Title: Love Obsessional
Author: Folieadeux
Rating: R (language/violence)
Category: ummm, V, UST, MA, is there one
for Scully Kug Fu power?
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as these headers stay intact.
Let me know please, I'd like to keep track of where it goes.
Feedback: I'm begging you.  folieadeux98@hotmail.com
Spoilers: Minimal, ummmm, In the Field Where I Died a tiny bit.
Exists in a pre-Requiem universe.  I'm still too busy staring at the
screen to even attempt writing about that.
Summary: Mulder is being stalked.
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing a story of any kind in
my entire life.  Needless to say, I'm terrified.  Let me start by saying
that the 'Hangman' scene is my homage to one of my fav's Justin
Glasser and his great fic, "Certitude."  His clarity of the M/S voice,
combined with his amazing ability to be eloquent and brief simultaneously,
inspired me.  BUT - as anyone who has ever tried this knows. In the end, all
thanks goes to your beta.
I'm lucky enough to have 2shy as the voice over my shoulder.
Without 2shy this story be big crap piece. <g> You rock big butterfly.
The chapter headings are verses to the Robbie Robertson song,
Fallen Angel.   And many thanks to Jill for some lovely deranged tips.
You're gifted in this area my dear.
Disclaimer: All xfile characters not mine, no infringement intended, no
money made.  Sweet sweet Jane, mine.


CHAPTER ONE

Are you out there?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me in the dark?

===

He touched her today.
His skin on hers: electric, smooth.
He smiles at her every day, his eyes drinking in the sight of her.
But today -- he touched her.
She'd been wearing her mother's ring, the one with the pearl and the tiny
stones.
He noticed it right away, asked her if it was old.  She took a
chance and held her hand out to him.  What would he do?
She knew what he wanted to do, but would he be brave enough?

He was.

At first she thought her heart would stop; it almost did.  Her chest was
so tight she had to fight not to gasp out loud.  At one point she
thought he might lift her hand to his lips.  Just like actors did
in the movies, like she'd seen him do a million times in her dreams.
He turned the palm up and placed his lips on her life line, in her dreams.
For one moment, she thought he had wanted to; his face had softened.
For one moment, while looking at her mother's ring.
He had wanted to kiss her hand.

She's sure of it.

After he'd left, she asked her manager if she could go to the restroom.
She had fumbled with the lock, shaking.  The hand he'd held seemed
hot, prickly, like it was waking up after being asleep. She sat down on the
toilet, put her head into her hands. He was so beautiful; she had loved him 
for solong.
If only he had a chance to know her, she knew he would love her back.

He has to love her back.

===

Home at last.  Where he is.  She looks around her dingy, cramped apartment.
It's all she can afford. People who work in coffee shops live in dingy,
cramped apartments.
In Washington, D.C., anyway.  She used to hate this shithole, before she met
him.
Before he became so much a part of her life. Now she is never alone.
Pictures of him stare out from her walls.
Him walking to work, his coat floating out behind like a dark cloud.
Here he is carrying groceries from his car to his apartment, keys clenched
in his teeth, his beautiful mouth pursed in concentration. Here he is jogging; 
she loves the ones of him jogging.
He's so alive.  His hair is damp with sweat, his gray t-shirt, stained with
large circles, clinging to his chest. His long lean form pushes forward in 
flight, stilled momentarily for her photograph. She reaches out to touch him,
her fingers tracing the line of him, her Fox in flight.
He's so beautiful and kind, not like other men...not like him.
They were meant to be together; he didn't see it yet but she would show him,
convince him.
He would see, after she told him how much she loved him.

She unpacks her groceries, putting things away in their proper places.
She's making his favorite dinner tonight: lasagna.
She's watched him eating it in his neighborhood Italian restaurant.
She watches him a lot.
It's her favorite thing to do now.  She knows so much about him,
enough to know they are perfect for each other, meant for each other.

She worried at first about the other woman, the red head.
When she first started to watch him, it seemed the red head was always
turning up.
Then she found out it was only his partner...only his partner; he didn't
love her.
She could tell by the way he acted around her that he didn't care about her.
They never held hands, he never kissed her, he never looked at the red head
the way he looked at her. The way he'd looked at her wearing her mother's
ring this morning.
Fox loved her.  Every time he saw her, his eyes betrayed him, betrayed his
need.
His longing for her. She feels it. She's going to tell him soon.
She's waiting for the perfect opportunity.
She can wait. He won't let her down.

She's sure of it.

"How was your day, lover?"  she whispers into her empty apartment,
spooning the lasagna onto his dinner plate.  "That's nice.  Mine?
It was okay; we were busy.  That man who always asks me out came in again
today.
I know, Fox, I know, you told me you would take care of it for me,
but I don't want you to get in trouble at your job.
Please, Fox, forget about him; I'm sorry I even brought it up."
She turns her head towards him, listening to her lover as he speaks to her,
a smile on her face at his words of devotion.

In her empty apartment.

He loves her; he hates it when other men pay attention to her.
She knows she shouldn't have brought up that other man.

They finish their dinner, her lover and her.  She drinks the wine he
pours her.  After she's cleaned her plate, she looks over at his place
setting.
She sees that it's full.  She understands what that means.
She knows that she is alone - that this is a dream.
It takes her longer now to remember, longer than it used to,
but she never really forgets.  Suddenly all she feels is rage.
Rage at her life, her loneliness, this constant horrific ache of emptiness
that is always just under the surface.
It eats at her, keeps her up at night, keeps the nightmares coming one after
the other.
Her nightmares of him - that piece of shit who called himself her father.
She hates him, almost as much as she loves Fox.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" she screams out loud,
her shattered voice echoing in her empty apartment.
What she really hates is herself, her life.
Fox is the only good thing she has; he will save her.
He will make the nightmares go away;
she can tell just by looking at him that he can do that.
He's strong, not like her.

Thump...thump...thump. "You wanna shut the fuck up down there?!"
her neighbor yells through the ceiling.  Her hand over her mouth to
stifle her sobs, she lays down on her bed.
Soon, soon this will all be over.
When she tells him that she loves him.

===

He's late.  It's not like he's there at the same exact time every morning,
but he's never this late.  She's getting worried.
She needs to see him today; it's important.
She hopes he hasn't gone out of town again.
Her nightmares were bad last night; she feels panicked;
she'll calm down if she can just see him.
There he is!  He's coming, he's just running late that's all.

"Hello," she says trying to sound casual. "Do you want your usual?"

"Yes, please, Jane. Can you give me an extra shot today though?
I had a bad night; I overslept. I'm running late."
He smiles at her. He looks tired.

"Nightmares?"  Oh my God. She can't believe she said that.
Oh my God. Why did she say that?  She almost drops the coffee
press in her panic to hide her furious blush of embarrassment.
Shit!

He flinches. "Excuse me?"

She's startled him with her slip up.  She's so stupid, sometimes
she wonders how she makes it from day to day.  "I'm sorry; I didn't
mean to say that.  I -- uh, well, you know, I sometimes have a nightmare
every once in awhile.
I know how they can make it hard to sleep."
She wishes the floor would swallow her whole.
She puts his first coffee on the counter before starting the second one.

His cell phone rings.  She's grateful for the interruption;
she needs time to compose herself.

"Mulder. --  Hey, Scully. --  I know.  I'm getting coffee now. -- No, I just
overslept."
He turns away from her now, dropping his voice.
"No, no, I didn't have another one.  I went  right to sleep after I hung up.
I'll be right there. -- What?"  He starts to laugh.  "Thanks.
Are you going to sing happy birthday to me? -- No, I'm not telling you how
old I am.
Why don't you look in my file Dr. Scully."
He hangs up without saying goodbye.

It's his birthday. She didn't know it was his birthday.
"I couldn't help overhearing; is it your birthday?"
Her knees are shaking. She can't believe how brave she's being today.

"Yes, Jane, yes it is.  I completely forgot about  it until this very
moment."
His face had returned to normal.  No remnants of the confusion that her
stupid question had caused.

"Happy birthday." I love you.

"Thank you, Jane."

Today. It would be today. She know's just what to do.

===

CHAPTER TWO

I don't believe it's all for nothing
It's not just written in the sand
Sometimes I thought you felt too much
And you slipped into the shadow land.

===

"Morning, partner," Mulder called out as he rushed through the door.
Scully looked up from her paperwork as her cohort entered the room.
He was not his usual chipper self this morning.
He'd called her late last night; he didn't say why, just that he couldn't
sleep.
She had guessed it was another nightmare.

"Good morning, partner," Scully replied while gratefully taking the cup he
offered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Ready for the big meeting? We're not late, are we?"

They weren't on a case at the moment, and their presence was required at a
unit meeting.
Neither one was especially looking forward to it.
Just a typical boring meeting where management gets to remind you of all the
things they want you to do when you'd rather just be at your desk actually doing
something useful.
Like work.

"Don't forget the pad and pen." Mulder remarked while holding open the door
for her.

It was Scully's job to bring these two items to any unit meeting.
She smiled as she grabbed them.  She had a killer hangman word for him.
She'd seen it in Sunday's crossword puzzle; he'd never get it before she
drew that last foot on his little stick figure - the death blow.  Somewhere 
along the way they had fallen into this little ritual, playing hangman.  
They did it on planes, in meetings, places where they had little to do and 
time to spare.  It had taken a while to determine the precise way the stick 
figure should be drawn. Mulder wanted it to have eyes, a nose, and a mouth. 
Scully rebelled.

"That gives you too many chances!" She'd cried out the first time they
played.

"Brutal, Scully; you are really brutal,"  Mulder had replied, laughing
anyway at her competitive nature.

--"In an effort to streamline communications, the FBI is in the process of
setting up an inter-bureau next-day courier service.
The first routes have been established and are listed on the chart below."--

"A."

Scully drew the head and put an A on the bottom of the paper.
They were sitting in the back, their usual spot.  A little bit away from the
rest of the meeting's participants.  They attracted more than a few looks, 
which they failed to notice in their concentration on each other and hangman.
Besides, they were used to the looks by now.
They always drew a certain amount of curiosity from their fellow agents,
ranging from the sidelong glance to an open stare.  It depended on the amount 
of time the particular agent had been around the building or had been out of 
the academy.

"E," Mulder whispered below his breath.

"Uh-huh," Scully murmured, drawing the letter E on its assigned dash.

"Lucky guess," she whispered back.

"Ha, you wish.  I'm a finely tuned instrument programmed precisely in a
manner to kick your ass at hangman."

Scully's eyes were dancing.  They both knew who kicked whose ass at hangman.
He was toast.

--"Please see the latest version of the IVR call flow below.
If your cost center did not change from numeric to alpha numeric,
there are no changes to the IVR process."--

Mulder shot a confused glance at Scully; she just rolled her eyes.

"Do you think if I raised my hand and asked him if I still have to hit 9
before dialing my 976 numbers he'd get mad?"

Scully's laughter rang out before she could stop it.  She slapped her hand
to her mouth and leaned over in her seat so she wouldn't be seen.  It was 
too late. The entire room turned around to look at the offending agents.
Mulder raised his eyebrows while keeping a perfectly straight face.

"Her allergies are kicking in; it's very dusty in the basement."

After regaining her composure.  Scully straightened up and looked daggers at
her partner.

"Hurry up and pick another letter.  I'm ready to hang you now."

"W." He didn't even try to hide his grin.

Scully drew another hand.  Two more feet to go.  Just like she
thought....toast.

"O."

Another foot; one more to go.

--"If your cost center did change from numeric to alpha numeric,
we are providing this to you to assist you in your first IVR entry
and approval with these new cost center codes."--

"L."

Toast.

"Dammit.  What was it?"

Scully filled in the blanks, careful not to draw more attention to them.
C-E-R-T-I-T-U-D-E.

"Shit.  That's not fair; what type of word is that?  You cheat.
How come you can't pick words like Mississippi, or delirious?"
Mulder was pretending to be frustrated, but he wasn't.
"Noooo, you have to pick words like certitude or xerophytically."
She'd picked that one while on a plane last summer; he had never forgiven
her.

"Face it Mulder, you're toast......again."

He smiled.

===

Later that afternoon Mulder was alone, sitting hunched over his paperwork
filled desk, when a knock sounded at the door.
Scully was out running an errand, to the bank, he thought she'd said.

"Come in."

"Hello..."  A head peeked around the door.  "Fox, you had a delivery
at the front desk; they asked me to bring it to you."
With that, in walked a woman with long blonde hair and dark red lipstick.
She smiled warmly at him.  She had a lot of teeth.
Her dress was a little tight and a little short, but he didn't think she
minded such things.

"Long time no see," she said.  "Don't you remember me?"  A hurt
expression came over her face.  She wasn't really hurt, he could tell.

"I'm sorry; you look familiar but I can't place you, "  he said.

"Agent Wong's retirement party last year...  That's okay. I didn't really
expect
you to remember me; we only talked for a few minutes.
My name is Brandy.  Brandy with a y...."

"Mulder, did you want the tuna on white or the turkey on..."  Scully was
looking down when she came into the room and almost ran right into the tall
blonde standing in front of Mulder's desk.

"Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't know you were in here.  I mean, I didn't see you,"
Scully said a little too quickly while looking a bit flustered.
They didn't get visitors too often, especially not tall blondes in tight,
short dresses.
She'd been caught off guard.

"Hey, Scully.  I'll take the tuna on white.
This is...I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name again?"

"Brandy."

"Oh, right...with a y; sorry.  I got a package at the front desk; she's
delivering it.
Brandy, this is my partner, Dana Scully."

"Hello Brandy, I believe we met last year at agent Wong's retirement
party."
Scully remembered the blonde.

"Well, I guess I'll be going now. It was nice to see you again, Fox."

"Huh?  Oh, right. Ok, thanks." Mulder was busy opening his package and
seemed surprised to find the blonde still standing in their office.
Scully watched as the woman gave Mulder's retreating form one last wistful
look and then exited the room.

"Whatcha got, Mulder?" Scully asked, a small smile on her lips.

"Not sure; let's open it and see."

"It's not more tapes from your video club, is it?  I haven't eaten my lunch
yet."

"Very funny, Scully.  You know those go directly to the apartment."

Mulder emptied the contents of the envelope onto his desk.
There was a small book and two envelopes.
A red one that looked like a greeting card and a plain white one.

"Scully, you shouldn't have."  Mulder had a large smile on his face as
he looked up at his partner.

Scully sat across the desk unwrapping her sandwich. "That's not from me,
Mulder.
I haven't even wrapped your birthday present yet.
It's still sitting on my kitchen table.  I was going to give it to you
tonight at dinner."
Scully took a bite of her sandwich. "You must have another well wisher,"
she said with her mouth full.

Mulder smiled as he watched her talking and eating at the same time.
She licked her  fingertip.  It was best if he stopped his current train of
thought.

"Hmm. I don't think I know anyone else who'd be wishing me a happy
birthday."

Scully winced inwardly at his unintentional reference to how few people he
really had left in the world besides her.

"Maybe it's from the guys."

Mulder knew Scully was referring to the Lone Gunmen.
"No, they already gave me a gift. It came in the mail yesterday."

Scully's sandwich paused halfway to her mouth as her eyebrow lifted
heavenward.

"It was a video game, Scully -- your mind's in the gutter today," he said
with teasing eyes.

If he only knew, she thought.

Mulder looked at the small book.  It was a pocket sized book of poems:
William Blake.
That seemed odd. He leaned forward in his chair to open the plain white
envelope.
Inside were photos.  As he slowly thumbed through them, his face took on a
strange look.
By the time he had finished, he looked a little ashen.

"Mulder?" There was concern in her voice.

He handed her the photos as he reached for the red card.
Scully slumped into her chair as she looked over the collection of images.
Mulder jogging, Mulder walking out of his apartment, Mulder grocery
shopping, Mulder walking next to someone down a street.  The "someone" 
had been haphazardly cut out of the picture. She recognized her own heels.
Mulder.
Mulder.
Mulder.

Suddenly, she wasn't very hungry any more. She looked up at Mulder to find
him reading the card.
It didn't look like the news was getting any better.  He started to read in
a quiet voice.

"Happy birthday, my love.  I could not overlook something as important as
the day you were born.
I know you don't know who this is yet, but you will. Later.
When the time is right, after you have a chance to understand how much you
mean to me.
Just what I can do for you - how much I love you.  I've included a small
gift of my favorite verses.
I think our feelings for each other could be as powerful as these words, as
beautiful.
I know I could make you happy if given a chance.  I won't let anything or
anyone get in the way of your happiness, Fox. Trust me.  We'll be together 
soon.  I love you.  A secret admirer."

There was total silence in their little basement office.  Scully stared at
Mulder.
Mulder stared at the card in his hands.  Suddenly he started to laugh.
Not a full out, joyous sound like when he watched a Stooges movie in the
middle of the night in the room next to hers.  More like a strangled sort 
of half laugh, half sob.
He put his head in his hands; the palms jabbed into his eye sockets.

"Scully, please tell me this is your idea of a joke." he said through the
sound of his twisted laugh.

"I wish I could, Mulder."

"Do *you* think it's a joke?" He sounded hopeful.

"It certainly could be, I guess. Let's not panic; we don't want to ignore
it, but let's make sure it's real before we start getting worried. Ok, Mulder?"

"Yeah, Ok. Maybe you're right." He lifted his head from his hands.
It was quiet again as the two of them were lost in their own thoughts.

"That's me cut out of some of those pictures." Scully said matter-of-factly.

"I know."  He didn't bother to tell her that he would recognize those shoes
anywhere.
That he dreamt about them...nice dreams. That made him feel a little better,
that memory.
He smiled a tiny conspiratorial smile.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She saw the change in his mouth.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"Why don't you call the Gunmen. Maybe this is their idea of a birthday
surprise.
I'll run up to fingerprinting and see if there's anything on these.  I doubt
it, but you never know."
Scully went to the filing cabinet and pulled out some latex gloves.
She scooped up the contents of his delivery along with the envelope it came
in and headed out the door.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder called out to her, "maybe it's the guys in Violent
Crimes.
They could be jerking my chain. I wouldn't put it past them to spy on me
with a camera."

"I know. I thought of that already. Let's see what fingerprinting shows
before we rattle some cages, ok?" she called over her shoulder.

"Okay," he replied.

Mulder was starting to feel a little better. This crazy package had to be a
joke.
He picked up the phone...

"Lone Gunmen."

"Hey, Frohike, it's Mulder."

"What's up, Mulder? Happy birthday, dude."

"Thanks.  Speaking of birthdays, I got my first magazine yesterday.
Thanks."

"Uh huh. Miss October's not bad, eh?"

"Nope. That's not why I called, though. You boys didn't happen to put
together any other surprises for me that I should know about, did you?"

"Ok, Mulder, I'll play. What surprises?"

Mulder was starting to get that bad feeling back again.  "I'm not playing a
game with you."
He could hear the edge in his voice, he didn't mean for it to sound that
way.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mulder.
Did you get something we should be worried about?"
Frohike's voice sounded more curious then concerned.

"I got an anonymous love letter with some pictures taken of me
without my knowledge." He felt stupid saying it out loud like that.

"Seriously? You bastard, Mulder. You have all the luck. You're the only guy
I know who is too paranoid to appreciate an anonymous hot letter." Frohike
started to laugh.

"Uh huh, Ok, just tell me; yes or no?  Did you guys send this as a joke?
I'm about ready to sic the FBI on this, so you'd better come clean before
you get unwanted visitors."

"Don't threaten us, Fed - just because someone mailed you some nudie shots
doesn't mean you have to get pissy with me."  He was teasing him now.
Mulder was getting nowhere.

"Dammit, Frohike!"

"Okay, okay.  God, Mulder, you need a vacation.  No.
We did not send you any love letters or take any nudie shots of you
unawares.
Is Scully in any of them?"

"They are not nudie shots!" Mulder yelled into the phone as he hung up
on a still laughing Frohike.  He felt stupid now.  Frohike was probably
right.
It was nothing but some lonely person with a crush.  Who on earth would want
to stalk him, besides some alien bounty hunters and maybe Krycek?
He doubted the love letter was Krycek's style.  Where would he have even met
someone?
It's not like he got out much.  Besides, he and Scully traveled constantly,
he was never in one place long enough for someone to get obsessed with him.
Was he?

He decided to head up to fingerprinting and try to head off Scully.
She didn't need to waste her time; he'd probably never even get another one.
Besides, it was his birthday and he was going out to dinner with the most
beautiful woman in his life tonight (not to mention the only woman in his life) 
and he didn't feel like thinking about a stalker.

Dana Scully stood in front of Agent Childers' desk with a hand planted
firmly on each hip and a frown creasing her brow.  "I want your word, Dan, 
that none of your guys did this just to jerk Mulder and me around.  If I 
find out that..."

"Dana -- Dana -- relax." Agent Childers was trying to interrupt Scully mid
tirade.
If he hadn't been concentrating so hard on not careing how fabulous she
looked angry, he might have noticed Fox Mulder standing in the doorway on 
the other side of the large meeting room.  "Dana, I swear to you that none 
of us did it.  Not that it's not a great idea and one I'm sure one of my 
guys will be pissed he didn't think of, but, no, we didn't do it.

"How can you be sure?"  Scully replied, her voice still betraying her
agitation.

"I can't, I guess  But if one of them did do it, they'd never be able to
keep it to themselves.
Spooky's too much fun to torture without talking about it with your fellow
agents."

"Yeah, that's great reasoning, just great.  You treat him like shit until
you need him to come up and save your ass when you're in over your heads."  
Scully still sounded a bit perturbed, but the wind was leaving her sails.  
She believed him that he didn't think anyone in his unit had sent the letter.

"Hey, you don't have to get nasty about it, Dana.  It's not our fault he
decided to go off half cocked looking for aliens.  If he doesn't want to get 
hassled, he shouldn't be such a pain in the ass half the time."

"Dan, you and I both know that Mulder is the best at what he does, and it
wouldn't hurt to maintain a better working relationship with him.  This job's 
hard enough without having to put up with crap from your own side."

Mulder resisted the urge to feel annoyed at Scully for fighting his battles
for him.
It was not her intention, he knew.  However, the guys in this unit wouldn't
see it that way.
He could hear them now, joking about how she had come up full of righteous
indignation on his behalf, like his mother or something.  Better yet, wait 
till they heard that he might be a victim of a stalker.  Christ, he hadn't 
thought about that yet.  Shit.
They would think that was a hoot for sure.  He'd never live this one down.
It occurred to him that he should let them know that he was standing here
listening to their conversation, but he had to admit a certain curiosity 
to hear what else Scully might say about him.
He didn't move.

"Point taken."  Agent Childers didn't want to argue any longer.
Even if he didn't give a shit about Mulder, she was right about burning
bridges.
He might need that arrogant prick some day, not that he'd admit that to
anyone.
Besides, they couldn't be partners forever, and it never hurt to stay cozy
with the lovely Dr. Scully.
"So anyway, Dana, how come we never go out?  It's not like I haven't asked."

Scully looked temporarily taken off guard.  She had been so intent on Mulder
and his delivery that she hadn't seen that one coming.  Damn.  "Dan, you know 
the reason why I don't go out with you; we've had this conversation before.  
I don't date on the job.
Besides, I doubt we would have too much in common."
She couldn't resist letting a small sneer creep into her voice.

"Uh huh.  Whatever you say, Mrs. Spooky.  If you want to stay in the
basement for your entire career, or what's left of it, that's your problem."
Childers didn't feel so charitable any more.

Mulder decided to make his entrance. "Hey, Dan, aren't you late for your
usual three martini lunch?
It's 10:30 already; you're falling behind."

Scully jumped at the sound of Mulder's voice coming up behind her.

"Fuck you, Mulder.  What's wrong, the fact that no one but psychos ever
wants to play with you got you in a bad mood this morning?"
Childers didn't even try to sound like he was kidding.

"Mulder froze mid step. Agent Childers had managed to crystallize in one
brutal sentence the thought that was flitting around the edges of his mind 
since opening that fucking delivery this morning.  He was momentarily unable 
to respond.  Sensing the impact of this last sentence, Scully stepped in 
between the two agents.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole, Dan?  No?  Well, let me....Dan,
you're an asshole."
Scully turned and grabbed Mulder by the arm, leading him away from the
smirking agent.
"Come on, Mulder, let's go."

Mulder was quiet on the elevator ride back down to the basement.
By the end of the day they still had no leads on the origin of the package;
it was delivered by the post office, no unaccounted-for prints on it.  As 
far as they could tell, neither the guys in Violent Crimes or the Lone 
Gunmen had sent it as a joke.
There wasn't much else either of them could do until the person made another
move, if they ever did.
Mulder put the letter and photos in the delivery envelope and stuffed them 
into a bottom drawer of his desk.

They weren't working on a case at the moment, just trying to catch up on the
endless paperwork that seemed to pile up behind them like a wave.
They mostly worked in silence, Scully perceiving that Mulder didn't feel
like talking.
About four in the afternoon, Scully started to gather together her things.

"Mulder, I'm going to head out.  I need to pick up some stuff at the dry
cleaners, and I'd like to beat the traffic."

"Are you wearing something slinky for me tonight, Scully?"
It was the first time she'd heard the playfulness in his voice since the
elevator ride.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, Mulder."

"A boy can always dream..." he said as he started to put away paperwork as
well.
"What time do you want to meet?" They had agreed to meet at the restaurant;
it seemed less like a date that way.  Just two friends getting together to
celebrate a birthday.

"How about 6:30?" Scully said while pulling on her overcoat and scarf.

"Great, see you there...and Scully, I'm serious; think about that slinky
thing."

===

Toscana's was Mulder's favorite Italian restaurant.  Lucky for him it was
also in his neighborhood.
It lay tucked out of the way from the rest of the street with the front door
opening up into the back alley.
He had discovered it by accident while out on a jog during one of those
nights he couldn't sleep.
He'd pressed his nose against its darkened window to see the red and white
checkered table clothes, the candles stuck in oil filled wine bottles 
sitting on the tables.
Clusters of dried herbs and various cheeses hanging from the rafters. There
were ten tables at the most.
He'd gone in the next night, and had been going there regularly ever since.
Roberto was the proprietor and main chef, and despite the fact that he liked
to smoke a cigarette while he cooked, everything always tasted wonderful.

Mulder was a little nervous and was at the restaurant a bit early.  He sat
in his usual table by the window and waited for Scully.  She was exactly on 
time, of course. She had told the truth: She hadn't worn anything slinky, 
but she did look nice.
As a matter of fact, she looked great.  She took off her coat to reveal a
rather tight white turtleneck made from something fuzzy with pencil thin 
black slacks.
She had on her usual chunky black pumps, the ones that made her look taller.
The ones he loved.  She had her hair pulled back in a little black headband,
and her face looked young and freshly scrubbed.  Her cheeks were red from the 
October air.

Scully ordered the wine; she was better at it then he was.  He was in charge
of the food.
He ordered his favorite, lasagna, and he ordered her a seafood stew in a
tomato broth that he knew she'd like.  The restaurant was cozy, and the two 
friends enjoyed each other's company, for once trying not to talk too much 
about work.  Mulder was regaling Scully with a story about an especially 
stupid contestant on a game show they both hated.
It was insanely popular, and even though they both hated it, Mulder would
often call her during it just so they could make fun of it together.  It 
was absurd, but they couldn't help it.
It made them laugh, something they did too little of together.

"....so I'm screaming at the television --'which one spells something
backwards?
The clue says, which word is spelled backwards.  Only one of the choices
says anything backwards!!
I swear to God, Scully, I thought I was gonna take out my gun and shoot the
television."
Mulder's green eyes were sparkling with laughter and his hands were flying
through the air as he punctuated his speech with movement.  Scully's laughter 
rang through the restaurant, and the other diners smiled in the direction of 
the happy couple.
Mulder's story finished, he took a sip of his wine while Scully dabbed her
crying eyes on the red cloth napkin in her lap.  They had finished dinner 
and were waiting for their desserts.
Scully reached down into the bag at her feet and pulled out a cheerfully
wrapped package.

"Happy birthday, Mulder." Her smile looked pleased.

Mulder took the package from her hand and set it in front of him.  "Thank
you, Scully."

"You haven't even opened it yet," she said smiling.

"I know, but still, I just want to say thanks."  His voice was quieter now.

"You're welcome, Mulder."

It was a picture of the two of them.  It was framed in a dime store black
plastic likeness of a UFO.
Their faces were peeking out of the middle of it.  He recognized the
photograph immediately.
They had been on one of those hundreds of road trips that had turned out to
be a wild goose chase.
It was near a popular UFO sighting area in New Mexico.  He'd convinced her
to get their pictures taken at one of those stands where you put your face 
into the hole and a figure is painted on the front side.
Her face was on the body of a classic alien with the big head and long arms.
Except this one had on a bikini and was holding hands with another alien
that had huge muscles and was wearing a Speedo, a red one.  His smiling 
face stuck out of that one.
It had cost him a ludicrous amount of money, but it was the summer she had
gotten sick, and he'd been desperate to make her laugh.

"I had a copy made of it.  I hope it's not too goofy."

"It's not."  He looked into her smiling eyes.  "Thank you."

She reached across the table and took his hand in hers.
She squeezed it once, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb, and then let go.
His hand felt warm where hers had been; he was on the verge of reaching out
for her when they were interrupted by the waiter with their desserts.

They spent the remainder of the evening in happy conversation,
unaware of the fury watching them from outside in the darkness.

===

CHAPTER THREE

And the river was overflowing
And the sky was fiery red
You gotta play the hand that's dealt ya
Thats what the old man always said

===

Jane waits for Fox at his apartment in her usual spot.  His hours tend to
vary so much that she's used to long intervals in her car waiting for him 
to come home.
Sometimes she would even fall asleep and wake up to see his living room
lights on and realize she'd missed his arrival.  Tonight she's lucky; he 
arrives at just a little past 5:00, hurrying up the sidewalk from the alley 
behind the building where he parked. He looks distracted but happy.  
She know's he's gotten her gift by now, and he doesn't look especially 
angry or upset; that must mean he's pleased with her package.
He's lonely; he needs someone to love him.

The days are getting shorter in D.C., and it's dark when she notices him
exiting the building.
She's not surprised, he hardly ever goes out at night, but it's his
birthday.
He wouldn't want to spend it alone in his apartment.  He has his long
overcoat on and sets off on foot.  She knows where he's going - he's going 
to their special place.
Jane quickly gets out of her car, careful to grab her backpack which
contains her camera and trots off after him into the night.

He doesn't seem in a hurry, window shopping as he walks.
He stops in front of a travel agency and stands awhile before its display
poster for some tropical island getaway.  A man and a woman wearing next to 
nothing stand smiling out to anyone passing by.

[click]  ---She takes his picture.

Finally he arrives at their restaurant.  She watches as he gives the waiter
his coat.
He looks nice tonight; he isn't wearing the usual jeans and a t-shirt.
They seat him at his usual table. He looks restless sitting all alone by the
window.
He's a loner just like her, desperate to find someone to love, for someone
to be with...like she is.
People move by on the street, but she can see only him.  His face, looking
out the window into the darkness, waiting for love.  Waiting for her.

She moves closer.

She should go to him, tell him she's here.  Ask him if he likes his gift.
Just do it.
Just like the commercial says, Jane, JUST DO IT, she yells to herself.
She feels her feet moving towards the window.   She's breaking out in a cold
sweat.
Don't think, Jane.  For once in your miserable piece of shit excuse for a
life do something right.
This is right -- he's right. Half way across the street, she stops dead in
her tracks.
Someone has just walked up to his table and is sitting down.

Red hair.

It's her, his partner.  What's she doing here?  Jane turns around quickly,
stumbling back to her spot in the shadows.  She's confused.  They never have 
dinner together.
Not in a restaurant, anyway.   Sometimes they eat takeout and work at his
apartment.
But never in a restaurant.  She looks through her camera's telephoto lens at
the two of them.
They're both dressed casually, but nice.  His partner is in a too tight
shirt that shows off her perky little tits.  I can't believe this, she 
thinks to herself. What does he think he's doing?
I tell him how much I love him, and he goes out on a date with his slut
partner!
She stands and watches them, feeling stunned.  Unable to comprehend what
she's seeing, what he's doing to her. Doesn't Fox know she's watching?  
She sent him pictures so he would know that she was near, that he wasn't 
alone any more.  She watches as they order wine; the red head does that.  
Doesn't she know anything about men? 
She's not supposed to order -- she's  supposed to let him do that.  She's
too pushy for Fox.
She watches as he orders their food and then as they settle down to eat.
She watches in horror as he gives her a bite of his food from his own fork,
using his thumb to wipe sauce off her chin.

She feels sick.

They're almost done with their meal; the dinner plates have been taken away
before she comes out of her stupor.  His face is lit up with the telling of
a story, his eyes bright with the details of it.  He's so beautiful.  
[click] ...She takes a picture.

His partners leaning forward in her chair laughing, her face turned upwards
to Fox like a cat to the sun.  She starts taking photos furiously now.
How could she have been so stupid as to think he isn't like all the rest of
them? [click]
He's nothing but a lying, filthy, disgusting son of a bitch. [click]
Jane's crying now, tears streaming down her face as she takes picture after
picture of them and their laughter.  Eventually the red head leans down and 
takes a present out of the bag at her feet.  His face looks soft now, he 
smiles at her.
[click]
The look on his face when he opens his gift almost breaks Jane's heart...almost.
It takes the woman sitting across from him to actually shatter it entirely.
Jane watches in disbelief as the woman reaches across the table and takes
Fox's hand.
They're just looking at each other, and she can see through her lens as the
woman rubs his knuckles with her thumb. [click]

Jane feels that caress like a slap in the face.  She thinks she might fall
down.
The earth is spinning under her feet, and she can hear the blood rushing in
her ears like a hurricane.  He lied to her.  Every day he lied to her with his
eyes, with that beautiful mouth.  The way he touched her hand, smiled into her eyes.
It is all a lie.
She is so furious she can't stop shaking.  What to do?  Where to go?
She wants to scream like a wounded animal.  That's what she is, road kill.
That's all she ever meant to him - she is nothing - she has nothing.  Jane's
seen enough, and starts to run back to her car.  It's a good half mile back to his
building, and the cold night air burns in her lungs long before she arrives back to 
where she's parked.
Her sobs echo off the buildings, crashing back on her like a hammer.
She wishes she were dead; she wishes he was dead.  Walking around behind the
building, she spots his car in its usual spot.  Unexceptional, just like all the rest
of the cars in the alley.
Different, but all looking the same.  Just like him -- nothing special.
Pretending to be new and different but really just the same pieces of crap
as the year before.
She slowly walks up to it, laying her gloved hand on the hood.
No longer sobbing, just crying softly.

She see's the pipe lying by the side of his building, partially buried in
the mud.
Desperately wanting to hurt him, she supposes the car will do for now.
Picking up the metal tube, she stands like a statue in the alley, the pipe
resting in her hands like a baseball bat.  She feels she's observing herself 
from a great distance, the street light making everything an odd combination 
of light and dark.  The mud puddle shimmers at her feet; light bounces off 
of the metal in her hands, glinting off of the zipper on her backpack.
She hears a car horn far off in the distance.

The pipe comes down with such force her hands and arms are shocked numb from
the violence of the vibration.  With a dull thud his windshield shatters
into a million tiny puzzle pieces.
She's surprised that's all the sound it makes. She brings it down again -
the side window.
Again - the back window.  Again - the trunk, over and over again on the
trunk.
In a frenzy now, swinging the pipe like an executioner, again and again and
again.
She funnels all her rage at him into the chore in front of her.  Her wrath
mixing with her tears, making everything swim before her with blurred vision.

"Hey!  What the hell's going on down there?"

Throwing herself into the shadow of the building, she realizes she doesn't
know how long she's been attacking Fox's car.  She looks at her watch and is 
stunned to see that it has only been 15 minutes.  It feels like a lifetime.  
Dropping the pipe, she grabs her backpack and races around the building to 
her car.  She has to get away before someone sees her.
She can barely hold her keys steady as she tries to unlock her door.
Once inside, she jams the keys in the ignition and heads the car towards
home.
Her hands hurt; they feel broken.  She can barely hold onto the steering
wheel.
She has stopped any crying now.   She feels as if she is in a daze, empty
thoughts echoing around inside her head like a pinball machine.  She's not 
even aware of the car; she is just driving on autopilot, letting it lead her home.

===

"Hop in, Mulder.  I'll give you a lift back to your place."

"Thanks.  We finished off that bottle; you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  You had more than I did."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Get in the car, Mulder."

Mulder was feeling a pleasant little buzz while he and Scully walked
together through the chilly night to where she had parked her car.  
Scully opened his door first and then scurried around to her own side.  
Reaching across the seat, Mulder unlocked her door for her, and she hopped 
in.  "Turn on the heater, Scully.  I'm freezing," Mulder said, rubbing his 
hands together briskly.  They sat in the car waiting for it to get
warm, their breath showing in little puffs between them.

"That better?"  Scully asked while adjusting the heater button on the dash.

"Uh huh..."  Mulder replied, starting to feel a little sleepy from the good
food and warm air.

Scully pulled away from the curb and they were on their way.
He only lived a short distance from the restaurant.
After a couple of minutes he could already see his building up the street.
"Scully, I left a file I need in my car.  Can you drop me off in the alley?"

"Mulder, you should get to bed; you're exhausted."

"Is that an offer?"  Mulder turned to smile at her and wait for the eyebrow,
her usual response to his typical off color remarks.  Her face seemed more
appalled than usual.
He'd said stuff worse than that before; she must be getting thin skinned.
"Hey Scully, I'm sorry; I was only kid"

"Oh my God....Mulder, is that your car?"  Scully's voice was breathy and
directed over his right shoulder.  Mulder turned around in his seat to 
look out his passenger side window.

"Wooww."  Mulder dragged out the word until it was several syllables longer
than intended.
It was all he could manage at that moment.  His car was trashed.  Yeah,
trashed was definitely the word he would choose to describe it.  Slowly he 
exited the vehicle to circle around the wreck before him.  Scully quickly 
got out to stand next to him.  "Look...." He reached down to grab the pipe 
lying at his feet in a pile of window glass.

"Mulder!" Scully grabbed his arm.  "Don't pick that up!  There could be
fingerprints on it."

"Fingerprints?"  He stared dumbly at her for a moment, then at the pipe at
his feet.
Of course, Scully was right.  She was always right about this type of thing.
He shouldn't touch anything.  He satisfied himself by just staring at his
car.  All of the windows were bashed out, there were numerous dents in his 
hood, and the trunk had popped open it was hit so many times.  The roof was 
less damaged; only a couple of dents in that.
The person must not have been very tall, he thought absent-mindedly.  Scully
spoke first.

"Mulder, this could be your admirer from this morning."  Her voice was low,
as if she was reminding him of something she'd prefer not to mention.  She 
pulled out her cell.
"I'm calling the DCPD."

"I guess this means I'm not getting lucky tonight, huh?"  Mulder's tone was
less than jovial as he turned to watch for it -- finally, the eyebrow.

===

Several hours later, the exhausted federal agents came through the front
door of Scully's apartment, Mulder with his travel bag over his shoulder.
"Scully, I don't think this is neccesary.  We checked out my apartment; it
wasn't touched.
I could have stayed at my place."

"Mulder, we've gone over this already.  It will make me feel better if you
don't stay there tonight.
Just until you get a chance to have your locks changed tomorrow.
It's not like you're not used to sleeping on a couch."

"Scully, there's no evidence that my car being trashed has anything to do
with that delivery I got this morning.  Why would someone tell me they loved 
me in the morning and that night trash my car?  Besides, wouldn't they have 
left a note saying they did it or something?
Isn't that the stalkers modus operandi, letting their victims know what
havoc they are raising so the victim can be impressed?"  Mulder's voice was 
tired; they had been arguing this point since she had called the police and 
then tried to tell them it might be a stalker.

"Neither one of us is up on the latest stalker psychology, Mulder; you know
that.
I'll start researching it tomorrow and maybe we can learn more.  But for
tonight, I just want you here. Not in your apartment.  Besides, you would 
just end up calling me in the middle of the night when you couldn't get to 
sleep anyway.  Why not just stay here so at least I can sleep?"

Scully was more concerned for Mulder than she let on.  The damage to his car
was extreme; the amount of effort it would have taken to accomplish it was no 
small matter.
Someone that angry was best to avoid at all costs.  So far not much had been
discovered regarding the identity of the vandal.  The only lead they had was a 
neighbor who had heard noises in the alley and yelled at someone whom he didn't 
see.  They were checking for fingerprints on the car and the pipe.  So far 
they had found nothing.

"I'm exhausted," Mulder sighed as he fell back onto her couch.
"The evening started great but sort of petered out in the end."

"Yeah - happy birthday, Mulder."  Scully grinned at him as she brought out
some sheets and a pillow for him to use.  "Feel free to use the guest 
bathroom.  You know the drill.
I'm going to bed; I'm beat,"  she said while trying to stifle a yawn but
failing.

"Uh huh, I know.  I'll see you in the morning.....where's the remote?"
Mulder was looking under the couch cushions with no luck.

Scully listened from her room as Mulder got ready for bed.  He must have
found the remote because she could hear him switching channels trying to find
something to help him sleep.  Brushing her teeth, she let her mind wander 
over the day's events.
She was going to start doing some research on stalking tomorrow whether
Mulder liked it or not.

===

Jane is trying to take off her gloves without crying out in pain.  She
doesn't think she's broken anything, but both of her hands have swelled up 
so much she can't move her fingers very well.  Finally she gets the gloves 
off and is soaking her entire body in a hot bath.
It's so late now, and she's exhausted.  Closing her eyes, she lets her mind
wander.
Her rage at Fox feels a long way away now -- days even.  She's been thinking
a lot about what happened earlier, at the restaurant, and she's certain she 
must have misunderstood his intentions, although she doubts she misunderstood 
his partner's intention.  Obviously, the partner is in love with him.  Why 
didn't she see it before?  How could she not be?
So, the redhead's decided no one else can have him.  That's why she's
throwing herself at him, laughing too loud at his stories, reaching over to 
*him* and taking his hand.
Fox hadn't reached out to her, hadn't stroked her hands, hadn't given her
the gift.
Jane's original assumption had been right.  He isn't in love with the
redhead; it was the redhead that's in love with him.  With this realization, 
a new wave of emotions floods over her.
Guilt.  Oh my God, what have I done?  I've wrecked his car, caused him pain,
maybe even frightened him!  She starts crying again, not in anger this time but
with remorse.
She'll make it up to him.  He has to understand that she only did this
because she loves him.
Because she was afraid she was losing him.  He'll understand.  He'll admire
her for her persistence and the depth of her love; that's what he'll do.  
Of course, that's what he'll think.
It only makes sense -- it's the truth.  Why would she hurt him when she
loves him so much?
That's the only thing that makes sense.  She loves him.  They were meant for
each other; he'll understand.  First he has to see that he loves her.  Then, when
they're together, she'll tell him about the car.  He'll admire her; the depth 
of her devotion to him will inspire him.
They'll laugh at how jealous she was, how silly she was to think he could
ever love that redhead.

She starts to plan.

When her fingers finally start to move, she gets out of her bath; wrapping
herself in her fluffy robe and winding the towel around her head, she walks 
to her phone.
There's only one way she can find out for sure.  She's going to have to tell
him that she loves him. 
He has to know who she is.

She picks up her phone.

It rings three times.  The machine picks up...'This is Fox Mulder.  Please
leave a message.
"Quickly she hangs up.  Why doesn't he answer?  Where is he?  Jane's mind
is racing.
She looks up at her clock -- oh.   It's midnight; he's probably in bed .
Shit!  She hung up.
He was probably trying to get to the phone from bed.  Now he's holding a
phone without anyone on the other end.  Good job, Jane.  What an idiot.  
Should she call him back?

555-9355.  It's ringing again...."This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a
message."

"Hello, Fox.  It's me.  It's Jane.  Are you there?  Fox, it's me, Jane from
the coffee shop.
It's okay to pick up.  I know already how you feel about me.  You don't have
to be embarrassed.
I feel the same way, but you already know that, I'm sure.  Fox?   Fox, are
you there?"
Jane was starting to feel uneasy.  "Fox, it's midnight.  You should be home
by now.
Where are you?  Well, okay.  I guess I'll call back later.  Maybe you went
out...I...I love you."

Where is he?  She paces back and forth in her apartment, trying to decide
what to do now.
He couldn't still be out with his partner; it was past midnight now.
They were almost done when she ran from the restaurant.

"This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a message."

"Fox, it's me again.  I waited a little while and I'm trying you back again.
But of course you know that, don't you.  I am speaking on your machine again."  
Jane is laughing now at how little sense she's making. "Did you get my birthday 
present this morning?
I guess it's yesterday now, isn't it?  Fox, please answer the phone.  I know
you're there.
Why won't you pick up?  Don't you want to speak with me?  I know if you just
talk to me, you'll understand why we're meant for each other.  We have so many 
things in common.
Please, Fox, please pick up the phone.  Fox, where are you?"

"This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a message."

"God dammit, Fox!  This is ridiculous.  It's after 1am now.  Where are you?!
If you're there and not picking up the phone, you are really hurting my feelings.  
Fox? ---- Fox?
I don't want to frighten you; am I frightening you?  That's not my
intention, I promise you.
I would never hurt you; you have to know that.  I love you, Fox.  Please,
Fox."
Jane is starting to cry now in frustration.  Why won't he answer her?  Maybe
he's angry with her because he's guessed that she trashed his car.  Something 
in the back of Jane's head warns her not to mention that just yet.  She's not 
stupid; she knows Fox is an FBI agent.
Until she can make him realize how much they are meant to be together, she
doesn't think she should bring that up.

She loses track of the number of times she tries him at home.  She's finally
poured her heart out to him tonight - over his machine.  It's a strange feeling 
she has now, almost of relief.
She feels lighter for having told him.  It was hard not telling him all this
time, watching him without telling him.  Now it will be better.  Now he will 
have to see how devoted she is.
He will be powerless against the strength of her love.  Even though she's
angry at him for not being home, she's almost happy she was able to leave 
all of her messages.
It will be like an audio tape of her love to him.  He can carry it around 
with him, play it in his car....oh, right, she sort of messed that up.  
Well, he can buy a new car.  They can go together and laugh over things 
like which color to buy.  Neither of them will ever be alone any more.

She's so sleepy now --- exhausted with the telling of her secret.  What was
it that man wrote?
To sleep, perchance to dream?  Yes, that's what she's going to do -- dream
about Fox.

Her Fox.

===

It was starting.

Mulder could feel it in his gut.  Weeks from now he would remember this
moment.
Hell, who was he kidding?  Years from now he would remember this moment.
Sitting in Scully's apartment in the early morning, the dawn drifting
through her curtains, across the floor towards his bare feet.  He held 
the phone cradle in his hands, the voice still rambling in his ears.  
He'd been listening for about 10 minutes now. 
When he'd first called and his machine had told him he had 22 messages, 
he'd thought it must be broken.
He had expected a few, maybe from the DCPD regarding fingerprints, something
like that.
Not this.  This, he had not been expecting.  It was the girl from the coffee
shop!  He couldn't believe it; it was insane.  If he hadn't heard her pouring 
her heart out to him on his own phone, he would never have believed it.  He 
was up to message 17 now.....he hung up.
He needed to think.  She hadn't mentioned the car yet, whether she was the
vandal....could it have been her?  He didn't know whether to wish for it or 
not.  If it was, she might be dangerous.
Well, she's a stalker.  That rules out sane from the get go, really.  If it
wasn't her, then he had extremely bad karma, that's for sure. Hey... how did 
she get his phone number, anyway?

Mulder was still sitting on the couch, his hands folded in his lap, staring
out into space, when Scully shuffled into the living room.  "Morning, Mulder.  
I'm going to make some oatmeal; you want some?"  She stopped.  He was just 
sitting there.  Something was wrong.
"Mulder?" she whispered.

"I think we're in trouble." Mulder was looking at the hands in his lap now.
He felt odd, almost disconnected.  Surreal, that's the word he was looking for.  
"Scully, I *know* I'm in trouble, but I think you might be in for some trouble 
too."  Did he say that aloud? 
He looked up at Scully to gauge her reaction.  As always, whenever he had the 
good luck to sleep nearby, he was thrilled at how she looked in the mornings.  
Sort of rumpled, but in a nice way.
She slowly walked over to the couch and sat beside him.

"Mulder, you're frightening me.  What are you talking about?"  Scully was
sitting on the edge of the couch.  "Did you have a nightmare or something?  
I didn't hear anything.
Did you not sleep?"

"My secret admirer called my house.  I have 22 highly lovelorn -- and by the
time I got to 17 very agitated -- answering machine messages.  It's the girl 
who gets my coffee in the morning!
Can you believe that?  I can't believe this, Scully!  She thinks I love her.
She thinks she loves me!  Actually, she sounds pretty sure of the 'her loving 
me' part.  She's the one who sent me the birthday card and the pictures!  
She's been watching me.  For months now, she said.
She somehow has my phone number; I'm not sure how.  She must have gone
through my trash.
I knew I should have bought that shredder.  For someone who's paranoid, I'm
a total idiot."
He said seemingly in one breath.

"Mulder, slow down.  I can't understand you.  What are you talking about?
What girl at your coffee shop?  How are we in trouble?"  Scully had his hand
now and was jerking his arm up and down, trying to get him to focus on her.  
He reached over to the phone and hit redial, then handed it to her.

"Just listen."

She did.  Unlike her partner she listened to all 22 messages.  She tried
forcing her mind not to wander, but it was hard.  Mulder was staring at her 
now, at her face, studying her reactions.

Mulder was watching his partner for any sign of fear.  Had she gotten to the
part about her yet?
He couldn't remember which message started mentioning her....He hated his
answering machine.
He had the worst luck with that fucking machine.  He'd heard Scully being
taken from him on that machine.  The messages varied but had one similarity, 
they sucked.
Screaming for help messages.
Please come to say goodbye before it's too late messages.  Countless hushed
conversations from hospital waiting rooms while she waited for test results, 
refusing to let him wait with her.
More countless messages from anonymous assholes, black lunged bastards,
one-armed bastards.
Now this.  It never ended for him. This was the last straw Mulder thought.
I'm getting rid of that damned machine.

There it is; she's heard her own name now....."Scully?"  She was still
holding his hand, and he felt the involuntary twitch at the sound of her 
own name.

"...I know that bitch partner of yours won't leave you alone.  I watched you
at dinner tonight, the way she was throwing herself at you.  That tight white 
shirt left nothing to the imagination.
Just tell her you don't love her.  Tell her to leave you the fuck alone.
I'll do it for you if you are afraid of hurting her feelings.  We can have 
a woman to woman talk..."

Scully felt herself turning pink at the mention of her shirt from last
night.  It was cashmere.
She had stood in the dressing room staring at her image a full ten minutes
before deciding to buy it.
It was nice looking on her, but she had worried that it was too obvious.  In
her secret heart, she bought it because she knew Mulder would like it.  
Mulder's right; they are in trouble.
But Scully knows something else as well, something she won't share with
Mulder.

Jane's in more trouble.

===

CHAPTER FOUR

All the tears
All the rage
All the blues in the night
If my eyes could see
You kneeling in the silver light.

===

Mulder had been right.  It had started that morning.  They had asked some
contacts in the DCPD what they should do and had been told they couldn't 
do anything.
They had no proof that she'd trashed his car; there was no evidence.
She hadn't admitted to anything, so they couldn't have her arrested.  There
was nothing illegal about leaving too many love messages on someone's answering 
machine.  They had spent that morning boning up on their stalking psychology 
before deciding on what approach to take.
That had made Scully feel better.  She always felt better the more she knew
about something.
Mulder, on the other hand, felt worse.  Not that he wasn't glad to know what
to expect; it was just that the information basically told them they wouldn't 
know what to expect.
Every source they found had been very explicit that he should under no 
circumstances make contact with Jane, that if he never communicated with her 
in any fashion she might just give up and go away.

She didn't.

She wouldn't stop leaving messages even though he never picked up his phone
any more.
He got another line and left his old one hooked up as well.  The material
said that was a good idea because then she could leave all her little love 
poems on that machine and he could still get phone calls he needed.  He 
didn't tell anyone the number except Scully. 
Between that new number and his cell, they were always in reach of each 
other. He had the locks changed and made sure the manager knew not to let 
anyone into the building  besides his partner.
He finally bought that shredder. It had taken Mulder a few days before he
could convince Scully to let him go back to his apartment.   After he had 
a little fit about not letting Jane take over his life, Scully gave in, 
and he came back home.  She made him call her every night before bed and every
morning when he woke up.  Which was okay, since he did that half the time
anyway.
Jane was leaving him letters all the time now.  She mailed them, left them
for him at the front door of his building and under the windshield wipers 
of his car.  His new car, thanks to her.
She had never admitted to vandalizing his car, but he was pretty sure it had
been her.
They assumed it was her anger over their birthday dinner that night.

It was starting to get to him, this constant looking over his shoulder.
Waiting to run into her.
Wondering what he should do if he saw her.  Should he run the other way?
Should he pretend he didn't see her and walk right by her?  He knew what 
he *wanted* to do to her: He wanted to scream at her.  Scream at her to 
leave him alone, scream that he didn't love her.
That he wanted his life back.
Ha!  That was a laugh; who would have thought he would long for his old
life?  He did, though.
He longed to be alone again, just him and his partner against the world.
Even the world Scully and he inhabited made more sense than this one 
inhabited by Jane.  It was strange but true; at least with those men in 
the shadows he could make some sense out of what their goals were.  
In a way their mission was impersonal, just a means to an end.  Nothing 
about Jane made sense.  Every notion he had about love was the opposite 
of what this woman wanted from him.  Years with Scully had taught
him what love was, how it protected a person and gave them strength.  It was
something to be relied on and trusted, not feared.  Jane made no sense; 
he didn't know what she was going to do.

Mulder was sitting at his desk one morning about two weeks after the first
call when Scully came and perched on one corner.  "Mulder, I think it's time."  
Her voice was even, like she had been planning this conversation during her 
morning shower.

"Time for what?" He was tired, not up to guessing what was on her mind.

"I think it's time we had her served with a restraining order.  It's been
two weeks now.
I don't think she's going to go away."

"No, I don't think she is, either.  I've been thinking about it as well.
You know what they say, though: This could be okay, or it could make it
worse.
We don't know what it will do to her." He looked up at his partner, already
deciding to leave it up to her.

"I don't think she's left us a choice. I'll call Teresa at the DA's and have
one drawn up and signed today.
She'll send one of her guys over to Jane's job and serve her. Then I guess
we'll just wait." Scully sounded tired too.

He knew the dark circles under her eyes matched his own . Suddenly the
thought of more waiting made him furious. "Why should I have to wait any 
longer?" He jumped up from his chair, causing it to tip over backwards 
with a crash.  Scully jumped in surprise.  "I'm tired of this bullshit!  
I can't even take a walk, I haven't gone running in weeks, I'm going 
crazy cooped up in this fucking office!  All I do is hide out here.
Why is it that she gets to walk around and do whatever she wants, but 
I have to hide out here in the basement!?"  He was pacing back and 
forth in front of his desk now, hands jammed in his slacks, his
tie loose under his collar.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"You're sorry?!  Great. Just great. Well, that doesn't seem to be helping me
out very much.
Thanks to you, if I get tired of hanging out here I can always head up to VC
and listen to the guys taunt me about my sweetheart. That's always good for 
a laugh."

He knew that was a cheap shot - knew it the second it flew from his mouth,
but he didn't care.
He was angry, and she was the only convenient target for his anger. He had
nowhere to go, nothing to do, but yell at the one person whom he would least 
like to be angry. So he did.

After the shock of his sudden movement she relaxed back against the
desk.This time around to the front, watching him pace back and forth.  
Scully knew he was frustrated and needed to take it out on
someone, so she let him yell.  She had watched him carefully these last
couple of weeks.
He was getting tired.  He started out treating it like a joke, kidding her
about his luck with women, how he had his own private fan club and wasn't 
she jealous? His kidding stopped as the attention increased.  Then the 
dark circles appeared.
He was getting jumpy; when they were outside he was always tense.  At first
he would look around for Jane.  Now he mostly walked head down, trying to 
make himself small and inconspicuous.
She knew the inaction would be what would get to him in the end.  Mulder
wasn't the type of person who stood idly by and let things happen to him.  
He was a doer, not a doee. As far as Scully was concerned, it was time 
for some action.

"Are you done?"  Her voice was even, not a hint of anger behind it.

He stood in front of her, towering over her as usual, but feeling small.  He
sat down on the edge of the chair in front of his desk.  Standing up, she 
walked over to him and gathered him in her arms, letting him rest his head 
on her middle, his arms laying limply in his lap.  All the fight left him 
as suddenly as it had appeared.  She smoothed his hair with one hand while 
keeping the other at the base of his neck, pressing him into her.

"Yeah, I'm done," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Mulder, we're going to end this.  You'll see.  I won't let her take away
our lives.
Pathetic as it sounds, they're all we've got."  He could hear the smile in
her voice.
Grateful to know she considered his life as much her own and he considered
hers his.

"I'm sorry I said those things.  They were stupid and not true.  I know
you're tired and want this over as much as I do."  He didn't want to move; 
it was nice here.  Her hands were relaxing him.
He hadn't been relaxed in weeks.  Since his birthday.

"I'll handle it, Mulder.  We'll start the paperwork to get her served and
then go from there.
No matter what, this will end."  She was pushing him back in his chair now,
pulling away from him.
She removed one hand from his shoulder and ruffled his hair, then walked to
the other side ot the desk.

===

Jane is feeling depressed.  It's been two weeks and not a word from Fox.
Nothing. He stopped coming into the coffee shop after she called him the 
first time.  She only stays there because the hours are flexible and she 
needs the money.  Jane is still faithful to Fox, however.  She writes and
calls him every day, leaving poems and thoughts about what their future can
be if he will just see her.
She knows that if he will stop being afraid and speak to her, he'll feel
better.  She just wants him to notice her; that's not too much to ask for.  
If he will listen to her, the rest can take care of itself, she's sure.
She's still following him when she's not working.  Not that he's going
anywhere any more.
If he's not at his job, he's at his apartment, or hers.  The partner is
refusing to go away.
As a matter of fact, it seems that she never leaves his side now.  It's
infuriating.
He never goes out anymore.  He hasn't been jogging in weeks.
Now he takes a gym bag to the office and works out in the building.
She misses him.

She tells him in letters that she's always there; even if he can't see her,
she's nearby.
Which she usually is.  She doesn't want to frighten him by approaching him
as much as she could. It's up to him to realize what she means to him.  She 
won't force him.

Today, it's cold, but the sun is bright and she's sitting on a park bench
outside his building.
It's about noon, and she's just arrived from work.  She doesn't expect him,
but it's so nice out today that she can't resist lounging on the bench 
watching the pigeons.
Suddenly she see's him.
He must have the same thought because he's walked out of the building and is
slowly making his way towards her bench.  She doesn't think he's spotted her 
yet, she sits very still.  He's about ten feet away when she can't contain 
herself any more.  "Fox?"  Her voice stops him in his tracks.
Looking up, he meets her eyes.  He wants to speak to her; he's struggling
with what he should say.
She can see the concentration on his face, the words forming behind his
beautiful eyes.
He looks just like a little boy, she thinks absent- mindedly.  She slowly
stands up; she doesn't want to frighten him.  He seems to make up his mind 
in a split second.  He whirls around on his heels and walks back towards 
his building, quickly disappearing through the revolving doors.
She stares at the air he disturbed, then stands on the spot where he had
just been.
A small smile is on her face....she can smell his aftershave in the cold
air.  She turns around herself then and makes her way back to her car.  
She can continue waiting for him there.

They come out of the building together after about an hour.  Jane follows
several cars behind as they slowly weave in and out of traffic.  Fox is 
driving his new car.  He eventually pulls up in front of the bank.  
Parking a half block behind him, she takes out her camera and focuses the 
zoom lens on him.  He goes inside the bank carrying some papers in his gloved
hands.  As soon as he's in the bank, the passenger side door opens and the 
redhead gets out, closes the door, and crosses over to the sidewalk.  She 
starts walking briskly down the street towards Jane.
Putting down her camera, Jane grabs the newspaper on the passenger seat to
put in front of her face so she can't be seen.

Taptaptaptap

Jane starts at the sound of the taps on her window.  Lowering her paper,
she's amazed to see the partner bent down, looking directly at her through 
the closed window.  She's frozen in shock for a moment.  Then just as suddenly, 
she feels very calm.  She won't let this pushy woman frighten her.
Instead of rolling down her window, she quickly makes a decision to open the
door and stand face to face with Fox's partner.  She opens her door, and the 
redhead takes a step back.  She'll give her some credit: She doesn't even 
flinch at Jane opening her door.  Finally -- communication.
They know she is here - that she must be dealt with.  Standing in front of
his partner, bracing herself for the confrontation, she's gratified to realize 
that they're the same height.  At least she's not shorter than her; usually 
she's shorter than everyone.

"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI.  I'm Mul..Fox Mulder's
partner." Her voice was low but hard. "Agent Mulder does not wish to know you.  
Not now, not ever. If you persist in this stalking and harassment, we will be 
forced to bring you to the attention of the local authorities."

"If you could, you would have done it by now."  Jane tries to keep her voice
as steady as the woman's before her.  "You think that because Fox lets you 
lead him around, that because you never let him be by himself, that you own him.  
That you control whom he sees or wants to be with.
But you don't.  No one can choose for him like that.  Because, you see....Special 
Agent Dana Scully with the FBI, Fox and I are fated for each other.  We have a 
chance at a love you can never know.
You're pathetic in your smothering of him, in your silly attempts at keeping
us apart.  It won't work.
He will know me.  He will love me, if he doesn't already.  And you can't
stop us."  Jane can feel the blood ringing in her ears.

"Let me tell you something, Jane." Jane visibly flinches at the use of her
name by this woman.
"I am telling you this for your own good.  Fox Mulder does NOT love you.  He
does not WANT to love you.  And if you ever attempt to lay a hand on him, 
disturb even one hair on his head, you'll have more problems before you 
than you thought possible.  I will invade your life like a plague.
My number one goal will be your removal, in whatever manner possible.  Do
you understand what I'm saying to you, Jane?"  The redhead's eyes are so 
blue and clear and hard that they remind Jane of marbles.  A hard hearted, 
blue eyed, red headed bitch is what this woman is.
Jane realizes suddenly that she has underestimated the power for evil of
which the partner is capable.

"I understand."  And she does, perfectly.

The partner turns around, her coat billowing behind her in the wind, and
walks back to the car.
Jane realizes that Fox has come out of the bank and has seen them speaking
to each other.
He is already half way down the street by the time the redhead was turning
away from her and walking back to the car.  He looks frightened.  She feels 
rooted to this part of the sidewalk, incapable of movement.  She watches as 
Fox puts his hand on the small of his partner's back, leaning into her as he 
listens to what she's saying to him.  Lying, no doubt, telling him lies, awful
things about Jane which he will have no choice but to believe because he
refuses to speak with her and hear the truth.  All she asks is for him to 
know the truth.

===

"Scully, what the hell are you doing?!"

"Shhh, Mulder. Not here. Get in the car."

Mulder's first thought on seeing Scully talking with some woman on the
sidewalk was idle curiosity.
When he realized whom she was speaking to, the thought turned to fear.  It
engulfed him for a split second like a firecracker.  He was half walking, 
half jogging down the street towards her before he even realized it.  
But she was turning around at that point, her tiny face set like marble.  
He kept his hand at her waist during the entire walk back to the car; it 
kept his hand steady.  Deciding to steal a quick look over his shoulder 
back at Jane, he can see her still standing there, staring after them, 
her face as hard as Scully's had been a few moments earlier.

Finally, within the safety of his car, he places both hands on his steering
wheel, at ten and two, just like in Driver's Ed.  He takes a deep breath.  
"Ok, Scully.  One more time.  What did you think you were doing?"

"I spotted her behind us when we were pulling out of the office parking lot.
When you went into the bank, I decided to speak with her.  That's all.  
Just a little one on one talk, just her and me.  We know you shouldn't have 
any type of communication with her, so I thought I would try giving it a shot."

"And?"

"And that's it.  All I said was that you asked that she stop stalking and
harassing you.  That if she didn't stop, we would be forced to contact 
the authorities."  Scully was looking into her side mirror, watching
as Jane's car drove away.

"And what did she say?"  Mulder was staring hard at her now.  She kept her
eyes out the side window.

"She called my bluff.  Said if there was anything the cops could do, they
would have done it already."
Scully turned to Mulder now, moving in her seat to face him, leaning her
head back  into the glass.
"Then she went on quite a tirade about how I can't prevent you from loving
her, that you and she are meant to be together. You're fated, I believe is 
how she phrased it.  It's all typical love obsessional behavior, Mulder. 
It's practically textbook. She thinks that if you will only notice her, you 
will fall in love with her.  She's unable or unwilling to attribute this 
lack of attention from you to any lack of interest, so she's attributing 
it to me."  She finished the last part of this sentence in a quiet voice.

"What did you say after that?  After she told you that she and I are
destined for each other?"
It was Mulder's turn to speak in a whisper.  He was still staring at her.

Scully stayed in her position, careful to keep her voice steady and not to
take her eyes from his.
"I suggested she think twice before making any rash or foolish decisions
regarding you."

Mulder leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.  He
kept his head turned sideways so he could watch her.  "You shouldn't have 
said that, Scully. That wasn't a very good idea.
She's already focusing on you; that will only increase her agitation."

"I know.  But you aren't the only person around here getting sick of this."
She was straightening up in her chair now, putting her seat belt on.  Her 
head was tipped down towards the buckle as she clicked the belt into its slot 
by the emergency brake.  Her laughing eyes peeked up through the red strands of
hair hanging down in front of her face.  "Besides, if anyone's going to make
your life a living hell, it's going to be me.  Not some whacked out coffee 
girl with too much time on her hands."

Mulder's head was still leaning against the steering wheel as he watched her
wriggle in her seat trying to get comfortable.  "You're adorable when you're 
jealous."

"Just drive the car, Mulder."  There was a small smile on her lips.

===

Jane' s at work.  It's the day after her run in with the redhead.  She was
up most of the night thinking about Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI.   
Jane is now more certain than ever that something needs to be done about her.  
The redhead is poisoning Fox against her, preventing him from seeing
what is best for him.

She's been at work for about two hours when it happens.

"May I help you?" Jane asks two men in suits who have just walked up to her
counter.

"Are you Jane Mathiasen?"   The taller one asks in a quiet voice.

"Yes...yes, I am. Why? Who wants to know? Do I know you?" She's starting to
feel butterfly wings in her stomach. Something's not right.  She feels her 
palms starting to sweat.

"Jane Mathiasen, you are hereby issued a temporary restraining order by the
Superior Court of the District of Columbia to cease and desist in any attempts 
to contact a..." He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. "...Fox William 
Mulder of 2630 Hegal Place, apartment #42, Alexandria, Virginia, 23242.
Do not contact, attack, strike, threaten, batter, telephone, or otherwise
disturb the peace of Fox William Mulder.
Stay at least 100 yards away from Mr. Mulder at all times.  Stay at least
100 yards away from the residence of Mr. Mulder at all times.  Stay at least 
100 yards away from the place of employment of Mr. Mulder at all times.  
Do you understand what I'm saying to you, ma'am?" He makes no attempt
to lower his voice as he stares into her eyes.

She's in shock.  She looks around the coffee shop.  Everyone's staring at
her in disbelief.
People are stepping out of their places in line behind the men in suits to
look at her,  eyebrows raised, like she's a car accident on the way to work 
in the morning.  She can't breathe.
She's going to throw up.   She can feel her eyes starting to tear up; she
puts her palm to her mouth to keep from groaning.

"Ma'am, do you understand what I'm telling you?" He has both hands face down
on her counter now, leaning over and looking at her like a bug.

"Yes." She grinds the word out between clenched teeth and splayed fingers.

"Good.  Here's the order; feel free to peruse it at your leisure.  Your
hearing appearance is noted on the inside.  Good day."  With that the two 
of them turn and walk out. The second man must have been insurance in case 
she freaked out.  They should have stayed longer; she may still freak out.
Her hand is still pressed tightly to her mouth when she realizes that the
owner's standing next to her behind the counter.  He's looking at her like 
the people in line, like he's never seen her before, like she's a freak of 
nature.

"Jane, why don't you take a break.  I'll see you in the back, okay?" He
keeps his voice low.

Slowly Jane turns and walks through the double doors behind the counter,
straight through the break room and out the door into the parking lot behind 
the coffee shack.  Now that she's sure no one's watching her, she drops to 
her knees and starts to wretch.  Tears are streaming down her face, and
she can't stop gasping for air.  What did he do?  How could he have done
that to her?  She is so humiliated that she can't stop crying.  I can't 
believe he did this to us. Sobbing now, she shivers in the October morning 
air for several minutes before she tries to stand up.  It takes all her 
strength; she has to stay on all fours for a moment before she moves to a 
crouching position and slowly rises to stand upright.  She's still bent 
over, gasping for air, her hands on her legs just above her knees, when her
boss speaks.

"Jane, I want you to get your stuff together and leave.  I'll send your
check to you at home.  You're fired."
Her boss is standing by the back door.  He looks an odd mixture of
sheepishness and fear.  If she weren't so humiliated at this moment, 
she might laugh.

Jane doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say, anyway.  How could
she explain to him what was happening to her?  How could she tell him that 
the redhead is a powerful FBI agent and that she, little old Jane, is getting 
royally fucked?  Why would he believe her?  No one ever believed
her; she is nothing.  Less than nothing.  She stands up straight, wipes the
back of her hand against her mouth, then wipes her hand off with her apron.  
She needs to brush her teeth or at least get a drink of water before he throws 
her out.

She rinses her mouth in the bathroom and grabs her coat and scarf.  Putting
her backpack over her shoulder, she walks out the back door without saying a 
word.  Neither Jane nor her boss say goodbye.

===

Scully put down the phone and looked at her partner.  He looked back, his
face strained.

"It's done, Mulder. That was Teresa; she said they did the whole treatment.
Read her the entire thing in front of everyone." Scully leaned back in her 
chair, folding her small hands in her lap, resting them on her stomach.

Mulder wasn't looking at her any more; he was playing with a pencil,
twirling it in his hands. "What did she do?"  His voice was quiet.

"She didn't do anything.  He said she just looked shocked, like she didn't
expect it."  She didn't want to say anything to him about how Jane had 
started to cry.  That would just make Mulder feel worse.
He was already feeling guilty.  Mulder felt guilty for everything.
Everything that goes wrong in the world was seemingly Mulder's fault.  
He always thought that there was something he had failed to do, someone 
he couldn't take care of or keep safe.  She knew this about her partner, 
so she spared him this small fact.  She won't tell him Jane cried.   
"Mulder, this isn't your fault.  You didn't ask for her to do this to you.  
She's mentally ill.  You can't be responsible for that, can you?" 
Scully's voice has lowered now as well, matching her partner's.

"No. I know that."

"Do you?"

He looked up at her now. His eyes were still sad, but he managed a sheepish
smile. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only to me. I have special G-woman powers."

"I suspected as much."

===

She's standing in front of a plate glass window reading "Terry's Pawn Shop".
How did she get here?
She doesn't remember.  She must have walked.  She remembers the two men,
that horrible scene at her job.  Her old job, she should say.  She even 
remembers walking out the back door -- after that it's a blank.  She's in 
a run down section of the city a few blocks from her apartment, she knows 
that.  What time is it?  Looking at her watch, she's amazed to realize she
has been wandering aimlessly for almost three hours.  Turning around to gaze
back into the plate glass window, she sees it.  It's as if she is meant to 
be here at this moment in time.
Because there it is: the answer to all of her problems.  A gun.  She stares
at it like it's a living, breathing creature.  It is.  She realizes now what 
all of this has been leading to.  It's so obvious, really.
She believes in fate; it's what led her to him, to Fox.  It can still save
her; she just has to listen to it, to not be afraid.

She's not afraid anymore.

===

CHAPTER 5

If you're out there can you touch me
Can you see me I don't know
If you're out there can you reach me
Lay a flower in the snow
===

"Come on, Mulder; let's get out of here."  It was close to five, and Mulder
and Scully were preparing to leave town the next week.  They were finally 
getting back to a case after several weeks of playing catch up on delinquent 
paperwork.

"You know, Scully, this would never have happened if we were keeping busy
and not being forced to wade through all this crap."  Mulder was picking 
up the last of the manila file folders, rubber banding them, and stuffing 
them into interoffice mailing envelopes.  They were being routed to various
departments within the building: accounting, personnel, Skinner, so on and
so forth.  "If we were out catching monsters and aliens, I wouldn't have 
had time to be drinking so much coffee; therefore, crazy coffee girls wouldn't 
be stalking me.  There's a lesson to be learned in here somewhere."

"Yeah, you should drink more water."  Scully laughed at her own joke as she
neatly placed her file folders within her own inter office routing envelopes 
going to similar departments as Mulder's -- arriving in much better condition, 
no doubt.  "What time is our plane Monday?" It was Friday, and they weren't 
flying out till Monday.  They had the weekend to get ready, instead
of the usual 45 minutes.

"Uh..." Mulder's dug under the paperwork stacked on his laptop. "8:45am,
flight... 0860 on Delta."

"You just want to meet at the airport?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine. I'm sure we'll talk this weekend sometime; we don't
have to decide now."
It was silly to think he could go an entire two whole days without speaking
with her on the phone at some point. He'd given up pretending he had a life 
without her a long time ago. She knew he didn't.

"Are you going to be okay tonight, Mulder?  Would you like to come over and
watch a video or something?
I can make pasta."  Scully was putting on her coat now, straightening the
collar and pushing her hair behind her ears.  "We can go over the notes on 
this case if you want."

"Maybe.  We'll see.  I'm thinking I might like to go for a run tonight, get
out of the house.  I don't think I can stand one more night behind my closed 
door.  It's funny, --I never really went out too often.
Then when I couldn't, it's all I thought about. I'm dying to go to a bar or
something.
Hear other people speaking.  You know?"

Scully understood.  She'd felt like that after the cancer had gone into
remission.  She'd had the overwhelming urge to be among people all the time.  
She used to go to coffee shops and just sit there for hours, reading, working 
crossword puzzles.  It made her feel as if she was part of it again, part of 
life, that she existed.  "I understand, Mulder.  Be careful, okay?  Just 
because she's been served doesn't mean she will obey the restraining order.  
Chances are that she won't; you now that."

"I know, Scully, but I need to get out.  I'll be careful.  I won't go
anywhere where I'll be alone, and I'll take my cell in case I need to call 
- okay?"  Mulder was putting his own coat on now. "What are you doing this 
weekend?  Any plans?"

"No, not really.  I'm having dinner at my mom's tomorrow night.  If I have
the energy, I might start some early Christmas shopping for my nieces and 
nephews on Sunday.  We'll see." They were walking out now, side by side, 
towards the elevators.

"You should be careful as well, you know." Mulder punched the 'up' arrow at
the elevators. "Why don't you call me tonight before you go to bed. Call the 
cell, just to check in."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I will." They spent the rest of the elevator ride
and walk to the parking garage discussing the upcoming case.

"Good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Scully - call me."

"I will."

===

Mulder parked his car in the front of the building now, under the street
light. He'd learned his lesson the hard way. Before, he had pretended to be 
paranoid; now, he was smart. 
These last couple of weeks had taught him the difference between those two 
concepts. He had his keys in his hands before reaching his building's front 
door, ready for a quick entry if he needed one. He didn't; everything
looked peaceful.  He was trying to force himself to relax, to stand up
straight, to look forward, not at the ground.  He checked his mail: the 
usual, bill, bill, you've been pre-approved, you may already be a 
millionaire, occupant.  Well, not quite the usual: nothing from Jane. 
Nothing leaning against the front door, nothing in his mailbox.  That 
had to be a good sign. He hoped so.
He was thinking about Scully as he rode up the elevator to the fourth floor.
He didn't want to worry her, but he couldn't help but feel uneasy about
Jane's anger towards his partner.
He knew that misplaced blame and rage were usual in these types of cases.
Scully had been right that day in the car: a love obsessional personality
isn't capable of blaming the person upon whom he or she is fixated. Such 
a person has to find a someone other then the victim to blame when his or 
her feelings aren't reciprocated.

Maybe he should call her now, just to make sure she got home okay.  Just to
make himself feel better.
Opening the door to his apartment, he tossed his keys on the table while
turning on the small lamp.
He used his foot to close the door while going through the mail a second
time, tossing the junk into a waste paper basket underneath the table for 
shredding before it went into the recycling.
Taking off his overcoat, he hung it on the tree by the table. First he'd
call Scully; then he wanted a hot shower. Going to the desk on the other 
side of the room, he noticed that the light was not blinking on the stalker 
line. That's what he's taken to calling it now: The Stalker Line.
Again, he was not sure what to think of this turn of events.  He picked up
the phone to call Scully.
He dialed the cell number in case she was still in the car.

"Scully."

"Hey there. It's me, just checking that you made it home okay. How was the
drive?"

"Hey, Mulder. The usual, I'm fine. Everything is pretty quiet on my end;
what about yours?"

"So far so good. No letters on the door or in my mailbox. No messages on the
stalker line either.
Maybe the nut job finally got the hint, eh, Scully?"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't hold my breath. I never thought I'd say it, Mulder,
but it will be nice to get out of town for once.  I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. So am I. Okay, I'm going to jump in the shower
and then take off.
I'll talk to you later tonight, Scully. Keep me posted."

"You too."

Tossing the phone onto his couch, Mulder started loosening his tie.  Friday
was his favorite day of the entire weekend.  Scully thought he was nuts; she 
liked Sundays.  But he had his theory: Friday held the promise of the weekend 
- all of the possibilities lay before you. The work day seemed
shorter; people were in a good mood.  And every other Friday was payday,
which made it even better.
Saturday was nice, but you couldn't help but think about the fact that the
next day was Sunday.
And everyone knew that Sunday sucked.  No matter how many decades people
were free of the burden of getting up on Monday and going to school, the 
memory of spending an average of 12 to 16 years in school ruined Sundays 
for everyone for the rest of their lives.  No, Friday was the perfect day, 
and he was feeling better than he had in weeks; it was odd to think this 
little soap opera had only been going on for a few weeks, it seemed like 
a lifetime.

Naked now, Mulder grabbed a towel from the closet and headed for the bathroom.  
He stopped to pee before turning on the shower and adjusting the water temperature.  
He turned it as hot as he could stand; then after getting used to it, he turned 
it up just a little bit more.  Soaping his body, he could feel the tension starting 
to leave him.  He was already feeling less and less guilty about Jane.
Scully was right: it was ridiculous for him to think he could have influenced this 
in any way.
She was obviously mentally ill, and nothing he could have done would have
prevented her actions.
All he could hope for now was that she would turn her attentions on some
other poor sucker and leave him alone.  His body was a bright pink now, and the 
bathroom was filled with steam, little droplets forming on the ceiling above his 
head.  The ventilation was lousy in this bathroom, he thought absent-mindedly as
he turned off the water, pushed aside the curtain, and reached for his towel.

She's there.

She's standing inside the closed bathroom with her back to the door.  She's
standing stock still, looking him full in the face. He freezes.

"Hello, Fox."

Her voice is calm and even.  She seems perfectly composed, as if they are
old friends who meet every day in his bathroom.  Mulder realizes suddenly that he is
standing totally naked and dripping wet.  "May I get my towel, Jane?"
 
She smiles at him now; however the smile doesn't reach her eyes.  "Of course, 
Fox.  Never let it be said that I acted improperly."

Mulder slowly reaches over and picks up his towel from the bathroom counter.
Wrapping it around himself, he tucks it in tightly.  "Jane, may I ask what 
you're doing in my apartment?"
Mulder is trying to stall for time.  Her sudden appearance frightens him,
and he's still trying to recover his composure.

"I'm here to see you, of course."  Her expression does not change.
She is still calm, still relaxed, like a walk in the park.

"Jane, I'd like to step out of my bathtub now, okay?"  Mulder purposely
keeps calling Jane by her name, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Suddenly Jane pulls the gun out from behind her.  She points it at Mulder's
head and says, "Fox, why don't you do that."  Reaching behind her, Jane turns 
the doorknob and pulls the door open, never taking her eyes or the gun from 
Mulder's face.  She walks backwards towards the bed and Mulder
follows her, passing from the steamy bathroom into his bedroom, his bare
feet making little wet tracks on the wood floor.

"Jane, what are you doing?  Why do you have a gun?"

"I'm fulfilling my destiny, and yours.  I'm taking matters into my own hands
and out of your bitch partner's.  You betrayed me, Fox; you betrayed us.  You 
let her come between what we could have had.  You let her keep you from 
learning the truth about what we could have been for each other.
At first I bought the gun to kill her.  Then I decided to kill you instead."

Mulder's heart stops beating in his chest.  He begins to see little
pinpoints of light in his vision.
His heart resumes its rapid thump thump thump.  "Why do you want to kill me
Jane? I thought you loved me?"

The movement is so quick that he is taken completely by surprise. All he has
time for is disbelief that someone as small as the woman in front of him could 
be that fast.  Then the entire side of the gun, including the butt, hits him 
full in the side of the head.  He drops like a sack of flour; the pinpoints
of light turn to blotches of darkness that start to merge with each other.
Three seconds later he is unconscious.

===

She's waiting for him in his apartment.  Using her key, she lets herself in
and is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, waiting for his arrival.  Her 
purchase is in her backpack, its extra weight  somehow comforting.  After 
leaving the pawn shop, it is her intention to go after the redhead, to 
remove that obstacle in her path to happiness.  But then she starts thinking 
about her life, her past and her future.
She isn't happy; she hasn't been happy in a very long time.  If she really
thinks hard, she realizes that Fox is the only person to ever bring her joy 
in a life so pathetic that it hurt to contemplate it.
Her life has never brought her anything but misery.  It always had.  Her
father was a drunk who got more kicks from his daughter than from his wife.  
Her mother had been so grateful to avoid his attentions that she gladly let 
Jane take over such "impolite" practices, as she liked to put it.  Nothing 
about Jane was ever good enough for her mother.

High school had been a total nightmare, a revolving door of boys who could
never give her what she was looking for: love, security, hope.  They always 
told her how much they loved her until she gave in to their Impolite intentions.  
Then they couldn't be bothered. Consequently, the girls hated her guts.
In many ways, the girls were so much crueler than the boys.  They somehow
understood exactly what was required to lay waste to what fragile pieces of 
ego she had left.  The partner is like that.  She has the ability to look 
through her - to deny that she exists.  That's why Jane has decided to kill 
Fox instead of the partner, then herself.  What is the point, really?  There 
will always be another woman-- like the girls in high school, like the redhead, 
like her mother.

She will take what is hers; then she will take them both and go to a better
place.  She knows there must be a better place than this life, than this 
continual grind of one humiliation after another.  Well, that's going
to stop tonight -- she's going to stop it.  She's known from the first time
he looked at her that he'd seen her.
When he spoke to her she really existed.  For awhile she thought that meant
they could have it all, that they could build a life together, that he could 
build it for them.  But now she realizes that it's her who has
to be strong enough to build it for him.  For them.

So she waits.

She's lost track of how long she's been sitting on his floor by the bed.
She keeps changing positions, but her butt and legs are still numb with 
fatigue.  Finally, she hears it: his key in the lock.
Quickly she steps into the closet and closes the door.  She hears him
rustling around the living room for several minutes, then he starts to 
speak.  It frightens her at first; she thinks he has someone with him.
Then she realizes he's talking on the phone.  His voice is muffled, but she
hears the redhead's name - Scully.
He's talking to his partner.  Finally he hangs up and walks into the
bedroom.  Through the crack in the closet door she sees him start to 
strip out of his clothes -- first his tie, then his suit coat and belt.
He hops around on one foot as he jerks off one shoe, then the other.
Nonchalantly, he tosses item after item onto his bed.  Finally naked, 
he furiously scratches his head with both hands, leaving his hair
poking up at odd angles.  He walks out of her narrow field of vision and
goes into his bathroom.
She hears the door close, and after a couple of minutes the shower starts.
Slowly she emerges from the closet; unzipping her pack, she removes the gun.  
Tossing her bag on the floor, she advances on
the closed door.  She can hear him singing softly to himself; she doesn't
recognize the tune.
Slowly she turns the door knob and lets herself into the steamy room,
careful not to make any noise as she closes the door behind her and leans 
against it.  She's so excited to be here, this close to him, in such an 
intimate setting.  She's waited so long.  It's his bathroom; his scent hangs 
in the air like the steam swirling around her.  She's been in here before.  
He doesn't know that --yet.  She'll tell him tonight.
Tonight she tells him everything, everything he needs to know.

The water stops.  She braces herself; she's not sure what he'll do when he
sees her standing here.
The curtain brushes aside, and he reaches for his towel.  She shouldn't have
worried; he's so stunned to see her standing there that she doubts he's even 
capable of quick movement.

She's trying to concentrate on staying alert.  It's difficult with the
object of so much of her desire standing buck naked ten feet in front of her.  
He asks for his towel, and she lets him get it.  Then he  asks to step out 
of the tub.  He's looking at her funny now; she thinks he's capable of quick
movement now.  She lifts the gun straight in front of her and points it at
his head.
Here we go, she thinks; now I've got your attention, Fox.  She opens the
door and backs out, never taking her eyes or the gun from his face.  Even 
now she notices the beauty of his face: the flushed cheeks and green eyes.  
His mouth is red from the hot water to which he has subjected himself.

"Why do you want to kill me, Jane?  I thought you loved me."

Before she knows it, she's struck him.  Every ounce of strength she has is
in the blow.
How dare he use that mocking tone with her!  He is speaking to her like a
child who needs reasoning.
Doesn't he realize the trouble she's gone to, the danger she's put herself
in just to be near him, just to prove her worth to him?  She watches as he 
crumples to the floor.  His knee's buckle first; then one hand reaches out 
to stop his fall but can't.  Finally he's lying on his side, one arm twisted 
underneath him while the other hand touches where her blow landed.  He has 
blood on his hand, and she sees that his bottom lip has been cut open.  
She stares down at her handiwork, both aghast and thrilled at the
same time.  So this is what it feels like, she thinks to herself.  To be in
control, to be the master of her own destiny.

She should get busy.

===

Slowly Mulder becomes aware of his surroundings.  He has a fierce headache
and his lip feels swollen.
He is lying face down with his hands tied behind his back.  His feet are
tied as well.  At least he's dressed; that somehow seems positive.  He's 
in a t-shirt and a pair of his jogging shorts.
He even has socks on his feet.  He senses Jane nearby; turning his head he
sees her lying on her side on his bed, watching him.

"Fox, I'm sorry I had to hit you like that.  And I'm sorry you have to be
tied up now.  It's not how I wanted this to turn out, but we don't always 
get what we want, do we?"

He doesn't say anything.  He has no idea what his reply should be, anyway,
so he figures it's best to stay quiet.

"Are you cold, Fox?"  Jane's getting up off the bed now.  She leaves the gun
on his nightstand.
"Let me get you a blanket."  She grabs the blanket crumpled at the end of
his bad and lays it over him.

"Thank you,"  is all he says.  Again, he is at a loss for what else to say.

She takes the pillows off the bed and comes to sit next to him on the floor.
Putting one pillow on the ground, she settles herself down on it.

"Roll over."

As he rolls onto his side, she settles the other pillow under his head and
readjusts the blanket over him.  He doesn't say thank you this time, just 
stays silent.

"Don't you have anything you want to say to me, Fox?  It's been a long time
since we've talked."

"You're right, it has."  Mulder's voice sounds odd to his ears -- distant,
somehow not his own.
He needs to pull it together and quickly.  He forces himself to shake out of
this stupor.
He needs to concentrate on this woman before him.  He looks at her again,
closely this time, concentrating on what clues her appearance might give him 
as to how he's going to get out of this mess.

She's small -- Scully's size -- with short brown hair which sort of hangs in
her eyes a little.
She has on round, wire-rimmed glasses.  She's wearing a white button up
shirt with a pair of jeans.
Her tennis shoes are beaten-up looking, as if she walks a lot.  Seeing him
looking at her, she nervously pats her hair and touches her top shirt button.

"What are you looking at?" Jane wants to know.

"I'm looking at you, Jane."  Mulder replies, keeping his voice low.

"You didn't answer my question, Fox."

"Right.  Ok, well, the last time I asked you a question you hit me, so
forgive me if I'm a little hesitant to ask you another one."

Jane turns bright pink at this statement and looks down at her hands.  "I
said I was sorry for that. It's just...you made me angry..."  she trails off.

"Uh huh.  Do you think next time you could just tell me I am making you
angry and I'll stop?
That way we could avoid any more hitting?"  Jane stays silent.  "Jane, can I
sit up?  This floor is very hard, and my arm is starting to fall asleep."

She looks a little confused momentarily, caught between caution and
sympathy. The latter wins out.  "Sure, I'm sorry, Fox.  It's just that we 
have some things to talk about and I know now, after today, that you aren't 
ready to stay here with me on your own.

"It's okay, Jane.  I don't mind the ties; they don't hurt.  It's just that
the floor is hard."  Mulder's trying to keep the subject off of this morning.  
He's pretty sure that talking about the restraining order will make her angry 
again.  Struggling to sit up, Mulder finally manages it.  His knee's are
bent in front of him, and his hands are still behind him.  This isn't any
more comfortable, that's for sure.
"Maybe I could sit in a chair or something, Jane?"

"Sure.  Hold on, I'll get one."  She goes into the other room and brings
back a kitchen chair.
Setting it down in the middle of the bedroom, she walks over to the night
stand and takes the gun.
Turning on him, she points it at him one more time.  "Fox, I want you to try
and get up on your own now, okay? You should be able to hop over to the chair 
and have a seat. Don't try anything stupid.
I have every intention of using this gun tonight, but I don't want to have
to do it now."

Mulder doesn't like the sound of that last part.  What does she mean, she
has every intention of using the gun tonight?  "What do you mean by that, Jane?"

"Get in the chair, Fox."

Mulder tries to spread his feet a little bit, but it's hard when they are
bound at the ankles.
Slowly he manages to lean forward and stand up straight.  After a few hops,
he lowers himself gratefully onto the chair.  Jane walks over and sits on the 
edge of the bed; putting the gun on the comforter beside her, she pulls her 
legs up to sit Indian style in front of him.

"How did you get in here, Jane?"  That seems as good a question as any.

She looks at him slyly for a moment, a small smile on her lips.  "The spare
keys under the left wheel well of the front of your car.  You kept them 
underneath by the trunk on your old car.
I figured you might do the same thing again on your new one, so I felt
around under it until I found them."
She looks proud of herself at this admission on her part.

"You've been in here before?"  Mulder can't keep the horror out of his
voice, even though he tries.

"Yes."  No more coy looks this time.  She looks almost defiant. "Of course I
have.  You really think I'm some sort of idiot, don't you?  I've been in this 
apartment several times, as a matter of fact.
I've even taken a bath in your tub!  What do you think of that, Mr. FBI
Man?"

Mulder feels sick.  She's been in his place, through his things.  How could
he have been so stupid?
How could he not have noticed something as disturbing as that?  He notices
when Scully gets a new pair of shoes, but he can't see when someone else has 
taken a bath in his own tub.  Shit!
He suddenly doesn't feel like bullshitting around this anymore.  He wants
answers -- now.
"Jane - why are you doing this?  What is it you want from me?"  His voice
comes out harsher than he intends but he's beyond caring at this moment.  
He's angry.

She looks momentarily taken aback at this sudden shift in the conversation.
"Good.
You're right, we should just get this out in the open right now.  I hated
sneaking around all the time.
If you would have only let me talk to you from the beginning, we could have
avoided all of this.
All I ever wanted was for you to realize what I feel for you.  Don't you
understand what we could have, the type of love that we share?  I love you, Fox.  
I have loved you for so long now, longer than you could possibly know.  I love
you, Fox."

Silence.

"Fox, I love you."

"Jane, I don't know what to say to that."

"Tell me that you love me, Fox."

"I can't do that, Jane."

"Why not?"  Jane's face is intense, all her energy focused on Mulder.

"Because I don't love you.  I don't even know you; how could I possibly love
you? Jane, I don't want to hurt you -- that's never been my intention -- but 
I do not love you."

"You could if you knew me better.  We're so perfect for each other.  We
could make each other so happy, I know we could."  Jane's voice is shaking now, 
and her eyes are filling with tears.
"Fox, you don't know what kind of a life I've led.  I've been so alone, just
like you.  I know you're lonely; I've watched you.  Don't try and deny how 
lonely you are.  I could help you with that.
We could both not be alone anymore."  Tears are streaming down her face now;
she doesn't seem to notice them.

Mulder is feeling sicker by the moment.  How long has she been following
him...weeks?
Months?  Years?  The idea of her watching him for years is almost more than
he can stand.
His stomach is in knots now.  "Jane..."

Riiiinnnnng.

It's Mulder's cell phone.  The sound of it makes them both jump.  Jane grabs
her gun and stands quickly.  Mulder knows exactly who it is.  Scully.

"Jane, it's my partner.  She knows that I'm supposed to be home all night.
If I don't answer my phone, she'll get worried."  He concentrates on making 
his voice sound nonchalant.
No big deal that the person he most wishes to speak with at this moment is
ringing his phone.

"Jane?"

Riiinnnnng.

The sound is coming from the cell phone in his jacket.  She fishes it out of
his pocket and holds it in her hands as if it's going to explode.  Turning 
towards him, she levels the gun at his head.
She's stopped crying; her eyes are dead looking, the pupils dilated.  "Fox,
I'm going to hand you this phone, and if you say even one word that sounds 
fishy, I'm going to put a bullet in your brain.  Do you understand me?"

Riiinnnnng.

His mouth is totally dry; his tongue has turned to sand paper.
"Yes, yes, I understand you."  She flips open the cell and puts it to the
side of his head.
She pushes the barrel tip of the gun so hard into the other side of his head
that it brings tears to his eyes.  "Mulder."

"Hey, Mulder, it's me.  I was just thinking, if you're going out to a bar
tonight, do you feel like company?"
Scully's voice sounds a little hesitant, as if she is unsure of herself.

"Hey, Dana.  No, I don't think I'm up to going out tonight.  Thanks for the
offer, though." Mulder is desperate to keep his voice normal sounding while 
still trying to convey that he is in trouble to Scully.
Please Scully, come on, come on, come on.   He is desperate.

"Is she there, Mulder?"  Scully whispers into the phone.

"Ok, Dana.  I'll see you at the airport Monday.  Good night."  Jane pulls
the phone back from his ear and snaps it shut.  She stares at him for 
several seconds.  He hopes he isn't sweating.

"So she was calling to invite herself out with you again, was she?"  Jane
makes a little puffing sound with her mouth and rolls her eyes. "I swear 
to God, doesn't she ever get the hint?"

Mulder tries twisting his mouth into a smile -- any kind of smile would do.
He is feeling closer and closer to the end of his rope.  He has to convince 
this girl that she needs to let him go, needs to at least untie him.   
Once Scully gets here, the entire situation is going to get much more 
complicated.

Jane tosses the phone onto his bed, then walks back to stand in front of
him.  Looking down at him, her face is hard, like it was on that day in 
front of the bank. Something is wrong; he is getting one of his bad 
feelings again.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so low Mulder can hardly hear it.
"You never call her Dana."
It takes a few seconds for Mulder's brain to process what she said; by that
time it is too late.

===

Scully slammed the phone down and tore off her bathrobe.  She wasn't dressed
to go out with Mulder, but she had called anyway.  It had been a spur of the 
minute decision.  She'd thank God for it at a later time.  After throwing a 
pair of jeans on with a t-shirt and tennis shoes, she was out the
door with her gun in less than five minutes.  Flinging herself through the
front door of her building, she sprinted to her car.  She was there.  Jane 
was in Mulder's apartment.  Shit shit shit shit.  What had she been thinking, 
just letting him go home by himself?!  Of course Jane wasn't going to obey 
the search warrant; stalkers never obey search warrants.  Scully's mind was 
racing as she punched her way through traffic.  Should she call for backup?

Yeah, that's just what she needed, a bunch of DCPD squad cars screaming up
in front of Mulder's place.  Jane must have a weapon; she's much too small 
to make Mulder do anything he doesn't want to do without a weapon.  Shit 
shit shit.  The traffic was going to give her a heart attack.
Slamming the brakes, she narrowly missed hitting some mini van whose driver
was more intent on the kids in the backseat than on the speed limit.   This 
was insane.  Every minute Scully spent weaving in and out of traffic took a 
year off of her life. She was bathed in sweat by the time she forced
her car to slow down and turn into the alley behind his building.  Turning
off the headlights, she parked a little way away and got out of the car.

How should she do this?  Knock on his door?  Just open it with her key?  She
decided on the latter approach -- take them by surprise.  She didn't think 
Jane would want to hurt Mulder, at least not unless she felt she had to.  
Small consolation, but Scully would take what she could get at the moment.

Quietly slipping down the front of the sidewalk, staying as close to the
building as she can, Scully let herself in the front door with her key.  
Once in the elevator, she pressed herself onto the side wall so
she could peek her head around the opened elevator doors once she was on the
fourth floor.
Seeing no one in the hallway, she quietly made her way down to number 42.
Being careful to keep her body from in front of the door, she stood against
the wall and stared at the door lock.  Breathe Dana.  Just breathe. She stood 
there a few seconds with her gun in her hand, concentrating on deep even 
breaths, lowering her heart rate. 1....2....3 - she slipped the key
into the lock as softly as she could.  Knowing there was no way she could
turn the lock without making
any noise, she decided to do it quickly.  In a heartbeat she had the door
unlocked and she'd thrown it open.
Going down on one knee, she kept her head low and her gun arm straight in
front of her.
She scanned with her eyes and hands from left to right.

Nothing.

Just a light on by the door where she was crouching and one on by the couch.
It looked as if there was one on in the bedroom as well.  Standing up, she
quickly stuck her head inside the doorway and looked back and forth.  Nobody.  
Keeping her gun straight in front of her, she swept the foyer and stuck her 
head into the kitchen. Still no one. She quietly went back to the entrance 
of the living room and moved towards the bedroom's open door.

Shit.

Mulder is sitting in a chair with a gag in his mouth.  His eyes are wide and
staring at her. 
She sees that his feet are bound and his hands are tied behind the back of
the chair.
He has on shorts and a t-shirt.  The front of his shirt is streaked in blood
from his nose and mouth.
His hair is damp, and he looks frightened.  Jane is standing next to him
with a gun pointed at his head.
She does not look frightened.

"Hello, Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI.  We keep running into each
other, don't we?"

Jane's voice is high and sounds strained.  Scully keeps her gun trained on
the woman.

"Mulder, are you all right?"  She steals a glance at him while keeping her
gun on Jane.

He mumbles incoherently through his gag but nods his head yes.

"Jane, put the gun down.  There's no way out of this now.  I'm not going
anywhere without Mulder."

"That's funny; I was thinking the same thing myself when I came here
tonight."
She looks down at Mulder.  Keeping one hand on the trigger, she takes the
other and lightly touches his hair with her fingertips.  Mulder groans.  
"Put the gun down, Agent,  or I swear to God I'll shoot him right through 
those beautiful green eyes he has."  Jane cocks her gun.

Mulder stomps his feet in frustration and makes another muffled sound
through his gag.
Scully, don't put that gun down, please, please, please.  She's going to
kill us all. Please, Scully, just shoot her; shoot her now!

Mulder is screaming at her with his eyes.  They are sparkling with
frustration and anger.
She knows what he's trying to tell her; she understands what Jane intends to
do.

"Jane, please, can't we just talk about this?  It doesn't have to end this
way.  Nobody wants this to end this way.  We know that you never wanted to 
hurt anyone. Really, we understand that."
Scully tries to keep the pleading sound from her voice.

"You keep saying 'we'...like you give a shit about anything that happens to
me." Jane snorts loudly at that.  "But it's your fault that it's come to this.  
You won't let him alone.
He never had a chance to know me, to let our love end this lonely existence,
for the both of us.
This is all your fault, you stupid bitch."  Jane's voice is getting
shriller, her face more flushed and out of control.

Mulder turns his head to face Jane, trying to plead with his eyes.  If she
loves him so goddammed much, maybe she'll listen to him.
He'll just tell her he loves her. Just get them out of this murderous
triangle.

Jane sees Mulder staring at her, and she touches his face where she hit him,
caressing it softly.
Slowly she pulls down his gag so she can hear his voice.

"Jane." Mulder's voice is rough; his lips feel thick and his tongue is dry.
"Jane, please.
You don't want this to happen; how will we know what our future might be if
you do this?
What good does this do you and me?"

"Fox, we don't have to end it like this.  You and I could walk out of here
tonight.
There's nothing I would rather have in the entire world than for you and I
to walk out of this mess and go somewhere else.  We could leave her behind.  
She doesn't love you; she doesn't love you like I love you.  You know that, 
don't you?"  Jane waves her gun in Scully's direction and then back at him.

"Yes, Jane.  I know that."  Mulder's voice is calm now, his eyes only on
this madwoman in his bedroom.
"I know that she doesn't love me, Jane, not like you love me.  She can't."
Mulder knows that Jane will never understand what he's really saying to her.  
She isn't capable of understanding the difference between love and obsession.  
He hardly understands himself, this thing between Scully and him, but
he knows it's nothing like the desperation standing in front of him.

Jane turns to Scully now, her eyes bright with fury. "Do you love Fox?"

Scully is momentarily stunned by the question.  Her eyes dart from Mulder
back to Jane and then back to Mulder again.  His eyes remain unmoved from Jane.

"Jane.." Mulder interrupts the question, trying to get Jane to focus on him
and not on Scully.
"Jane, what does any of that matter? This is about you and me, not Agent
Scully. She doesn't have anything to do with this; this is just you and me."
His voice is coaxing now, trying vainly to sound warm and not desperate.

Slowly Jane turns her head back to look at Mulder. Her face loses a bit of
its frantic air as she stares at him intently. She takes a step back, still 
pointing her gun at him, arm fully extended.
"I can't believe it." Her whisper sounds loud in the quiet room. "You love
her, don't you?"
No more high rage in her voice, no more desperate need, just disbelief.
"Oh, Fox, you love her.  Tell me the truth."  Jane's eyes are filling up
with tears.
"All this time I thought you could love me, and you've been loving her..."
All the emotion seems to evaporate from Jane's body.  She practically
deflates before his eyes.
Somehow she keeps the gun pointed at him, but her arm is starting to shake.

===

She can see it in his eyes.  It's all there, in those beautiful eyes of his.
He's trying desperately not to let her see, but it's too late.  She sees what 
she should have seen ages ago.
He loves her.  He loves the red headed woman standing on the other side of
the room with her gun pointing at Jane's head.  How could this have happened?  
She feels her eyes starting to fill with tears; she knows she's about to break 
down and start sobbing. This is so unfair.
Her life is so unfair.  She could have made him happy; she knows she could
have.
There's only one thing left now -- she can't take him with her any more.
Not if he doesn't love her; that would be so unfair to him.
And she loves him, even if he doesn't love her.

===

Mulder watches in horror as Jane takes her gun and points it at her own
head.
It's over in a second.  He screams at her to stop, but he's too late, too
late to end her pain, too late to make her see the futility of loving him.  
He throws himself from his chair, trying desperately to get loose from the 
bindings, to get away from this horror show.  He can hear Scully now, her voice
in his still ringing ears.  She's loosening the ties around his hands and
feet, trying to calm him down by giving him his freedom.

"Mulder stop.  Stop, Mulder.  Hold on, please.  I've got you now."  She's on
the floor with him, trying to pull him away from the nightmare on his bedroom 
floor.  He's grabbed her now and won't let go.

"Oh, no, Scully.  How did this happen?!"  He starts to sob now, holding onto
her with an iron grip. She holds him tightly and lets him cry.

===

"Scully, do you think Agent Childers was right?"

Mulder was lying in the latest of a long line of hospital beds, curled up on
his side, while his partner stood next to him, his hand in hers.  He was fine; 
he just had a nasty bruise on the side of his face and a gash in his lower lip.  
He was very much in shock when they arrived by ambulance several hours earlier.  
He was still exhausted enough that it was felt by everyone concerned that he
would be better off staying overnight for observation.  'Everyone concerned'
consisted mostly of Scully.
She told the doctor on duty that she was Mulder's personal physician and
that she wanted him to stay overnight.  Case closed.

"What do you mean, Mulder?  What about Agent Childers?" She spoke softly,
smoothing his hair with her free hand.  She was waiting for the sedative to 
take effect so he could get some sleep.
Another request from his personal physician.

"He said that only 'psychos' wanted to play with me.
He was just being stupid, but in a way, he's right, I think.  I'm only fit
for twisted souls. It's like I'm some huge loser magnet."

"Oh Mulder, don't say that.  You know that's not true."

Mulder thought back on the people in his life, the people he had touched
along the way, or who had touched him.  Samantha, a sister he devoted his 
life to but couldn't save in the end.
His father, who seemed to love and despise him in equal amounts.  A mother
who loved him but could never talk to him.  Phoebe and Diana, both liars 
who only used him for their own personal gains.
All those cases in the VCU.  Spooky Mulder, somehow eerily connected with
life's losers. Now Jane.
They were all there, floating past his mind's eye, every pathetic one of
them.

"I'm not twisted, Mulder, and I care about you, right?"

He nodded his head a little.

"It's true, you have had more than your fair sure of people whom you didn't
deserve, who didn't deserve how much you cared for them.  But that's the 
important part, don't you think? That you never  gave in halves."

She had all of his concentration now, forcing him to concentrate on her and
not on the numbness that was beginning to start in his feet.

"I'm here, Mulder, and even though I'm not sure I understand it, there's a
chance I've always been here with you, isn't there?"

He remembered that case.  That was so long ago.  But she was right.
He's surprised she remembered that.  Then again, he was not surprised at
all.  "Yes...yes, that's true."

"I'd like to think I'm pretty sane, and you know that I would never hurt
you, right?"

"I know that, Scully.

"Then why don't you forget anything that idiot Childers said and concentrate
on going to sleep now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Good night, Scully."

"Good night, Mulder."


---THE END---