Shred of Doubt (7/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and
Vickie Moseley 

8: 17 a.m.

Detective Kresge's car 

"My brother said something happened last night? Something that you *didn't* call me about?" 

Scully had waited until they were in Kresge's car before she asked the question, and she regretted every second she'd delayed. The detective had interpreted her polite-only-because-my-mother-is-present smile as I'm-thrilled-to-see-you, and had behaved as though they were a couple instead of merely colleagues. 

Although initially surprised by Bill's apparent approval of Detective Kresge as a work (and God only knew what else) partner, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. They were two peas in a pod. Both were chauvinistic males who believed a woman required the protection of a man in order to survive. Both kept things from her that they thought might upset her because she was of 'the weaker sex.' 

Then Bill had informed her that something had happened last night with the case, but that Kresge had allowed her to sleep because she'd looked tired. The nerve of him to make that decision for her! And her brother had concurred. Naturally. 

A good night's sleep had done nothing to improve her disposition. In fact, Kresge's insult had only succeeded in increasing her foul mood. Still smarting from Mulder's rejection of her, waking up to this latest affront was the icing on the cake. She'd hoped a cup of coffee and some of her mother's pancakes would put her in a more understanding frame of mind, but Kresge's presence had pre-empted that plan. 

She did feel a little apprehensive about not checking on Mulder before she left, but with Detective Goody Two-Shoes breathing down her neck, she'd had to forego that indulgence. Besides, she needed to find out just what had happened last night that brought the detective to her doorstep. Didn't the man know how to use a phone? And now she had to ride with him instead of taking the rental gathering dust in her brother's driveway. 

She glared at Kresge, making only a meager attempt at hiding the resentment she felt. "Well?" she ground out when he wasn't immediately forthcoming with the answer to her question. 

A few storm clouds passed over Detective Ray of Sunshine's face. "We found another body last night." 

She stared at him in disbelief. "You should have called me," she said, so angry she wanted to beat some sense into him, if that was even possible. She sighed, resigned to the fact that that action wouldn't be feasible. Kresge would lose control of the car, and then she'd be injured, too. Still, it was a nice thought. And probably the only thing keeping her from following through on it. 

God! She couldn't wait until Mulder was back in fighting form. Even at the very beginning of their partnership, he never once excluded her because of her gender. Because he was a sneaky, underhanded bastard, yes, but there was never any hint of discrimination. Mulder was an equal opportunity jackass: he offended everyone. 

Again she was stuck with a twinge of uneasiness at having left without so much as a glance at her partner. It wasn’t so much his physical health she worried about -- she had no qualms about the level of care he would receive from her mother. It was more his state of mind that bothered her. 

The man had been through a traumatic event – the loss of his eyesight, however temporary, was a drastic blow for her very private and self-sufficient partner. Though she’d browbeaten him into staying at Bill’s as the only feasible alternative to a nursing facility, she knew she’d basically delivered him into the lions’ den and then abandoned him because he didn’t want to anger the head lion. 

She knew that Bill’s bark was worse than his bite, but Mulder didn’t. While she’d had years to inure herself to Bill’s bullying nature, Mulder had experienced it only a couple of times, and always under adverse conditions. He’d yet to see her brother as anything but loud, rude, and insulting. Bill had a softer side -- Tara and Matty were proof of that -- that she’d seen many times.  

For some reason, though, Bill despised Mulder. Before he’d even met Mulder, Bill had felt nothing but contempt for him. She had to admit that Mulder’s quest for alien life and his tendency to follow any lead, without regard for his or her safety, hadn’t done anything to endear him to her brother. 

Yet it had been years since he’d gone off half-cocked and, if anything, his actions had saved her more than they’d endangered her. Bill, though, couldn’t see past his earlier impression of her partner, and he resented the hell out of her having forced Mulder into his and his family’s lives -- and their house. 

God, what had she done? She’d brought Mulder into a hostile environment, sick and helpless, then left him there to fend for himself. He’d tried to do the right thing, and she’d punished him for it. What must he be thinking? 

She was afraid she knew. By now, he’d convinced himself that she’d all but washed her hands of him, brought about in no small way by her behavior at the dinner table. When he’d given up trying to eat rather than make a spectacle of himself any more than he already had, she never once offered to help him. Even her brother had thrown one or two looks her way. 

Mulder had spent the remainder of the meal with his head bowed, for all intents and purposes hiding from a situation into which she’d thrust him. To top it off, once she’d finished her dinner, she’d left him to find his own way alone and in the dark, in a strange house. 

Screw Kresge. Screw the body. She needed to see Mulder. Now. 

“Detective Kresge.” “Dana.” Both spoke at the same time. She looked up at him. 

“We’re here,” he said, 

“Here? Where?” All she saw was a parking lot. 

“The morgue. They’re holding the body for you.” 

She sighed. Duty called. Her personal life would have to be put on hold yet again. She worried, though, that what would be a slight delay for her might seem an eternity to Mulder. 

*** 

Maggie had been sitting in the dining room, drinking her coffee and reading the morning paper when the detective arrived. She'd heard Bill answer the door and knew she'd taught him enough manners that he would invite the man in. She just hoped they would keep their voices down. Bill's new house was definitely a step or two up from base housing, but Maggie had noticed that the walls were paper-thin and the only thing standing between the kitchen and the den was one thin wall. 

After she'd read through the front section and the weather, she got up to freshen her cup. As she approached the kitchen door, she heard them, Bill and that detective -- Woolworth? No, that wasn't it. It was a department store. Ward? No, Kresge! That was it. She'd met him the year Matty was born when Dana found Emily. Maggie shook her head. Kresge. Maybe she should start taking that gingko supplement her neighbor was always raving about. 

But snatches of the men's conversation, which was hardly lowered, started coming out to her in the dining room. Bill was spouting his usual rant about Dana wasting her time at the FBI. If he brought up the pediatrician thing again -- sure enough, he did. At least he'd learned after the last dust up at Thanksgiving to not mention that one around Dana. Maggie still wasn't sure the broken wine bottle was entirely accidental that day, and apparently, neither did Bill.  

But Maggie found herself far more interested in what the young detective was saying. 'Afraid she'll get hurt', 'keep her out of harm's way' -- '_play_ with the big boys'? Oh brother, if Dana heard him talk that way -- they might never find the body! Maggie chuckled to herself for a moment.  

Bill was coming out of the kitchen door, headed for the stairs. "Bill, could you two please keep your voices down," Maggie admonished. "Fox is still sleeping." 

"Oh, Mom, he's in the den! For cripes sake, I'm not going to tiptoe around my own house just because lover boy -- " 

"William Scully Jr, what have I told you?" Maggie growled, using a voice she hadn't used on her children in at least a decade. She didn't think she would have to use it when they were out of the teenage years. 

"Look, go make nice to Detective Kresge, Mom. He's our guest, too and the guy's been at work all night. I gotta go wake Dana." 

Maggie sighed and pushed the swinging door open into the kitchen. Detective Kresge was a nice enough man, but he was a little chauvinistic for Maggie's taste. He was sipping coffee and staring out the window. Maggie cleared her throat. "Good morning," she whispered. 

"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Scully," Kresge said. Maggie noticed that he'd lowered his tone. "I'm sorry, I should have thought -- is the baby sleeping?" 

Maggie's eyebrow shot up. "Probably," she said with a nod. "At least I hope so," she added.  

Bill came back down. "She's coming. She's not happy but she's coming," he bellowed, in contrast to the tone she'd taken.  

"I guess it is a little early," Detective Kresge said contritely. 

"Nah," Bill replied, loudly again. "She went to bed early. She's probably just grumpy because her boyfr -- " 

Maggie almost dropped her cup of coffee. "Bill! You mind your own business!"  

Bill gave a shrug, and Maggie wanted nothing more than to reach into the kitchen drawer and find a long handled wooden spoon, police detective witness or not. But everyone heard Dana's footsteps as she came stomping down the stairs, collected the detective and left the kitchen. Maggie caught Bill's sleeve and pulled him down a little to her height. "We will talk about this more, later, young man," she seethed. 

"Yeah, Mom, but right now I have to go shower and shave so I can run off and defend the country," Bill shot back, a little too haughty for Maggie's tastes. 

Maggie sighed heavily and poured the now cooled cup of coffee into the sink, rinsing the cup. Well, if Fox hadn't been awake already, she was sure he was after that last donnybrook. She toasted some bread, quickly fried up an egg -- hadn't Dana told her once that he liked his eggs runny, something Maggie could never understand. She thought about tossing in a few pieces of microwave sausage, but decided against it. She substituted the sausage for some of the cantaloupe that she and Tara had purchased at the outdoor market. When she had the food ready and on the table, she went to the den. 

He wasn't asleep, she could tell by his breathing. He was stewing. At least that's how she always thought of the moody, worried posturing that her own Bill had fallen prey to so many times in their marriage. She wondered if she could ever reveal to Dana how much alike they really were -- Bill Scully Sr. and Fox Mulder. Carrying the world on their shoulders was not just a job; they had both raised it to the level of art form. There were so many parts to her father than Dana never knew. Part of the reason she had such good memories was that only Maggie had ever been allowed to see the tortured man she'd married. But the man before her had a breakfast growing cold on the kitchen table. 

"Fox, Fox, are you awake, dear? Breakfast is ready." 

She heard him sniff, and wanted nothing more than to leave and give him a little more privacy. But he needed to eat before he could take his medicine.  

"I'm not really that hungry, Mrs. Scully," he said after a moment of thought. "I'm really tired." 

"I know dear, but come eat a little something. I made eggs and toast. And I know you want coffee," she teased. She'd seen for herself how Fox was as much a coffeehound as her daughter. "It's fresh. And it's regular -- not decaf. I won't tell Dana. It can be our secret." 

He chuckled at that. "You know how to get to a guy, Mrs. Scully." He slowly pulled himself to a sitting position and Maggie was beside him in an instant.  

"Here, let me help you to the table. I don't want you to fall." 

"I really hate this," he admitted, and Maggie could see his male ego was being battered and bruised. He must have heard Bill and that detective. But he couldn't have taken it to heart -- could he? Surely he knew how much that sort of talk would infuriate her daughter. 

"I made the eggs sunnyside, I hope that's all right." 

"That's perfect," Fox said, settling down in his seat.

"OK, let's do it the way Grandma taught me," Maggie said, putting the fork in Fox's right hand. "The plate is a clock face. At twelve o'clock is your toast, I buttered it but you taste it to see if it's enough. At six o'clock are your eggs and over at about nine o'clock are some chunks of cantaloupe that is just wonderful. You do like cantaloupe, don't you, Fox?" 

"Well, I don't usually eat it for breakfast, but yeah, it's OK," he said hesitantly.  

"Oh, and your coffee is at two o'clock, just above your knife," Maggie concluded the tour. "I remember you like your coffee black, correct? Let me know if you need some help with anything." 

"Pepper?" Fox asked timidly. 

"Do you want me to put it on for you?" Maggie asked. 

"I guess you'll have to. I like just a little. Enough to see that it's there but not covering the eggs completely." 

Maggie shook the condiment as directed. "Give those a try and let me know if it's enough," she advised. 

He used his toast to help guide some of the eggs onto his fork, scooping them quickly into his mouth. He smiled at her. "Perfect. Thanks." Without any assistance, he managed to clean his plate. "That cantaloupe was good," he assured her. "I guess being in California does have some advantages. The stuff we have at the stores in DC just tastes flat." 

"I know what you mean. I'll let you in on a little secret. I love seeing my grandson, but the real reason I love coming to San Diego is the fresh produce," she said conspiratorially to him as she picked up his finished plate. "Would you like water for your pills?" 

"Yes, please," he responded. 

"Your voice is sounding better today, Fox," Maggie commented as she filled a glass with tap water and counted out his medication. "We were so worried about you when you came home from North Carolina." 

"I know, um, I'm sorry about that," he said quietly. 

"Sorry? What on earth do you have to be sorry about? You didn't 'invite' the beetles into your lungs, did you?" 

"Well, no, not exactly. But I'm sorry you were worried about me. You have enough to worry about without adding me to the burden." 

"Fox, worry is sometimes the only thing a mother can do," she said casually. "Well, and pray. And I find myself pretty good at handling both."  

Fox silently accepted his pills and washed them back. "I'd really like to go back to bed now, if that's OK," he asked. 

Maggie sighed. "Of course, dear." She helped him back to the den and settled him on the sleeper sofa. "The bell is right here. Maybe when you wake up the rain will have stopped and we can sit out in the backyard for a bit." 

"Mrs. Scully, you don't have to entertain me. I'll be fine," Fox assured her. 

"Oh, Fox, I'm not entertaining you," she said with a smile. "I just thought you'd like to get some sun, that's all." 

"I'll see how I feel when I wake up," he said thoughtfully. 

As Maggie watched him turn over and pull up the covers to nearly bury himself in them, she shook her head. Something was wrong between her daughter and her partner, and Maggie was at a loss as to how to fix it.  

** 

San Diego Police Department

12:47 p.m. 

The autopsy had yielded nothing they hadn't learned before -- except that the victim's hand bore the Palace's stamp, dark and clear. She had been there that night. 

Once Scully saw the marking, she had lit into Kresge but good. Apparently, he hadn't made the connection that their victim, 22-year-old Andrea Warren, had been at the club just hours before her death. 

"Dodds," the detective breathed, excitedly, not even acknowledging that he'd screwed up. "He's hiding in the club." 

Scully scowled. "And, what, she took him to her apartment so he could kill her there?" 

"Why not?" he said, grinning inanely. 

"Detective, you said yourself that Dodds was no looker. Do you seriously believe this woman…" She threw a photo of the very pretty raven-haired woman down on his desk so he could see it. "…would take a person of Dodds's looks, not to mention his less than personable character, back to her apartment?" 

"Well…" He studied the picture, then shrugged. "But he's the killer. It has to be him." 

She shook her head. "He's a killer, all right, but not her killer." 

"What do you -- " Kresge's look of puzzlement changed to a scowl. "You're not talking about that guy -- " 

"Kocin," Scully supplied. 

"Right. That guy your partner followed. The one who threw that stuff in his face?" 

"Yes, I am," Scully said calmly. "Mulder thinks he's the serial killer, and I can find no reason to disagree with him." 

"How about the fact that he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about? How about the fact that I've been in Homicide for over six years while he… he investigates aliens, for God's sake! How about the fact that he wasn't even supposed to be on this case?" Kresge ranted. 

"That may be," Scully said, starting to get hot under the collar, "but it doesn't discount the fact that he's probably right. And while you may have been in Homicide for six years, your focus wasn't the serial killer. Mulder's was. He was an FBI profiler for three years, and he was very good at what he did." 

"Be that as it may, that doesn't mean he's right in this instance." 

"I believe it does." 

"Well, I disagree. Dodds is our man." 

Scully was growing weary of beating this particular dead horse. "Fine. You go after Dodds, I'll concentrate on Kocin." 

The detective looked devastated. "What about my leads on Dodds?" 

"Do you have any?" 

He frowned. "Not at the moment. But I have feelers out. I'm sure something will turn up soon." 

"If it does, and you want my assistance…" She gave him a hard look. "My assistance, John. Not my standing around watching you. If you want my assistance and I'm free, I'll accompany you." 

He seemed about to say something, then pursed his lips in distaste. "Fine." 

Not really expecting him to reciprocate should she come up with some solid evidence on Kocin, she had nonetheless half-heartedly hoped he would. She'd need back-up, but she wasn't sure she could count on Kresge. When it came right down to it, the only one she wanted to back her up was Mulder. But unless they were still out here in a couple of weeks, that wasn't likely to happen. 

All of a sudden, she was missing her partner so much that she turned on her heel and started for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Kresge called after her. 

"To work on Mulder's profile," she threw over her shoulder as she continued on her way. 

"Wait!" She heard Kresge trying to catch up to her. 

As much as it pained her, good manners took over and she stopped. Letting her annoyance show, she glared at him. "Yes?" she asked with as much patience as she could muster. 

"Um, what about lunch?" 

"What about it?" 

The smile she had admired upon first meeting him only irritated her as he gave it to her now. "I thought we could go to that Italian restaurant you liked." 

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no. My mother made lunch for me. I promised I'd be there." She made a show of looking at her watch. "I'm already fifteen minutes late." It wasn't an outright lie; she had a standing invitation to join her mom for lunch whenever she could. It was only in the timing that she'd been a tad creative. 

"Oh." He looked disappointed, like he wanted an invitation to join her. Huh. Fat chance of that. After all, this was as much about escaping from Kresge as it was a craving to see her partner. More, as the hang-dog expression on the detective's face deepened. If he was trying for irresistible, he'd missed the mark by more than a mile. It made her want to flee all the more. 

"Well…" Another pointed glance at her wrist. "Gotta go." 

Not caring that she wasn't her usual considerate-to-the-point-of-pain self, she resumed her trek out of the squad room. 

Remembering only as she exited onto a rain-swept street that her rental was sitting at Bill's, she kept walking just the same. Any second now, it would dawn on the detective that she was on foot, and he would come charging to her rescue -- something she would not allow to happen. 

She quick-stepped two blocks before she felt safe enough to duck into a restaurant doorway and pull out her cell phone. Since for some reason the area surrounding the SDPD seemed to be a cab-free zone, she called her mother for a ride. 

Her mom sounded relieved and worried to hear from her, and even more relieved to find that she wanted to come home. Scully didn't ask, though, too anxious for her mom to get on the road as soon as possible. Maggie didn't talk and drive, and it sounded as though Mulder needed her even more than she needed him. 

She could wait -- albeit not patiently -- until her mother could tell her in person just what was going on with her partner. 

** 

Scully was dripping wet when her mother arrived just minutes later. What was the stupid song from the 70s? It never rains in Southern California -- but it pours? Well, it was pouring around her ears right at that moment.  

Maggie pulled up to the curb and Scully hopped in the car. 

"Dana, you're soaking wet! Why didn't you wait inside the door, I would have honked," Maggie chided.

"Sorry, Mom. I know I'm getting Bill's seat wet -- " 

"It's not that," Maggie clucked. "I don't want you getting sick. Having Fox down is enough for the moment." 

"How is he?" Scully asked, anxious to know why her mother had seemed so cryptic on the phone. "Are his eyes bothering him? Is his breathing OK? Mom, what's going on?" 

Maggie licked her lips. "That's what I want to know," she said, taking her eyes off the road long enough to pin her daughter with a glare. "Dana, you brought that poor man to Bill's house and I understand you had work to do today but last night -- " 

Scully let her head thud against the passenger side window. "I know, Mom," she sighed. "I'm . . . I just . . ." 

"Do you love him or not, Dana?" Maggie asked, cutting to the chase. 

"Mom, you know I can't -- " 

"I know no such thing, Dana Katherine. And for the record, I am your mother, not the Federal Bureau of Investigation! I have more than just a passing interest in your life." 

Scully bit her lip. "I know, Mom. I do know," she agreed. "And for the record, yes, I think I do love him. Are you happy now?" 

"Think? You _think_ you love him?" Maggie mimicked with a raised eyebrow. "Well, that certainly clears the air," she huffed. "No wonder the poor man looks like he's been cast off on a desert island." 

"Mom! This really isn't -- " 

"You can tell me it's none of my business, that's fine, Dana Katherine. But when you desert the man, who happens to be blind, and run off to sulk for the night, you _make_ it my business!" 

"I'm sorry about that," Scully said contritely.  

"I'm not the person you need to apologize to, and you know it." 

"I know. But I am sorry for the way I acted," she added. 

"Well, you still have time to make amends. Oh, Bill called a little while ago -- he's coming home in a few minutes to pack. A training mission came up and he jumped at the chance to get out of port -- imagine that," she said with a bitter shake of her head. "But at least he won't be tormenting Fox any more during your stay." 

That made Scully perk up and take notice. "Bill was tormenting Mulder? When?" she demanded. 

"This morning. Bill was getting coffee when that detective, um, what's his name, showed up." 

"Kresge," Scully said, her eyes narrowed and her lips in a thin line. "What did Bill do?" 

"He didn't _do_ anything, really. He was just very loud. He brought Detective Kresge -- why do I want to call him Woolworth?" Maggie muttered. "Anyway, he brought Detective Kresge into the kitchen and they were going on and on. I could hear almost every word they said where I was sitting in the dining room." 

"And the den is right next to the kitchen," Scully said with a heavy sigh. 

"Anyway, when all of you left, I went in to fix Fox his breakfast. I'm sure he'd heard them, Dana. And then you didn't even go in and tell him good bye," Maggie accused. 

"I was . . . I was angry. I was mad Kresge had come to pick me up when we have a rental car that I could have driven myself and then -- with Bill . . . oh, Mom, you know how I always mess these things up!" she exclaimed. "I messed it up with Jack and with Ethan and -- " She clamped her mouth shut. Her mother still didn't know about Daniel and wasn't going to find out if Scully had any say in the matter. She calmed down a second, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to mess this up. It's too important to me," she said in a near whisper. 

"Then talk to him, Dana. You two share so much! You just need to talk this out -- " 

"But Mom, that's just it, we _don't_ talk. Not about what's important. Oh, the fate of the world, the latest government plot to deceive or even injure innocent civilians -- we're all over that! But our lives . . . no. We -- " 

"You talk with your eyes," Maggie said, as if it had just occurred to her. 

Scully nodded. "Yes. And now -- " 

"You can't see what he's thinking," her mother concluded her thought. 

"Exactly. I don't know how he's reacting to what I have to say. And that scares me. It's never been like that. Oh, sure, sometimes we talk on the phone and I can't see his face, but not for that long. Never for this long -- not when we're both conscious." 

Maggie took her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it atop her daughter's. "Give talking a try. You never know, this might be just what you two needed." 

They were silent the rest of the ride. Scully let her eyes wander over the business district turning to apartments and then houses with yards. Soon they were in Bill's subdivision. 

"Dana, don't drag your feet on this one. If he is that important to you, let him know," Maggie said as she exited the car.  

Scully sighed and licked her lips. She knew her mother's advice was sound. It wasn't the theory -- it was the practice. How was she supposed to broach the subject? 'Mulder, let's change those bandages and now might be a good time to tell you that seeing you in the office is the only reason I can think of to get me out of bed in the morning. There, all better, gotta run off to work again. See you tonight.' Oh, that would go over real well, she mused bitterly. 

**end of part 7**