. He fished out the used packet of grounds, intending to empty the carafe, but Scully laid her hand on his sleeve. "Wait," she told him, suggesting instead, "Why don't we go to the Pavilion, buy some sandwiches, and have lunch at The Mall? I know a bench with our names on it." Mulder set down the pot. "Are you coming on to me, Scully?" Reading his thoughts, she raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Yes, now that you mention it," she countered playfully. "Good." THE NATIONAL MALL WASHINGTON, DC After the stillness of the office, the stroll to the expanse of lawn extending between the Washington Monument and the Capitol was chaotic with traffic and pedestrians swinging their briefcases and handbags. Mulder found an empty place for them to sit. He discarded his suit jacket, folding it on the bench beside him, pulled down his tie, and unbuttoned the top button of his blue shirt, loosening the collar. He helped himself to a Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on homemade white bread, unrolling it and taking a bite. He shoved an errant bean sprout into his mouth with his thumb. "Do you know what I think?" Scully asked, reaching into a second paper bag and handing Mulder his can of iced tea. "You're about to tell me there's a perfectly rational explanation." He popped the cap, tossed down a mouthful then took another bite and waited. She pulled out her bottle of peach flavored sparkling water. "Her husband is going through a mid-life crisis and she can't handle it." "She didn't say one word about him lusting after younger women." "He may be having a psychological reaction to the loss of youth, which would explain his erratic behavior." "That explains why I shaved in the dark this morning," he grinned. "I found a gray hair." Scully looked intently at him, saw the offending strand suspended over his brow, and impulsively plucked. "Although controversial, scientific evidence also indicates that physiological changes -- reduced activity of testosterone -- can have a huge effect, popularly known as male menopause." She unwrapped her turkey and Gouda cheese on a croissant and began eating. "It's not an X-File." "What if Ryan went to Tranquility and someone else came back?" Mulder put to her. "The technology to replace him with a duplicate exists, Scully. We've seen it." Clones. Alien/human hybrids. Dolly, the sheep. The Samanthas, the Gregors, and the Kurts. Emily. The Litchfield Experiment, a U.S. government top secret program in which a group of genetically controlled children were raised and monitored, the boys named Adam and the girls Eve. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. There were other case files back at the office in various stages of investigation, but his instincts were always good. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a quick look at the spa files," Scully conceded at last. "Could the Lone Gunmen hack into them?" "Piece of cake," he grinned, washing down his sandwich with the rest of his iced tea. They deposited the remnants of their lunch in a nearby trash bin and continued at a leisurely pace on the grass, watching the children laugh and play. Mulder dangled his suit jacket on his finger, swinging it and letting it fall carelessly over his shoulder. The agents crossed Constitution Avenue and walked up 12th Street, heading back to Pennsylvania Avenue. The walk back to the Hoover Building was not as companionable as the visit to The Mall. Mulder was quiet, and Scully, taking a look at his uncommunicative profile, saw he was somewhere else entirely and left him alone. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER'S OFFICE FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC The blinds in the windows of the spacious office had been closed to keep out the sunlight's warmth; air conditioning, its hum barely audible, controlled the room's temperature and kept it comfortable. "You'd be spending a lot of money on a hunch, Agent Mulder," the balding man stated grimly from behind the polished oak desk. He sank into his chair, swiveling around to face the agent, drumming a pen absently on the request. Christ, how would he explain this one to the Finance Division? "I can handle Finance," Mulder echoed uncannily. "It's more than a hunch, sir." Before he requested the 302, he had booted up his office computer and turned to the keyboard. As his fingers flew over the keys, Scully positioned herself at his shoulder to get a better view. He accessed an Internet search engine and typed in the keywords for his search, the object being the Intelligence Committee and its jurisdiction and members. He discovered that its purpose was to oversee and make continuing studies of the intelligence activities and programs of the government, to submit proposals for legislation, and to report to the Senate concerning such intelligence activities and programs. The agent told Skinner, "Initial inquiries revealed all of its members were guests of Tranquility at one time or another. All six, including Senator Gordon Ryan, changed their minds on several important pieces of legislation. All six of them voted with the committee's chairman on an anti-terrorism bill that would give the government the power to invade the privacy of ordinary citizens." "You think they wouldn't play ball and were replaced." "You've read it." Mulder waved his hand in the direction of the file folder on Skinner's desk. "What went on in that committee merits a look." The assistant director was quiet for a long moment. "Do what you like," he allowed, throwing up his hands. Four nights with Scully, without an alarm clock or the office. Gourmet food, even if it was analyzed for calories and fat, and a wealth of indoor and outdoor activities. "It should be -- almost -- painless, sir." I-91 After arriving at Hartford's Bradley International Airport, Mulder had disappeared inside a national car rental chain to rent a car for the trip to the Berkshires. Waiting for him at the curb, Scully started when a yellow Ford Mustang convertible sped past her, its male driver swerving abruptly to the right and screeching to a stop just in front of her. Her stomach rolled like a ship pitching suddenly to one side when she saw who was at the wheel. Have your fun, she thought sharply. What was the saying -- that a man was nothing more than a tall boy? The driver's door swung open and Mulder emerged. Another victim of the male mid-life crisis, she supposed, shaking her head. First a face-to-face look at mortality in the mirror, now a convertible instead of a nondescript Ford Taurus. Her eyes flicked to the vehicle. "I hate surprises." She didn't sound offended even if her hands were on her hips. He beamed, "Well, we've got to look the part, Scully." Indicating the fragrant leather interior, he continued happily, "And it has a stick shift!" He smiled his most winning smile, the one that showed all of his teeth and stopped her breath. "Samantha," she corrected, forcing herself to breathe. Samantha and Darrin Stevens. Why, oh why, had she relented and let *him* pick their names? Could it be he used *that* smile? "Sam," he righted easily, throwing their bags in the trunk. "We have a bit of money. I'm a successful entrepreneur; we have a gorgeous condo... " He perched his sunglasses on his nose and pivoted for Scully's benefit. "Shirt by Hugo Boss, pants by Armani." "Didn't I ever tell you that I was never attracted to your wallet, Darrin?" She leaned against him, smiling. "In fact, my eyes never made it past your belt." "Scully!" Feeling good, she laughed a real laugh and let his slip-up go. They climbed into the front seats and closed their doors; Scully eased into the back of the seat, settling the map on her lap, and Mulder put a compact disc she had given him into the Mustang's CD player. He turned the key in the ignition, and, as Don McLean mourned for the day the music died, shifted the gear into place and shot away from the curb determined to make good time. Accentuating his mood, the sun stayed out as they flew north on the Interstate, with the top down and their hair be damned. The air was against his face, warm and fresh, and Mulder felt a sense of freedom and anticipation that investigating a new case always brought him. He turned to Scully, yelling, "Isn't this great?" She pulled strands of her hair out of her eyes and felt a wave of irritation, as if it was his fault. When he reached for her hand, placing it on the black knob and downshifting, she was distracted. It was impossible not to feel the vibration -- or the shape of his fingers. "It's exhilarating," she yelled back truthfully, and he squeezed her hand. They took Exit 14 for the Massachusetts Turnpike, following it west to the exit at Lee. They drove past the well maintained white farmhouses, weathered barns, and fields of crops and colorful wildflowers, all giving an impression of prosperous serenity. Scully pointed out, a little wistfully, that there was no shortage of antique dealers either. Mulder felt her breath against his cheek and turned just in time to spot a swinging sign, underneath a jumbled row of brightly painted birdhouses. The delicate floral scent coming from his partner made him want to get even closer. He sighed and turned his attention back to the road. TRANQUILITY SPA THE BERKSHIRES LENOX, MA The hamlet of Lenox, with its stately homes and fabulous mansions, was tucked in a corner of the Southern Berkshire hills. Scully was content enjoying the scenery along tree-lined streets. Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the map and traced a line with her manicured fingertip. "We're almost there. Take the next left." A teal green sign with white lettering edged in gold, Tranquility Spa was adjacent to an open gate. Towering hedges surrounded the grounds. Slowing the Mustang, Mulder peered through the driver's side window and signaled left. He turned it through the opening; the winding drive would take them to the vintage mansion, which now served as the inn. As he steered the car leisurely up the drive, Mulder was greeted by a civil but firm security guard. He braked and, with a wink at Scully, turned back to the man, informing him that they were Mr. and Mrs. Stevens and were expected. The guard studied his list and confirmed their registration. He waved his arm and gestured them forward, allowing them to pass. "I guess there's no popping in for a look around," Mulder commented. As they continued ahead, through elaborate gardens with flowing fountains, the two- story inn came into view. Involuntarily Scully gasped. She loved it at once. "We're from the too-rich set, Sam," Mulder reminded her. We don't mind combining dietary deprivation and masochistic physicality with turn-of-the-century opulence." He pulled into a parking space near the entrance, separated from the lot by beds of roses. Scully glanced quickly into the rearview mirror to make sure she was presentable, smoothing her hair with her fingers. Mulder got out of the Mustang and went around it. He retrieved their bags, sliding the straps over his shoulder. His hand pressed lightly into the small of Scully's back and they walked to the front door, breathing in the perfume of the prickly shrubs. As Mulder guided her inside the building and across the lobby, the heels of her sandals clicked softly on the ceramic floor. The grand lobby soared up two stories and was paneled with aged wood that gleamed with polish and proper care. An elegant mahogany staircase curved up to the balcony fronting the rooms, large tubs of cut roses sitting at either side of its base. Scully stopped to admire an expansive display case of antique glassware while Mulder proceeded with long strides to the information desk. When she joined him, he was already deep in conversation with the clerk. Mulder shrugged off his feelings of pleasurable anticipation and arranged his face into a scowl. "This is not my idea of a good time, Sam," he complained to Scully. Scully hesitated, trying to follow his thinking. She answered softly, "Well, I thought it might be a good idea." Then she looked hard at Mulder. "I'm a little upset you don't understand my feelings." "And I don't know how to empathize with you, is that it? It's called being human. Unlike you, I don't expect everyone to be perfect." Rather reluctantly, he pulled out his credit card and smacked it on the desktop. His lip curled. "She thinks we have to do this spa thing. Always expects me to give in." "Only when I'm right," Scully muttered. The woman ignored them tactfully. She checked their names against her register and told them they had appointments with the registered nurse in an hour, to review their lifestyles and general health. She processed his credit card and gave him two key cards and spa information packets, containing questionnaires to take to their room and fill out. Mulder mumbled a thank you, palming the cards and handing the plastic envelopes to Scully. He took a closer look at the people in the lobby; one woman appeared to be checking him out. He guessed she was about forty. She was nearly as tall as he, wearing navy shorts and a white T-shirt. She had a narrow face, and her fine blond hair was parted in the middle, hanging down to her jaw and curling under at the bottom. The roots were black. Her eyes traveled up his long legs, past his lean hips and the powder blue golf shirt, reaching eventually his boyish face. His nose was noticeably above average in size, but over those full lips... Drop-dead gorgeous. He looked fit -- a runner, she supposed. Wasn't he looking her way a little longer than she would expect, as if only she and he existed? She wished he would take off the dark lenses perched on that nose, so she could see his eyes. She stopped ogling him long enough to notice his companion, dressed in a lime green silk blouse and loose linen slacks, with her smooth flawless skin and her red hair carefully groomed into a casual, wind-blown look. She dismissed her in a matter of seconds. "Let me handle this," Scully whispered. "What are you doing, Darrin?" she accused loudly, folding her arms across her chest. At the sound of her scolding voice, his head swiveled and he looked down at her with a look of confusion. "What? Did you say something?" She answered him by stepping hard on his foot. "I'm only sightseeing," he explained. With a glance at the woman, Scully said irately, "I can see that. You're a man, aren't you?" Mulder moved away from the desk, sidestepping instinctively another man. His eyes cut to the man's face. His brow was creased. He felt the need to defend himself again. "You really want to know what I was thinking of?" "Yes." He opened his mouth to tell her, but the withering look she threw him belied her words. He closed it without saying a word. He climbed the stairs to their room after her, watching her swinging hips. He was blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back, shooting poisoned daggers. "If that son of a bitch so much as touches Angela.... " the man murmured. His voice was rough, heightened by the dryness in his mouth. MULDER AND SCULLY'S GUEST ROOM TRANQUILITY SPA INN With the Bureau's Finance agents in mind, Mulder had reserved a deluxe room rather than a luxury suite. He chose a double, mindful of conduct while maintaining the married couple facade. It was lush and well appointed. The spreads on the queen-sized beds matched the curtains and the shades on the old- fashioned lamps, as well as the cushions placed just so, set on the comfortable chairs. A reproduction of Monet's Pink Water Lilies hung between the beds. A table held a welcoming bowl of fresh fruit and two glasses of chilled lemonade. The room smelled of rose water. As she closed the door behind them, Scully headed for the bathroom and started pulling off her clothes. She turned on the taps, raising her voice so Mulder could hear her over the running water. "She was looking at you like you were a hot fudge sundae after a week of abstinence." "Very funny." Mulder grabbed a shiny red apple and bit off a chunk. He wedged the fruit between his teeth and opened his bag. He took out a pair of boxers and unrolled them, uncovering his Sig Sauer. Assured by the weapon, he wrapped it back into the underwear, burying it inside his bag with his other boxers and socks, swimming trunks, toiletries and running shoes before placing it inside the wardrobe. Mulder ate up the apple then changed into the supplied navy shorts and white T-shirt. He also slipped on a lightweight waffle weave robe, leaving it open, and sandals. To tell the truth, he felt a little ridiculous. Scully had finished freshening up and was similarly attired, but her feet were still bare. Her robe's sleeves hung down to her fingertips, and she had pulled the belt tight around her waist. Their eyes met. As she came toward him, Mulder said, his voice low, "There's enough room in your robe for both of us. Imagine the possibilities." With his thumb, Mulder touched Scully's cheek, her chin and her lips. Her rapid, shallow breathing was his response. He lowered his head, substituting his mouth. When his lips touched hers, Scully hesitated, pulling away. The kiss was disappointingly short. "We might not make our appointments, Mulder," she told him, looking to him for support. "My thoughts exactly," Mulder agreed, his eyes dark. "Who needs to set up a fitness regimen? Bed rest is more therapeutic." "What makes you think we'll be resting?" she insinuated, eyes twinkling. "I think you'd better stop talking like that, Scully, or we won't be leaving this room." "Who started this conversation anyway?" Since her question was rhetorical, Mulder didn't answer. They glanced briefly at the spa information packets, containing tips on how to beat jet lag, and brochures for services and their locations. They put them aside, turned to the questionnaires and began to fill them in. REGISTERED NURSE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER Fay Beck, R.N. was inscribed on the brass plaque on the door. The nurse introduced herself and shook their hands. The fifty year-old woman was small with unremarkable features; she had colored her medium brown hair with red highlights. A pair of glasses with red plastic frames hung from a gold chain around her neck. She turned on her heel and said over her shoulder, "Come on, Mrs. Stevens," leading Scully back into her sun-drenched office and closing the door. On his own in the reception area, Mulder worked his way around the room, pretending an interest in the posters on the walls. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, only that he would know when he saw it. There were two other doors; he tried their knobs, but they were both locked. It didn't take him long to figure out he wasn't going to find out anything here. He was aware suddenly of movement in the doorway. Scully was already crossing the room when the nurse gestured Mulder inside. She offered him a seat on the comfortable blue colored sofa, in almost the same shade as his shirt. She considered him carefully from behind her desk. Mulder looked back at her. "How did you come to choose us?" she asked at last. "Someone at work told me about you," Mulder answered vaguely. "Personnel ordered me to take some of my vacation -- my wife was all for coming here. I told her it wasn't likely I would rejuvenate myself on top of all that sweat." "You can be as active or relaxed as you want, Mr. Stevens. It's really a low-maintenance vacation; you don't have to worry about a thing. If you regard it that way, you'll find many advantages." The nurse lifted her glasses to her nose and scanned Mulder's responses to the questionnaire. "You're an entrepreneur. Are you successful?" "You could say that, yes." "Did you work hard to get where you are?" "It wasn't easy." "Stress," she said to herself, making a notation next to his handwriting. "Do you get much exercise?" "I like to swim and run," Mulder replied honestly. "I shoot a few baskets to stay in shape." "Are you on any medication?" Glastenbury Mountain, Vermont. Meddie's Museum. The plunge he had taken down the basement stairwell. He played it down. "I took a tumble on the court," he lied, exasperation flashing across his face. "I'm not twenty-five anymore. My wife thinks she's my doctor; she tucked some painkillers into her bag. I'm only supposed to take them if I have pain -- and I feel fine." Nurse Beck questioned him further about his health, confirming he hadn't smoked for some years and wasn't much of a drinker then moved on to his eating habits. "I'll acquaint you and your wife with Doctor Payne," she concluded finally. "He'll want to meet you." "Pain?" Mulder blurted. She laughed. "He'll do you good," she assured him. She took them to meet Doctor Norman Payne, telling him their names. The man was at least ten years older than Nurse Beck, short and stocky with a slight paunch. His hair was the color of beach sand and thinning on top. Payne viewed it as a poor joke. As he lost it from the top of his head, it seemed to accumulate in the tangled mess that were his eyebrows. His eyes were intelligent and viewed them carefully. Payne offered his hand, making an effort to be friendly, but Mulder noticed that his brows were drawn together. "Enjoy your stay," he said simply. There seemed to be nothing more to be said. Mulder turned to Scully. "What's the torture for this afternoon, Hon?" he asked in an ill-tempered tone. "I'm going for the New Look hair styling," she answered, suggesting he could amuse himself. "Good luck," Mulder muttered. As the couple left the Health Center, Payne retreated to his office. He shut the door behind him and clicked it firmly shut. The doctor paced for a moment then moved to the window, lowering himself into the black leather sofa and pushing a hand through his hair. He saw the Stevens making their way along the winding stone walkway. Mr. Stevens was chatting animatedly, using his hands to accentuate his words. Payne stared at him before rising slowly to his feet and shifting to his desk. His hands folded beneath his chin, Payne eyed the telephone thoughtfully. He puffed out his cheeks. What to do with this problem? "Damn," he muttered, making a dour face, then an idea zeroed in and he changed his mind. This was where he would become indispensable to those in charge of the Project. He reached for the telephone and dialed the District of Columbia area code and a seven-digit number. On the third ring, it was picked up on the other end. Payne was about to speak, when it sounded like a match was being struck. There was an inhale followed by an exhale of air. "Afternoon, sir," he greeted. He gave a summary of what had just taken place. "Even so, there's nothing to worry about. We can continue without discovery from the Bureau. All it takes is the correct treatment." He listened, his mouth puckered. "I appreciate that," he began to object, "but under our direction, Mulder... " His hand tightened around the receiver. "I can't touch him." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm listening." Payne waited for the call to end then slammed down the phone. He had been told to leave the FBI agent alone. It was indirect and subtle, but he understood it meant cover his ass and start again somewhere else. Well, he wouldn't run. ~~~~~ Act II ~~~~~ INDOOR POOL TRANQUILITY SPA SPORTS CENTER The pool was surrounded by filtered plate glass, inset on each end with prism-shaped stained glass. Sunlight passed through it, reflecting the colors of the prisms across the water. The effect was stunning. Mulder walked into the damp warmth. He stepped out of his sandals and removed his robe, T-shirt, and shorts, dropping them where he stood, revealing a sensible pair of black swimming trunks. The chilliness of the dark green marble floor was in contrast to the warm moistness, penetrating his feet, and he flexed his toes. From her lounge at poolside, sipping on a glass of orange juice, Angela watched him as he let himself into the shallow end, swimming back and forth across the pool until he was warmed up. She saw he was a good, strong swimmer. He climbed out at the steps and padded to the deep end, his wet feet slapping on the floor. The fabric clung to him, leaving almost nothing to her imagination. He made a perfect dive, his entry into the water barely making a sound. He didn't surface right away, staying under as long as possible then came up to blink water out of his eyes. He finished his swim with a rapid crawl, doing several laps. Like Mulder, the woman wore a simple suit, but, in a brilliant lemon yellow, the one-piece drew the eye and emphasized her shape. As Mulder sat on the edge, breathing heavily, she moved and stood next to him. "You make it look easy," she said. "I'm Angela. Angela Darling." She was still there staring, her interest obvious. His breathing returned to normal. He had been on his high school's swim team, and swimming had always remained one of his favored means of exercise, but he replied simply, "Practice," then added, "Stevens. Darrin." He had a nice voice. It fit his looks. She joined him, dangling her legs in the warm water. Her calves stirred the water with quick strokes, and it lapped gently around them. He thought about Scully's calves, how warm they were and how soft. "Your first time?" he questioned. She knew what he meant, but her cheeks flushed a slight pink. "This is my second visit to the spa." He deftly shifted the topic slightly. "It's world- renowned, isn't it? Powerful people have been sighted here?" He was focused on how she would answer. She liked that about him. "I saw James Caan once." She hadn't told him anything really, but he nodded. "Interesting." His hazel eyes were like chameleons, changing from light brown to green, knocking her off-balance. She'd never seen such amazing eyes before. Her gaze lowered to his upper body and she saw there was a scar on his left shoulder. "What's that from?" she asked with interest. Mulder looked at her blankly. "What?" She placed her index finger against the imperfect skin and pressed. Drenched with water, his skin was both damp and warm. The nerves in her fingertip jumped like they were charged with electricity. She was too close for comfort. Mulder shifted his torso uneasily, trying not to be too obvious about it. The adjustment caused her to withdraw her hand. He had almost forgotten the old injury; he had been about to kill Alex Krycek, after the murder of his father. Scully had shot him in order to preserve his freedom, lest the authorities suspect Mulder of both deaths. "I was Robin Hood, my sister was Prince John. Her bow and arrow worked a little too well." Angela found the account comical and laughed. Mulder grinned slowly in spite of himself. It was good to be able to laugh with him. It seemed intimate and something only the two of them had shared. He looked for a way out. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a warning that someone was watching, and he was pretty sure he knew who that someone was. "I have to go," Mulder told her, getting to his feet. He toweled himself off, pulling the T-shirt down over his head and gathering the rest of his things. As they passed each other, he met her husband's eyes. A few quiet seconds went by as they eyed one another. "Afternoon," Mulder greeted politely. He wanted to add the last name, but couldn't quite bring himself to say it. Darling nodded, still coldly silent, although his palms were sweating. He was tanned and well built, suggesting he spent a lot of time outdoors, but he was slightly overweight. His blond hair was cut into a brush cut. Mulder stepped out, the door closing behind him. Darling wasn't sure what he had interrupted -- a harmless chat or an intimate talk. "What were you two finding to talk about?" he interrogated. His steel blue eyes were a marked contrast to warm, hazel ones. "I was simply being friendly, Lon," Angela answered. "Try being friendly with his wife." Taking up with Patti had been a costly mistake. Was Angela teaching him a lesson for what he had done to her, or was her attraction to Stevens real? Uncertainty grabbed him by the heart and tugged. MULDER AND SCULLY'S GUEST ROOM TRANQUILITY SPA INN As she heard Mulder's key card in the lock, Scully felt like she was on her first date, running downstairs and waiting for the young man to come up the front walk. "Your hair," Mulder exclaimed, his eyes focused on her carefully. Her hair had been fastened to her head in waves, some of them deliberately let loose around her face and neck. He reached out and touched a curl, tugging it gently and pressing it to his nose. She smelled like peppermint. Involuntarily, his tongue wet his lower lip. Releasing the strand, he told her, "Perfect." He reached into the wardrobe, pulling out two slips of paper and flashing them between his fingers. "All dressed up and somewhere to go." "What have you got there?" Scully asked. "Tickets for this evening's performance of the Boston Symphony Orchestra here in Lenox," he answered. "Previn, Mozart, Strauss, and Chopin." "I love it when you talk dirty to me," Scully said. He grinned, but then his smile faded and he was all seriousness. "We've work to do here, Scully, but this is for us." KOUSSEVITZKY MUSIC SHED TANGLEWOOD LENOX, MA The estate of Tanglewood, the summer home of the symphony, with its acres of magnificent lawns, gardens and ancient trees, overlooked a sparkling lake. Their tickets were for the shed, an open-ended auditorium surrounded by a lush green lawn where an outdoor audience lounged on lawn chairs and blankets. How he had managed to get tickets for the sellout performance, conducted by Andre Previn, was a mystery, but Mulder wasn't talking. Scully suspected it had something to do with The Lone Gunmen and their expert programming skills. Mulder relaxed into his seat, attuned to the conversations going on around him. The couple beside him was bickering about the latest family crisis. Two women to his and Scully's right were discussing flower arrangements for a wedding. The businessmen below him were talking about next week's business trip itinerary. Mulder thought about the case that had brought them to Massachusetts. What had happened between the Senator and his wife? Did she really understand him and his motives for doing anything? He looked over at Scully and was rewarded with the information he wanted. She truly understood *him*. Wouldn't it be reasonable to assume Evelina wasn't a novice as far as her husband's behavior was concerned? Mulder was almost too focused on the Ryans to hear the start of the concert, but Scully's hand slid into his and gave it a light squeeze. He squared his shoulders and turned enthusiastically toward the sound of the music. "It's marvelous," Scully whispered, as the audience grew hushed. Her words reflected his own happiness as he listened to Strauss's The Blue Danube, the harmony of sound frolicking with his eardrums. MULDER AND SCULLY'S GUEST ROOM TRANQUILITY SPA INN Scully awakened to find Mulder's arm wrapped protectively around her chest, as if he had sought and found her in his sleep. One of his legs was thrown across her right leg and under her left, interweaving them together. She was reluctant to disturb him, but she needed to take care of an insistent bladder. She tried to wriggle out from under him. He woke and pinned her with his leg. "Morning," he said softly, rubbing it against hers. "Good morning." He continued to trace a path along her leg, and it felt so good. "Mulder." "Mmm?" He lowered his lips to hers, seeking the warmth of the inside of her mouth. He thought of how it would feel and his insides boiled over. She opened her mouth to welcome him, but her bladder repeated its need for immediate attention. Scully pulled back, but he was quick and kissed her neck. She clasped his shoulder, her expression apologetic. "I need to go to the bathroom." He looked at her mindlessly then he blinked, his eyes clearing. The boil reduced to a simmer. He dropped a kiss lightly on the top of her head and heaved himself off her, supporting his weight on one elbow. "Hurry back," he told her, indicating they would continue where they had stopped when she returned. REGISTERED NURSE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER The small, windowless room off the nurse's office was simple. Painted white and softly lit, it had no decorations and a single massage table in its center, covered with a white sheet and a folded white towel. Mulder could hear strains of, oddly enough, The Blue Danube, and he flashed back to the Boston Symphony Orchestra. "This 50 minute session will be full body, Mr. Stevens," she told him. "You've been under some stress and are on medication for an injury. Swedish massage is a therapeutic approach to healing; you'll find it will encourage well being, managing your stress, and promote release of neurochemicals, naturally reducing your pain." She explained she would leave the room while he undressed. When he was nude, he lay down on the firm, flat, padded table and placed the towel over his waist, draping the sheet over him for additional privacy and warmth. Nurse Beck started with preliminary strokes, gliding her fingers beneath his shoulder blades and across his neck muscles. "Just relax," she said. She began the rest of the treatment by stroking his fingers, wrist and forearm then kneading and tapping his upper arm. She repeated it for his left side then lowered the sheet, applying a light coating of lotion to his abdomen and massaging with the palms of her hands. As she pressed, she spoke to him. Her constant soft cadence began to work; Mulder responded to the calm, controlled voice, his tension easing. "Does this feel tender?" she asked. "Good pain," he groaned, nearly asleep. She drew the sheet up and exposed his right leg. She applied more lotion and began at his toes, gradually increasing the pressure as she moved to the top of his thigh. "You've denied the truth," she said. "No," Mulder protested sluggishly. "Yes, you have." She covered his leg and repeated the strokes on his left leg. As she kneaded the middle of his thigh with her thumb, her hypnotic voice skillfully shaped his emotions. "Your sister was your responsibility. Your inaction allowed her to be taken." "My fault," Mulder rephrased mechanically. "You were small and weak. You see it now, don't you?" "Yes." "Those who loved you never forgave you." "Never forgave myself." Something was happening to Mulder's face; it was crumbling slowly, like a sandcastle baked too long in the sun. "Guilt is the greatest hell," the nurse said to herself. When she saw him like that, she felt renewed dread that this wasn't a good idea. This time, Payne was not under orders and he wanted her to look the other way. By going after *this* man, she feared he had miscalculated -- and she was right in the middle of it. She leaned forward, directing Mulder to turn over so she could complete the treatment. There were days, she decided, she was a fool. ~~~~~ MULDER RESIDENCE CHILMARK MARTHA'S VINEYARD, MA After spending the day at the beach, Fox had sat under the sky and watched the sun go down, an event, which signaled the finality of his day and the fact he was soon due home. Around him, other island residents using the restricted beach also packed up and slipped away, climbing into their vehicles and heading to their houses. Throwing away the rest of his bologna sandwich, Fox loaded his towel into his bicycle's basket, hopping on to the banana seat. With a kick to the pedal, he turned it on to the winding dirt drive that would take him to the road and then home. He biked the road twice a day; sometimes, he walked for miles along it, watching the ocean wash the shore. Teena Mulder heard the slam of the back screen door and the accompanying thud of kicked-off sneakers from the kitchen, where she sat with her hands wrapped around her cup of tea. Picking it up, she tasted it, but it had long gone cold. Joining his mother, Fox gave her a brief description of how he had spent his time before she intimated he should have a bath and get cleaned up for bed. "Good night, Fox," she said, giving him a quick dry kiss on the cheek. "See you in the morning." "Night, Mom," he returned, suppressing his disappointment. Even though he was fourteen, he still longed for some comfort from his mother. He padded up the narrow stairs to the bathroom. Fox got out of his clothes and turned on the water to fill the bathtub. He eased into the warm water with a sigh of pleasure. Sliding a little further down in the tub, he stirred the water with his fingers. His mother's voice drifted up from downstairs, through the register in the bathroom floor. "Explain the swing, Bill." Sitting up, the boy rested his elbows on the rim and leaned forward, listening intently. It wasn't the first time he had heard discussions after his parents assumed he was upstairs, out of earshot. He pictured his mother in the kitchen, her wet hands gripping the windowsill instead of washing the evening dishes. She'd be looking at the tire swing, hanging from a tree branch in the backyard. She was waiting, but for what: for his sister to come back, for him to disappear too? His father would be standing ineffectually beside her, stiff as a board, clenching his jaw. "It's still there. Why isn't she!" All of a sudden his chest hurt. Fox placed his palms over his ears, sinking back into the bath water, mercifully drowning her out. Why couldn't it have been him instead? Then he wouldn't be here now, with this ache inside him that was more than he could stand. ~~~~~ MULDER AND SCULLY'S GUEST ROOM TRANQUILITY SPA INN Mulder was jolted from sleep by the certainty he was having a heart attack. The physical discomfort in his chest was incredible. His eyes flew open and he tried to suck in air. "S-Sam!" he sputtered. "What is it?" a voice said sleepily into his ear. There was movement and the pressure eased. Mulder was too busy drawing air into his lungs to reply. Scully was looking at him, her eyes wide and concerned. The memory of the eight-year-old and how he'd failed her that November in 1974, and every year since, came back with shameful clarity. She turned to him, stroking his arm. His skin felt warm. Sweat was beading above his upper lip. She studied his face, but his hazel eyes were shadowed and gave nothing away. "Are you feeling all right, Mulder?" "I'm fine," he claimed, but the tone was flat and the words sounded false. He rolled away from her in solitary silence. She'd tried to fool herself, and him, about her own feelings by using the same phrase many times. She really didn't have the right to push, but she did. "What are you thinking about?" "It doesn't matter," he answered at last. "We can't bring back the past." He got off the bed and went into the bathroom. He turned on the light and it spilled out into the room, carrying with it his shadow. He was just standing there, possibly staring into the mirror. What was he thinking? She still wasn't sure. Mulder examined his reflection in the glass, expecting to see it mirror some kind of defect, but the eyes that stared back at him looked merely ordinary. He'd enjoyed pretending to be someone else -- who wouldn't want to be another person for a while? -- but he smiled gravely. He *remembered* who he was. He looked at the doorway behind him then turned, pushing the door closed. He was shutting her out. She looked at the oak door, fretting. He may not want it, but she was going to talk to him. Scully pulled the spread to the side, leaving the bed. She stood quietly before the bathroom door, determined and calm. She reached out, her hand fisted, ready to knock. Then he did something that stunned her into immobility. He pulled the bolt into place, locking the door. LIBRARY TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER Within the health center, the library was a marked contrast to Nurse Beck's sunny office. Designed in keeping with the vintage mansion, it was paneled in dark wood, its layout and furnishings reminiscent of cigar smoke and aristocracy. The library was a lending library of books, videos, and compact discs. Its centerpiece was a historical exhibit detailing the past of Tranquility's mansion. There were several meeting rooms where daily presentations on a variety of health topics were held, and quiet areas for reading and research. The short walk to the library had given Scully time to walk off her unease. She was accustomed to consistent behavior from Mulder, even when she argued with him and questioned his decisions, and his withdrawn silence wasn't totally unpredictable -- but it was a long way from the man who had passionately enjoyed the symphony. Scully found a comfortable chair in a back corner. She looked under a nearby table for an accessible phone jack and a place to plug in her laptop. Settling herself into the chair, she readied the machine to go online. Digging for background on Dr. Norman Payne, she learned he had been born in New York City and attended New York University where he'd studied chemistry. Her eyebrow raised when she found he'd received a Nobel Prize in 1988 for Medicine, for his discovery of important principles for drug therapy. He was a biochemist, pioneering the development of transdermal drug delivery, allowing FDA-approved drugs to be absorbed through the skin via creams, lotions, gels, and patches. What was he doing here, at this summer camp for adults? She realized the best of practitioners could be found at a spa, but what would draw a man of his stature? It wasn't proof of anything yet it nagged at her. OUTDOOR RUNNING TRACK TRANQUILITY SPA SPORTS CENTER The sky was a radiant blue above aged oak trees providing lots of shade. Mulder's body went through the automatic routine of running the track while his disordered mind raced through thoughts of his sister. He'd thought he'd come to terms with Samantha's abduction and death -- but had he really? The old, familiar guilt had washed over him like sickness. Where had it come from? This was how he'd felt every time he played her abduction scene out to the end. What was happening to him? Mulder completed another circle. Warmed up, he stopped to do some stretching. He placed his feet slightly more than shoulder width apart and stretched one arm down toward the outside of his knee. He held it for a few seconds before repeating the side bend on his left side. Other runners breezed by him; those in pairs were happily chatting away. It made the deficit in himself even greater. They probably could see it just by looking at him. He could still remember how, as a young boy, it had hurt to be on the receiving end of unwelcome interest. He did the exercises six times then tossed his head impatiently and broke into a jog. He quickened his pace into a sprint. If he ran fast enough, maybe he could run what was going on with him this morning right out. REGISTERED NURSE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER "You noticed something different?" the nurse asked, putting on what she hoped was the right expression -- because his eyes noticed everything. She hoped she hadn't sounded anxious. So, it was finished then. She didn't seem surprised at his admission, but she looked concerned and was watching him intently. "Nothing dramatic. I felt lighter," Mulder told her. Finally, her features relaxed into a small smile. "I know what you're talking about. Some patients report feeling taller after a massage." She removed the sheet and, while holding the towel that covered him, asked him to turn on to his stomach. She covered him again, leaving his legs exposed. She applied lotion to his right leg, noticing the back of his thigh was particularly sensitive. She stroked it deeply, releasing the tension then pressed her knuckles into the sole of his foot. She repeated the treatment to his left leg, draping him with the sheet. "Ah-h," Mulder groaned. He was nearly asleep. She lowered the sheet from his back. "Are you warm enough?" "Hmm." "Focus on a place where you have total peace." Her voice was calm and well controlled. "It may be resting beside a pool of water... It may be watching the tide as it drifts in to the shore... While you think about this place, your body is relaxing, deeply relaxing... " She stroked him firmly as she talked to him in a constant soft rhythm; the friction released both the tightness in the upper muscles and his capacity to resist her words. She applied lotion to the skin, palpating the tissue along his spine. Only moments passed when she said, "Your partner was assigned to investigate and debunk your work." "Yes." She kneaded his upper back. "You've been a puppet in a conspiratorial show since the very beginning." "Yes." "With her help." "No," he protested sluggishly, in a low-pitch, but resonant with feelings she hadn't been able to work out of him so far. "Yes," she insisted, crisscrossing his back with her hands. She tapped it with the outside edges. "With her help. Her devotion to you isn't assured." "Can't trust her," Mulder rephrased automatically. She finished by stroking her fingers lightly along his back, and covered him with the sheet. She told him she would be leaving the room and he was to rest for a moment. "You won't remember our conversation," she added. "You'll feel relaxed." When he was ready, Mulder got up from the table and dressed. He felt like he was floating. The sense of relaxation was pleasurable, yet, curiously, he felt unsettled. Apparently, regaining inner balance was going to be harder to achieve. DOCTOR PAYNE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER "We need to talk." "Of course." Payne beckoned the nurse through his open door. After a few paces, she told herself to remain calm. "Stop before you cause him any more harm." The doctor stared at the doorway behind the woman for a moment before answering. "I'm merely winning him to the crusade, Faye. Mulder has always been a loose end that no one wants to tie up." His unconcern left her feeling as if she had just fallen down a hole. "It's a gamble, Norman, and you know it. If this goes wrong, They'll blame you. They'll blame me." He didn't deny it. That's what this was about -- self-defense. He would preserve the sanctity of his work, even if the purpose of it had been changed. He was still concerned with the development of drug therapy, but with less-commercial applications of course. "I intend to carry on working -- as should you." It had been for nothing. Tomorrow she would slip on her uniform and manipulate the agent's emotional life like she had before. Her eyes lit on Payne's brows, spilling over his eyes like shrubs that had never been trimmed. She was careful to keep the abhorrence inside. DINING ROOM TRANQUILITY SPA The dining room was not a mix of the old and the new; everything was modern and expensive, from the utensils to the furnishings, like the best of restaurants. A soothing fountain was midst the tables covered in starched blues and greens. Items on the menus, however, were listed indicating their calories, fat grams, and fiber grams. "And the background check I did showed only two parking tickets for him," Scully finished. "It's going to be hard to prove Payne's involved with what we've got." Mulder pushed the grilled trout around on his plate before spearing it with his fork. Scully looked at him expectantly, but it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. He was staring at the fish, making his mind up. He lifted the fork. A piece of it was hanging precariously from a prong. "What the hell is the matter with you? You haven't heard one word I've said." "I just want to be sure the feelings I've been having aren't one-sided," he accused. She had seen him at his best and worst, had even accepted his criticism, but she hadn't expected this. Scully pushed her plate of baked stuffed zucchini aside and sat back in the dining room chair. "Mulder," she whispered his name softly. "You can't mean that." She searched his face, looking for an answer. She was twisting her cross in her fingers. He wondered if the delicate chain would give way before the wounded look on her face disappeared. He leaned toward her, invading her space. "You don't have to sound so surprised." She tried to tell herself this wasn't a real conversation; they were acting. The fact that her emotions were in chaos told her how badly he had hurt her. "I wasn't aware we were in a contest of who loves who more." He swore, and she heard the legs of his chair scrape the floor as he rose to his feet. She got a full view of the fountain behind him. Its gentle trickling made it seem as if it was weeping. He was backing away from the table. He was going to walk away! "Do you really want to leave?" Scully put to him. She was close to tears. It tossed his power to act upside-down. Either he could trust her or he couldn't. "I don't know," he confessed in a low voice. He was angry with her, for a reason she knew nothing about. Outrage bubbled inside her, but she didn't want him to go. She blinked away the tears, leaning toward him and touching his hand. She pulled him back into the chair. Silence hung between them. "Either you trust me or you don't," she said. The words were so close to his own thoughts, Mulder was speechless. "We've missed something, Mulder, I know it. Payne was going places. Why is he here? He must have access to medical facilities." He forced his mind back to the case. Perhaps it was the certainty in Scully's voice. He latched on to it, at least for the moment. "You're right. We need to find a lab," he conceded. She nodded tightly. "There may be some information about Gordon Ryan, the other senators. What do we have to lose by looking?" "Nothing," he said at last. "We'll look tonight, after Payne's office hours end." He was impassive, unresponsive to something that would normally excite him. She reached over and covered his hand with hers. "We're seeing this through together." Hadn't they braved a global conspiracy? His eyes met hers before flicking away. The worst part was Scully was afraid she'd already lost him. ~~~~~ Act III ~~~~~ INDOOR BASKETBALL COURT TRANQUILITY SPA SPORTS CENTER Darling watched Stevens warm up on the lighted indoor court. The dark-haired man trotted forward, across the floor, dribbling the basketball close to his body. He used his fingertips, using first one hand and then the other. He dribbled the ball around his body, at a medium level, with one hand and then the other. He dribbled effortlessly around one foot, then around the other. Because he handled the ball better than many amateurs, Darling knew the man was experienced. If the two of them participated in a little one on one basketball, it could be a great learning opportunity. Denial wouldn't get Stevens through this game. "How about a game of one on one, Stevens?" Darling was looking at him with an amicable expression, but his eyes were cold and hard. Mulder would wager a month's pay that an objective of the game would definitely not be good sportsmanship. Did he really want to swap sweat with this guy? He held the ball close to his chest. "Not tonight, Darling," he said, wincing inwardly at the sense of the words. Darling couldn't help smiling a little. "We'll only play to ten points." Mulder stared long at the basket then his gaze fell back on the man's face. "All right." He tossed him the ball and Darling threw it back. They did it twice then Mulder broke for the basket. He took a shot, and the basketball bounced against the backboard and fell through the net. Darling caught the ball as it dropped. His face contorted. "My wife is attracted to you." He stopped and shot. The ball slammed against the rim and dropped to the floor. Mulder caught it after it bounced. "I noticed." He held the ball in both hands then shot at the basket. It arched gracefully and sailed through the hoop. Darling scooped up the ball, getting possession of it. His eyes sought Stevens out. He looked at him with a somber expression, his face flushed. "Did you now? You didn't waste any time." Mulder's eyes narrowed. Intuition, sharpened in the field, told him he would have to have eyes in the back of his head. "Just taking a look," he responded truthfully. He had been studying the guests in the lobby. The other man dribbled the ball, switching from one hand to the other, moving to a different spot. This time, he aimed carefully and made a clean shot. "Taking a look or figuring out how not to get caught?" Mulder grabbed the basketball easily. He took two steps toward the net. At the same time, Darling aggressively bumped into him, and he staggered, the soles of his running shoes gripping the floor. He managed to stay on his feet. The blond man reached out and stole the ball. He tossed it against the backboard and scored. Mulder caught it. He shot the ball. It struck the rim, rolled, and sank through the net. He ran forward, his face shining with perspiration. Again, he was pushed from behind. An elbow slammed into his back. Mulder pivoted on one foot, his hands up, ready for another blow -- if it came. Adrenaline rushed through him. Darling reached the ball, but threw short of the basket. Mulder picked it up, turned, and dribbled. As he aimed, Darling leaped, and they collided. Both men tumbled to the floor, panting. "Lonny!" Angela hurried toward them and knelt beside her husband. "Are you hurt?" "Just banged my head a little," he answered. "Are you sure?" "Yeah. It's just a headache." He pressed his fingers to his forehead. She snatched his hand, curled her fingers around his, and squeezed. "Why don't you come back to our room?" she hinted breathlessly. Darling cracked a smile. "Sure thing, Baby." She helped him to his feet. He turned and met Mulder's eyes. There was no mistaking the enthusiasm on his face. As the two of them left the court, Mulder pushed his bottom off the floor and stood up. The Darlings had been united by the truth of the love they had rediscovered. Would he and Scully be torn apart? DOCTOR PAYNE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER They had been denied sleep, waiting for night to descend and things to settle down before they took a look at Payne's office. Mulder didn't say goodnight, he simply slipped his gun beneath the waistband of his pants and slid into bed -- the other bed -- without an explanation. It touched a nerve; Scully wanted him in bed with her, but she backed off. She'd seen something in his eyes; he didn't have a clue how hurtful he was being. She now understood what Evelina had been thinking; if he loves me, why is he so hostile? He didn't have to explain himself to her, Mulder thought as he lay in the dark. He'd been blinded by his own feelings, but if Scully was playing some kind of game with him, he had seen through it. If only he wasn't finding the discovery so difficult. He was finding it hard to shut off his feelings. When the time was right, they made their way to the Health Center. Trying to be both fast and silent, they entered and moved toward Payne's office. Mulder seemed to be okay -- if Scully didn't count the taut muscles in his face. He reached under his shirt and pulled out the Sig. Scully did the same, taking out her own weapon and holding it in a two-handed grip. She felt better now that they were prepared. Choosing a closed door off the reception area, Mulder ran his hand over the knob, his fingers closing around it and turning. As he suspected, it was locked. He inserted his lock pick and the door swung open with little effort. The agents aimed the beams of their penlights inside. Like the massage room off Beck's office, there was no window. It was a common laboratory: a computer and printer sat on a disorganized desk top, a tall, gleaming file cabinet stood at attention in a nearby corner, and used test tubes and beakers spilled over a rectangular table. There was little space to pace and think. There was a small desk lamp, but the agents didn't turn it on, preferring to use the penlights to illuminate their search. Thrusting his weapon into his waistband, Mulder sorted through the cabinet, pulling out several folders to take over to the table. "What are you looking for?" Scully asked from her position at the computer. "I don't know. I'll know it when I see it." It was surprising, but the doctor hadn't protected his files with a password. Navigating the mouse and opening a file, Scully viewed the data on the monitor. She drew in a short breath as she realized what she was seeing. "Oh, my God." She lifted her eyes and looked over at Mulder who was leaning over the table. He was focused on scanning the pages of printouts, biting down hard on his bottom lip. "Mulder, you have to see this." He turned to see her face lifted toward him, but he couldn't make out her expression. Was it evidence of cloning? Something else? Curious, he pulled some papers from the file, tucking them under his arm. He crouched down beside her and examined the screen. Scully sensed his left hand moving, and he wiped it across his mouth. "Shit," he muttered. "He's continuing to develop transdermal drug delivery." "This form of absorption through the skin into the bloodstream is rapid, Mulder. It's brought about by the formation of a matrix within the topical base, into which the drug itself is absorbed, giving it a unique penetrating power. The potential applications would be limitless: medications previously deemed inappropriate for many patients, cosmetics, other topical products." "He's not using any FDA-approved drug," Mulder uttered with conviction. "What is it, Scully?" "It looks like LSD -- rather, a derivative of LSD, " Scully amended. It was all starting to fall into place, now they had found the vital piece of the puzzle. "There was an acute interest in brainwashing techniques, rooted in government intelligence and defense. Hundreds of brainwashing programs were funded in the '50s and '60s. They were convinced it would transform the spy business. Unwitting subjects were submitted to hallucinogens, weeks of forced sleep, and massive doses of shock therapy." "Its hallucinogenic properties have been removed." "It would be mind-altering without the 'trip', ensuring the pharmacological approach of controlling human behavior, assisted by psychological techniques, is completely hidden." Mulder pulled the papers out from under his arm. "Someone whispered a few words into the good doctor's ear about Ryan." He held them a moment, tapping their edges against the fingers of his other hand. "And the other members of the Senate Intelligence Committee." He dropped the printouts beside Scully. "He played on fear, doubt, or guilt, and, along with the drug, it pushed them into doing his bidding." A voice boomed into the room at the same time as the room was filled with light. "You've connected all the dots." Payne stayed by the door, a gun fixed at the agents. "They were no longer capable of thinking in concepts other than those they had adopted, Agent Mulder." Keeping his expression carefully bland, Mulder moved his hand into his lap. "You know me?" His fingers tightened around his gun. "I know everything about you." The doctor's concentration was on Mulder. Scully had only seconds to make a move. She reached under her shirt, pulling out the gun tucked into the waistband of her slacks at the same time Payne shifted his aim. Her finger closed on the trigger. "Stupid! Drop it, Agent Scully, or I'll shoot him." She heard Mulder's voice, loud and strong. "He won't shoot me, Scully. He's gone to too much trouble." "Drop it!" The order was followed by a shot. Her ears ringing, Scully was unsure whether the maneuver had come from the doctor or her partner. His right arm hurt. Mulder winced, and his knees buckled, so that he was sitting on his feet. His gun clattered to the floor. Startled, he looked down, then his left hand went to his upper arm. He saw he was steadily bleeding dark red blood. "The next one's through his head," Payne warned. Scully had heard something fall. She wanted desperately to keep her weapon, but she had no choice and she lifted her hands in surrender, lowering the gun slowly to the desktop. Payne moved forward and picked it up, kicking Mulder's weapon out of reach. "You should have stayed out of my office." Any movement was painful. Mulder kept his arm still, holding it steady against his body to support the soft tissue injury. "Mulder?" Scully questioned. Mulder heard the concern in Scully's voice, but she was not the only one with questions. He had some he wanted answered. He looked at her, shook his head gingerly, and returned his gaze to the doctor. "What did they tell you about me, Payne? Am I in there?" "No... but I do know everything. Your missing younger sister. The possibility there was something more you could have done. How badly had you really wanted to save her?" Mulder remembered that gray November day; it was raining, but they'd barely noticed the storm. They were really into the game and neither of them wanted to lose. She was looking at her playing piece. A dim anger grew at the back of his mind. If she moved it, he'd be finished. As if his sister could read his thoughts, her hand reached down toward the playing piece -- and paused for a moment. He held his breath. Sam glanced over at him, her brown eyes large, a combination of sympathy and desire to win. She seized the piece, sealing his fate. He wanted to hurt her. She was going to pay. "I did... my best..." Mulder managed, his voice trailing off. "But did you do the right thing? Your family was shattered. You spent years in boarding school. Your parents didn't want any reminders around, not even their own son." "That's enough, damn it," Scully protested. "They were full of blame -- at themselves, not him. They might well have lived a normal life together if not for that." Payne didn't let it go readily, ignoring her explanation. "You spent your life trying to make amends. It made you noble, but it also got you into trouble. You became an expert in the workings of men's psyches, but you didn't have the power to save your own soul. What do you do when you no longer believe in anything? You believe in everything, Agent Mulder." To control the bleeding, Mulder applied direct pressure with his bare hand. "Get to the point. Why am I so important to you?" he bit out impatiently. Payne shouldn't have been surprised at the intensity of the question, but he was, and he was slow to reply. The doctor was making him work for the answer. "You ripped me apart, doc. It's a wonder I'm still in one piece." He was sarcastic and flip -- so *Mulder* Payne had to smile. "You're a pinnacle in my distinguished career, a complement to my contribution to the Project. You become malleable, compliant to their objectives -- one of them, but still able to do your job, of course." Mulder pulled himself together enough to think. Did he really uphold his values that lightly? Could they be changed that easily? "Not fucking likely," he said firmly. "It's an automatic rather than a voluntary choice. I'm afraid it's already started." "And it was allowed? I don't think so." Payne looked at him appraisingly. "Good, Agent Mulder. However, this is what I'm meant to do." REGISTERED NURSE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER He had waved the gun at the agents, telling them the treatment would be completed and forcing them to move to the massage room. Their hands were securely bound with his belt and tie, readying them for the appearance of Nurse Beck who he summoned for the spur of the moment massages. Moments before the nurse walked through the door, Payne disappeared, leaving Mulder still bound, but stretched out on the table and a still tied up Scully sitting on the floor. The margin for escape was too narrow. She saw with shock that the male agent was hurt. It was his blood on his clothes, and she turned away, unable to look him straight in the face. The woman wasn't completely aloof to his distress, Mulder realized quickly. He had to find some way to get through to her. "Let us go," Mulder said soberly. "We're Federal agents." Some of her anxiety must have manifested itself. "I know who you are. I'm here to work," she defended. "We'll give you more of a chance than you're giving us," Scully declared. "I don't know why we're talking about this. I can't do anything about it." "You can," Mulder asserted. "Don't let any more lives be destroyed. I buried my father and then I buried my mother. If you do this, I'll lose Scully, too. I won't even understand what has happened." She turned to face him and her lips were set. "So, then what difference will it make?" She was obviously planning to go through with the treatment. Disappointment wormed into his gut. "Don't tell me there's nothing to be afraid of. I'll walk away from *her* tomorrow and my loneliness will be of your making." At his assertion, some of the fight went out of her. He watched her walk over to the table and look straight into his eyes. He wanted to tell Scully to get out of there, to try and run -- but she was held immobile, and the nurse stood between them and the door. Still, Nurse Beck put lotion into her hands and rubbed them together. She slid her fingers across his neck muscles. "Focus on a place where you have total peace," she began. The familiar, calm sound of her voice pulled him in. "Faye," he whispered in protest. Her eyes fastened on his. "It may be in the comfort of your..." She hesitated, "...own bed." No longer so well controlled, she repeated carefully, "It may be in the comfort of your own bed. While you think about this place -- " She broke off and seized Mulder's hands. "No more," she said forcefully, feeling both exhilarated and deficient at the same time. She loosened the belt that held Mulder's hands and the tie that bound Scully. "Go." DOCTOR PAYNE'S OFFICE TRANQUILITY SPA HEALTH CENTER They should have been prepared. Mulder stretched as far as he could, peering over the top of the mahogany desk. There, on the floor behind it, was the doctor. Bright red blood fanned out from beneath him. Careful not to touch anything, he could see nothing more than that. His gaze turned to Scully. "Suicide?" she asked. He muttered something that sounded like no, Payne had been deliberately placed here for them to find. "Yet the official account will read death by his own hand." She heard doubt in his voice. "Why kill him?" "Payne was filled with self-importance because of his ties to certain people. He was getting too hard to control, a loose end -- like me. It would have worked perfectly if he hadn't acted on his own initiative and put the Project at risk." The sudden weakness he felt caught him unawares and he slumped against the desk. Scully bent closer to him. Fresh blood was trickling down his arm. "Mulder, you're bleeding again. You need a sling to limit your movement." His blood pressure was probably low. "Do you feel faint?" "I'll be okay," he answered. It did hurt like hell. He could use something to numb it. "I might want those pain pills after all, Mrs. Stevens," Mulder quipped weakly. Some of the strain disappeared. He was making the situation more bearable with his sense of humor -- like always. Her hand brushed his cheek tenderly. His skin felt cool and clammy. The surprise on his face indicated he was still feeling off-balance. "Don't worry," she whispered. "We'll talk when we get home." She was telling him not to be upset. It was easy for her to say. Scully had touched him, her fingers soft and warm, and her token of love had caught him unaware. It shamed him. Could she ever forgive him? Could he ever forgive himself? ~~~~~~~ Epilogue ~~~~~~~ MULDER'S OFFICE FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC Seated behind his desk, Mulder had shrugged off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows, besting the heat. Scully had told him she'd be right back, but she'd been gone several minutes, so he busied himself reading his e-mail. Before being considered fit for duty and cleared for work, Mulder had taken leave to detoxify and heal. There were initial questions over his psychological state and several sessions were arranged with a psychologist. They discussed how things sometimes happen beyond one's control; people may have choices made for them instead of making their own. Mulder could seek forgiveness -- from himself and from others -- by accepting the shame he felt and putting it behind him. Mulder opened the letter tagged urgent. ~~~~~ From: psinger@washington.fbi.gov To: fmulder@washington.fbi.gov Subject: Expense Report Meeting Agent Mulder, Re your latest expense report, it's important we get together. What I'd really like to do is discuss money saving techniques for your division. Would this Monday at 2 p.m. work for you? Do you anticipate any scheduling conflict? Sincerely, Peter Singer Finance Division ~~~~~ Singer would probably give him a presentation, showing him how he was needlessly throwing away Bureau dollars. Pencil-pushing number cruncher. Mulder looked up at the sound of Scully's footsteps as she came through the open door. Face it and forget it, he told himself for what seemed like the millionth time. "Come and look at this," he said. At first, his arm remained by his side then he pulled Scully to him. He had reached out to her and it wasn't merely on a verbal level. He was so close she could smell the fragrance of his soap and shampoo. It made her think it was going to be all right. He was studying his computer screen. "What is it?" she asked, more calmly than she felt. She took a look at the monitor, read the e-mail, and shuddered in sympathy. Mulder alt-tabbed to another window. "Salem is celebrating its history next week during Heritage Days. Care to visit the Witch Dungeon Museum with me and take a tour?" He was looking at her, his eyes questioning. "Mulder, we spend enough time in the basement as it is. Besides, we just got back from Massachusetts." "It's right up our alley: old houses, mass hysteria, witchcraft trials... " There had to be an X-File in there somewhere to boot. "What do you say, want to drop by for a spell?" Scully rolled her eyes, but her mouth turned up in a small smile. "Great antiquing," he pressed. They would run their hands over dusty family heirlooms and yellowed chipped plates from someone's wedding china, aromatic with old hopes and dreams. They would stand in front of a heavy, old-fashioned mirror and her reflection would smile back at her and the man by her side. His eyes would catch hers, and the mirror would know their secret. "Just tell me when you want to go." Mulder yelped in delight and hit the reply button. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard. ~~~~~ From: fmulder@washington.fbi.gov To: psinger@washington.fbi.gov Subject: Re: Expense Report Meeting Agent Singer, I'm afraid, this Monday Agent Scully and I will be out of the office. We'll have to reschedule. I'll be in touch. Sincerely, Fox Mulder X-Files Division ~~~~~ In the meantime... "Welcome to the Pine Tree State, Mr. Vice-President. Enjoy your stay at Paradise Spa." ~~~end~~~ Deb Mulder received a Swedish massage, detailed in Thomas Claire's Bodywork: what type of massage to get -- and how to make the most of it, c1995.