Shred of Doubt (3/9)
Jo-Ann Lassiter and
Vickie Moseley

They both stopped talking and looked at each other. 
Scully recovered from the shock first. "Mulder, it's 
the only reasonable solution. The clerk said my 
room is no-smoking, all the rooms have sleeper 
sofas -- "

"A sleeper sofa," he said dully, and the light that 
had been in his eyes extinguished.

"Well, actually, she did say the bed is a king, so I 
don't see why we'd even need to pull out the sleeper 
sofa," she corrected. His enthusiasm for sharing a 
room shot up several levels. "But Mulder, we're on 
a case, and you really aren't up to -- "

"Your honor is perfectly safe, Scully," he said with 
a sad smile. "But that does sound like a better 
solution than sleeping in the tub."

It didn't take long to gather up his clothes and 
toiletries because he'd never unpacked from the 
move earlier. They made it up to the tenth floor and 
Mulder felt totally done in for the night. 

"I want to type up some notes," Scully said. "Why 
don't you go ahead and hit the sack. I won't be long 
and I can close the door to the bedroom so the light 
doesn't disturb you."

"Do you want me to go over the notes with you?" 
he asked. He wanted so much to help her on the 
case. He hated being sick or injured, but it felt like 
more than that to him. He couldn't stop comparing 
himself to Kresge and finding out that he came up 
short. He wanted to show her that she wasn't 
making a mistake staying with him. He had to look 
better in her eyes. This time, though, he just wasn't 
able to get around the limitations his body was 
placing on him. 

"As much as I would like that, Mulder, you really 
need to get some sleep." She walked over to him 
and reached her hand up to cup his cheek. "I'll tuck 
you in," she offered with a coy smile. He couldn't 
believe his body failed him again when he felt 
himself blush.

"With an offer like that -- how can I refuse?" he 
replied and allowed her to take his hand and lead 
him into the bedroom. She gave him a light push in 
the direction of the bathroom, where he closed the 
door and came out in just his boxers and tee shirt. 
"You know, this could be habit forming," he told 
her and she held back the covers so that he could 
slide under them.

"You mean you actually doing something when I 
tell you to do it?" she asked with a tilt of her chin.

"No, us getting ready for bed together," he shot 
back and caught her hand to pull her down for a 
kiss. "I like this."

After a second kiss, she touched his cheek. "I like 
this too. But right now -- "

"I know, I know. You have work to do." He sighed 
heavily and rolled on his side, trying to find a 
comfortable position. "Scully -- "

Without him saying a word, she walked over to the 
closet and pulled out the extra pillow. He accepted 
it gratefully and propped himself up so that he 
wasn't lying flat on the bed. "Thanks."

"I won't be long," she promised.

The next thing Mulder knew, light was creeping 
around the edges of the drapes and Scully was 
draped over his chest, tickling him with her hair. It 
felt wonderful. Unfortunately, it was also hard to 
breathe. He took a moment to brush the hair from 
her face and just look at the woman in his arms. She 
was beautiful. She was his best friend, his most 
loyal confidante and he was willing to admit she 
was the best thing that had ever happened to him. If 
he died of asphyxiation right then, at least he would 
be a happy man. However, he was pretty sure 
Scully would not be so pleased.

"Scully," he croaked and shifted, trying to lower her 
weight to the mattress and not just dump her on the 
floor in his haste to get a breath. "Scully," he tried 
again. He was getting desperate; he needed air, and 
fast. 

Slowly she raised her head and looked into his face. 
A split second of drowsy smile was quickly 
followed by full-blown look of anxiety when she 
saw the panicked look in his eyes. "Mulder, what -- 
"

"Move?" he pleaded and she jumped back, landing 
completely off the bed but on her feet. He lunged 
forward in an attempt to escape the inevitable, but 
wasn't fast enough. A coughing fit overtook him 
and he struggled to pull air into his lungs while his 
body was expelling that same air forcefully. When 
he thought he was going to pass out, the inhaler 
magically appeared at his lips and he sucked on it 
like a lamprey eel. In a few moments the crisis had 
passed and he slumped down to the pillows. "G' 
mornin'," he gasped.

He was afraid she was going to reach for the phone 
and call for an ambulance, but she surprised him 
when she reached instead for his wayward hair and 
brushed her fingers lightly across his forehead. 
"Good morning," she said with a gentle smile. "Are 
you OK now?"

"Was OK. Just needed air," he rasped, hesitantly 
drawing more of the life-giving substance into his 
lungs. It burned as it always did after a shot of the 
inhaler, but at least he wasn't seeing little black 
spots before his eyes. 

"Well, aside from the coughing, that was a nice way 
to wake up," she assured him. "What time is it?" He 
knew she didn't expect him to answer; she was 
already squinting at the clock on the nightstand. 
"Good grief, it's 5 till 7! John will be downstairs in 
a few minutes." 

He tried not to let his disappointment show. Now 
she was calling the little prick 'John'? When the hell 
had that happened? But if he was going to pick 
them up Mulder was going to be ready. He started 
to toss the covers off and get out of bed, but Scully 
stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked 
loudly. He wanted to reply in kind, but another 
cough was lurking around his ribcage and he wasn't 
going to let it out. He gave her his best 'where do 
you think' look and moved her hand. "Mulder, look, 
I think you really need to rest up this morning. I'll 
shower now, you rest." 

It was hard not talking, but they'd been doing it for 
two weeks and he felt they were getting good at it. 
He let his eyes flick over to the bathroom and tilted 
his head in his most impatient expression. She 
backed off immediately. He shot her a wink as he 
made his way into the bathroom.

"I mean it, Mulder. I really want you to get some 
more rest. Just this morning. I'll make sure someone 
picks you up by about 10, how does that sound?"

He made a point to ignore her as much as he could. 
He had finished up in the bathroom, washed his 
hands, double-checked the position of the toilet lid 
to ensure it was properly lowered and returned to 
the bedroom. She was standing there in the middle 
of the room, biting her lip with a hopeful 
expression. 

He just wanted to scoop her up and carry her to the 
bed. They could both stay there until 10, maybe 10 
that evening. But that rancid little cough was 
tickling his rib again and he carefully drew in a 
sigh. With a resigned look at his partner, he climbed 
back into bed, plumped the pillows to a comfortable 
height, and lay back on them. For good measure, he 
smoothed the covers over his chest and smiled.

What she did next surprised the crap out of him. 
Coming forward with a sultry look in her eyes, she 
placed one knee on the bed and kissed him fully and 
hard. He felt her tongue caress his bottom lip and 
just when he was going to open his mouth to allow 
her in -- she stood up and sauntered into the 
bathroom, closing the door. He slumped down on 
the pillows, totally spent. How had she done that?

He didn't think he was sleepy, but he closed his eyes 
and basked in a fantasy where they were both in the 
shower, water sluicing off her naked body and 
splashing onto his. He was warm, he could breathe, 
oh man could he breathe, and Scully was doing 
things with her hands --

The ringing phone startled him and he rolled over to 
grab for the receiver. "Mulder," he wheezed.

There was silence on the other end. He thought he 
heard someone breathing and became annoyed. 
"Who is this?" he huffed.

More silence, followed by a sigh. "This is John 
Kresge. I was looking for Agent Scully."

"Oh. She's in the shower," Mulder said, clearing his 
throat. Bad idea, but it resulted in only a little 
cough. The medication from the inhaler was still 
working. "Can I give her a message when she gets 
out?"

More silence. Finally, in a voice that could only be 
described as sullen, Kresge responded. "Would you 
mind telling her that I'll be a little late? There's an 
accident on the interstate and I'll be there closer to 
7:45."

"Sure," Mulder replied. He was going to say 
something else, but the detective had already hung 
up.

He stared at the receiver in his hand for a full 
minute. That was weird. Then it dawned on Mulder 
that Kresge saw the conversation much differently 
than a simple call to tell someone their ride was 
late. He thought of Kresge, with his smarmy smiles 
and drooling all over Scully. That same little prick 
was currently caught in traffic, imagining all kinds 
of things about the two FBI agents from 
Washington -- who had apparently spent the night 
together. If it wouldn't have resulted in another 
coughing fit, Mulder would have jumped up on the 
bed and done a happy dance right then and there.

But as he heard the shower turn off and the hair 
dryer start up in the bathroom, Mulder was hit with 
another scenario. Scully had to work with this guy. 
This guy was a member of a large city police 
department. Water cooler gossip was almost as 
intrinsic in police work as handcuffs and Kevlar. 
And it would all come down on Scully's head 
because that was how it always worked. Mulder 
would look like the lucky stud and Scully would be 
labeled -- He let out a heavy sigh and knew that he 
had to at least warn her.

She entered the bedroom in the hotel-supplied 
bathrobe and he couldn't help but smile.

"What are you so happy about this morning?" she 
asked as she dug through the closet to pull out yet 
another black pantsuit.

"Oh, um, nothing, just feeling a little better," he 
rasped. "Kresge called. He said he was stuck in 
traffic and would be late -- about 15 minutes."

"That was considerate of him," she said absently. 
"Hey, that gives us enough time for me to run 
downstairs and get you some breakfast. You 
shouldn't take your medicine on an empty stomach."

He started to object and then he realized what was 
happening. Scully was bringing him breakfast in 
bed. Sure, it didn't have all the promise it normally 
would have had to his libido -- they had only held 
each other during the night and his body wasn't 
ready for much more -- but it was the thought that 
counted. "Sure, yeah, that would be nice," he 
stumbled.

She flashed him another smile. "Promise you won't 
jump out of bed on me," she warned him playfully.

Parts of him were almost willing to do just that, but 
when he was just about ready to return the entendre 
his chest tightened painfully, reminding him of his 
condition. "I promise," he said, hoping his 
disappointment wasn't too apparent.

"Poor Mulder," she cooed, coming back and giving 
him a sweet, chaste kiss. "I'll just throw on my 
clothes and get you something. Omelet? Cereal? I 
know better than to ask if you want some fruit, that 
would ruin your day," she teased.

"Omelet. With cheese, if it's not too much bother?" 
he replied. "And coffee?" She was already in the 
bathroom again and he hoped she'd be distracted 
enough not to take too much notice of his last 
request.

"Decaf. No caffeine while you're on the meds," she 
reminded him. She stepped back out of the bath 
looking like a million dollars. "But I'll bring you 
back fresh squeezed orange juice, how's that?"

She was being so nice to him he almost wanted to 
cry. A sudden thought froze his heart. He couldn't 
let her go out without one last warning. "Scully, 
when Kresge called -- ummm, I answered the 
phone."

"Yeah, what about it?" she asked as she gathered up 
her purse and checked to make sure she had her 
room key. 

"It was early in the morning," Mulder prodded.

She gave him a funny look until he raised an 
eyebrow and nodded down to the bed. "Oh," she 
said, finally catching on to what he was trying to 
say. "Oh, Mulder, I don't think -- "

"Scully, you know what kind of rumors have been 
going around the Hoover for seven years," he 
reminded her in a hoarse whisper.

"You're right. I better set him straight. Darn it all, I 
wish people would just -- oh well," she huffed. 
"Hey, I better run downstairs or there'll be a line for 
omelets. Can your throat handle a blueberry 
muffin?"

His heart melted. He loved her so much! She was 
always thinking of him. He wanted more than the 
muffin. But when he swallowed and felt the acid in 
his throat he knew it wasn't meant to be. "Maybe 
tomorrow," he said and sighed forlornly.

"It will get better, Mulder. But you can't push 
yourself," she cautioned. She tempered her 
statement with another quick kiss. "I have my key, 
so you don't have to let me in. Be right back."

He flopped back on the pillows and let his body fall 
into a doze, dreaming of another day in the near 
future when they'd share breakfast in bed. 

**

Embassy Suites
Scully's Room
May 2, 2000
7:44 a.m.

Scully balanced the coffee cup and the orange juice 
carton on top of the take-out container held in her 
left hand as she slid the key card into the door lock 
with her right. As soon as she gained entry, her eyes 
sought out the display on the digital clock beside 
the bed.

Damn. She'd been right about the long line, wrong 
about her timing. There'd been four people ahead of 
her by the time she'd arrived at the omelet station, 
and when she'd heard the elaborate order the man in 
front of her placed, she'd nearly groaned out loud in 
frustration. Luckily, once he'd *finally* completed 
his request and Scully had moved up, she was 
relieved to find more than one chef handling the 
'special orders' section of the breakfast buffet.

Having made previous arrangements with the 
hostess to charge the breakfast to her room, once 
Scully had received her order -- ahead of the fifty-
ingredient man, she was pleased to note -- she'd 
been able to head right back to her room.

After she placed Mulder's breakfast on the table in 
the dining area of the suite, she turned to him, 
mouth open to shout out a quick 'Breakfast!' before 
high-tailing it out the door to meet the detective. 
When she got a look at her partner, however, she 
stopped dead in her tracks, mouth still open but for 
another reason entirely. Oh. My. God, she thought. 
How adorable is he?

Her face melted into a smile as she took in her 
sleeping partner. He was lying on his side, knees 
bent, pillow lovingly cradled to his chest with one 
hand while the other was tucked inward, curled 
beneath his chin. He looked like a kitten, all cuddly 
and innocent, and she decided that it wouldn't kill 
Kresge to wait a few minutes while she drank in the 
sight of Mulder in repose.

The quiet 'snick' of the digital clock advancing 
another numeral caught her attention, and she 
cursed when she noted the time. How could she 
have spent five whole minutes staring at her 
sleeping partner, totally unaware of the passage of 
time? Right, Dana, she told herself. Like you've 
never done *that* before.

Almost getting sucked in *again*, Scully shook her 
head and grabbed her briefcase. On impulse, she 
took out her digital camera and snapped off two 
quick shots of him. That picture was much too 
precious to entrust to just her memory.

Tucking her camera back in her bag, she touched 
Mulder's shoulder, shaking it gently. "Mulder . . ." 
He moaned sleepily, and she smiled. "Your 
breakfast is on the table. I've got to go."

"Mmmokay . . ." he mumbled, and she leaned over 
and gave him a *slightly* lingering kiss on his 
cheek.

"That the best you can do?" he asked in that sexy 
rasp of a voice.

"For now." 

His eyes still weren't open, but his lips thinned in a 
smile. 

"I'm late to meet Detective Kresge."

"What a shame." He didn't sound at all sincere.

"Do you want me to send someone for you at ten, or 
do you want to make your own way in when you're 
ready?"

He looked like he'd fallen asleep again, but she 
knew he was just thinking it over. "I'll grab a cab 
later," he finally said. "Where will you be?"

"Probably going over notes with John."

"John," he said so quietly she just barely heard it. A 
frown creased her brow. She wondered just what it 
was that Mulder had against Detective Kresge. He'd 
been nothing but friendly and cooperative since he'd 
picked them up, and Mulder had been barely civil to 
the man.

Well, she didn't have time to figure it out now. 
She'd kept the poor man waiting long enough. 
"Mulder, I have to go," she said, heading for the 
door. "I'll see you later this morning, okay?"

"Sure, Scully," he croaked. "Later."

He sounded so down in the dumps that she was 
sorely tempted to call Kresge and tell him she'd be 
along later, but she couldn't do that to him. After all, 
he was kind enough to pick her up, and he'd 
probably been waiting patiently for about fifteen 
minutes. "Don't forget to eat your breakfast," she 
offered as consolation.

"I won't," he said. "See you later?" he said, 
uncertainty clear in his voice.

"Later, Mulder," she said firmly, and with all the 
conviction she could muster. She gave him one last 
look before she dashed out the door. 

God, now she knew why it was a bad idea for her to 
share a room with her partner while on a case. 
Leaving him in bed, rumpled, drowsy and unshaven 
(just the way she liked him) while she went to work 
was just too damned hard.

**

Embassy Suites Parking Garage
7:58 a.m.

John looked at his watch -- again, he noted -- and 
sighed. He'd gotten there a few minutes ahead of his 
promised time, so he'd settled in to wait, expecting 
to see Dana appear promptly at 7:45. Now it was 
thirteen minutes past that time, and she still hadn't 
made an appearance.

John was torn. If she didn't show in, say, fifteen 
minutes, should he call her or assume she was 
'occupied' and leave? He was shocked when he'd 
called her room about an hour earlier, and her 
partner answered. He didn't want to think about 
what could be making her late.

When he saw her emerge from the garage elevator, 
he breathed a sigh of relief. No way did he want to 
call that room again. He opened the car door and 
stepped out, waving to her. "Dana!"

Her eyes immediately found his, and she waved 
back, smiling. "Hi," she said, approaching the 
passenger side. "Sorry I'm late."

He held the door for her, then ran back to the 
driver's seat. As they both buckled up, John said, 
"That's okay." Hell, what the heck else could he 
say? 'Sorry to have interrupted . . .' What? Damn, 
just what did he interrupt?

"I was getting Mulder's breakfast, and got hung up 
in the restaurant."

He couldn't prevent the astonishment that had to be 
showing on his face.

Her laughter surprised him. "Don't worry. I don't 
make a habit of it. Mulder's recovering from a lung 
infection, and his medication requires that it be 
taken with food. If I didn't bring him something, I 
know he'd just do without."

The guy had been sick? Well, after yesterday's 
experience in the car, John could believe it. "Uh . . . 
what happened?"

Dana looked out the window. "On our last case, 
Mulder came into contact with something that 
seriously compromised his lungs. It was pretty 
touch and go for awhile."

Her partner almost died? No wonder she was so 
protective of him. John could certainly understand 
that. "He's all right now, though?"

She met his eyes, then looked away again. "He's 
better. Still not much of a voice, and his throat's still 
tender, but he's better."

John nodded. "That's good." He didn't know what 
else to say. That still didn't explain why he'd spent 
the night in her room, but John wouldn't ask.

Feeling a warm hand on his arm, he looked up to 
find Dana gazing at him uncertainly. "John, when 
you called this morning and Mulder answered . . . 
the hotel put him in a smoking room, and he was 
having trouble breathing." She took a breath. "My 
room is non-smoking, so he stayed in there."

So . . . did that mean she didn't stay there? She 
hadn't actually come out and said she did. Or that 
she didn't. John just nodded.

"Well," she said brightly. "Shall we head on in?"

John blinked. End of discussion, he guessed. At 
least as far as she was concerned. Yet, he found 
himself returning her smile, accepting her 
explanation -- sort of. He figured if she was 
screwing the guy, she'd look a hell of a lot more 
guilty than she did. John prided himself on being 
able to 'read' people, and Dana did not have the 
appearance of a woman who had spent the night 
having her brains fucked out. "You bet," he said, 
pulling out of the space.

Dana was quiet on the drive to the station, and when 
John had sneaked a peek -- or three or four -- at her, 
she'd looked calm, composed, and utterly guileless. 
Either there was nothing going on between her and 
her partner, or she was the world's greatest actress. 
John was more than happy to opt for the former.

A deciding factor in her favor were the two times 
she'd caught him peeking; the smiles she'd given 
him were not the smiles of a woman who was trying 
to hide something from him. 

Once more secure in his freedom to pursue Dana 
Scully's affections, John was a much happier man as 
he parked in his designated spot at headquarters. 
Mulder may have spent the night in Dana's room -- 
whether she was there or not -- but her motives had 
been purely maternal. Her partner was ill, and she 
just did what any good partner would do. Man, John 
wished that *he* was her partner. There'd be more 
than sleeping and breakfast going on, that's for sure.

Turning off the ignition, John quickly exited the car 
and hustled around to open the door for Dana. She 
looked surprised, and John couldn't help but think 
that was yet another reason he should be her partner 
instead of the ungentlemanly one she was currently 
saddled with. Not only did Mulder make her carry 
heavy luggage, he must never open car doors (or 
any other doors, for that matter!) for her -- and 
Dana deserved that courteousness. Well, as long as 
she was in his company, John would see to that.

At the station door, Dana reached for it, but John 
reached around her to grab the handle first. When 
Dana started at the unexpected courtesy, John was 
convinced that her partner was an uncouth lout. The 
strained smile she gave him was his proof: she was 
embarrassed. Whether for herself or for her partner, 
though, he wasn't certain.

John couldn't help feeling anger at the way she was 
being treated, and by the fact that she'd apparently 
accepted this behavior as normal. "Is Mulder your 
first partner?" he asked, sure he knew the answer.

Her look of bewilderment gave him cause to 
chuckle. God, she was cute. "Why?" she asked.

"Oh, just wondering."

She eyed him a few seconds before answering. 
"Yes, he is"

Ha! He knew she hadn't had anything to compare 
him to. That must be the reason she put up with him 
-- she'd never known it could be any different. Any 
better. He'd just have to show her that all men 
weren't swine, that some were actually very 
considerate. Then maybe she wouldn't gravitate to 
that partner of hers so readily. Maybe she'd look at 
Mulder with new eyes, and she wouldn't like what 
she'd see.

Oh, yeah. She was *so* going to be John's.

**

3450 Delavan Drive
Apt 503
11:17 am

Mulder swept aside the crime scene tape on the 
doorway and entered the room. He was immediately 
accosted by a uniformed officer, who just as quickly 
let him stay after seeing his Bureau identification. 
"Where's the body?" Mulder rasped, punctuating his 
inquiry with a strangled cough.

"Bedroom. First door on the left," the uniform said, 
pointing to a hallway leading back into the 
apartment.

Mulder nodded his thanks, not trusting his vocal 
chords to answer. He'd felt 100 percent better upon 
waking for the second time that morning. That, 
however, was before he'd gotten out of bed, taken a 
shower, dressed, caught a taxi to the Police 
Department, and subsequently spent an hour in the 
'squad room from the Black Lagoon' as he had 
affectionately nicknamed his temporary office. 
Then came the call from Scully and the ride out to 
the scene with a chain smoking junior detective. 
Now, he was seriously dragging, but he fought the 
urge to lie down on the floor and whimper. Scully 
had called him to the crime scene. He had to look 
like he was well enough to stay.

He heard Kresge say something as he was walking 
down the hall and heard Scully's soft alto in 
response. Something the jerk had said had amused 
her. That was enough to raise his hackles. Mulder 
had a hard enough time playing nice with the locals 
when the locals weren't busy trying to steal his 
woman. He stopped short, shaking his head. That 
was a statement best left to his private thoughts. If 
Scully ever heard him talking like that, speaking in 
a higher register would become a permanent 
condition. 

When he entered the room, they were standing by 
the window, examining something in the light 
shining in. Her head was bent down, studying the 
object the detective held up to the glass. Her hair 
was shining in the sunlight; it looked copper and 
burnished and Mulder thought of all the poems he'd 
been forced to memorize during literature classes in 
college. Maybe it was so that someday he could 
look at a woman and compare her to those poems . . 
. He shook his head to clear his thoughts again. 
How sick was it to be comparing his partner to 
poetry in the middle of a murder scene? Sick 
enough, he assured himself. He ordered his libido to 
get a grip.

"Mulder, you found the place," Scully said 
suddenly, noticing him in the doorway. "Here, we 
need your opinion on this." She stepped forward 
and waved her hand toward the floor next to the 
blood soaked bed. He stepped around the foot of the 
bed and was assaulted by the sight of the deceased.

The body was a male this time, and just to make 
sure the difference was noted, the mouth was 
stuffed with something white. Mulder snapped on a 
pair of gloves Scully offered him and crouched 
closer to the body. He looked up at his partner with 
a question in his eyes.

"It's all been documented, Mulder. Knock yourself 
out," she said with a wink. 

Without further hesitation, he grasped the jaws of 
the corpse and opened the mouth. White flower 
petals tumbled to the floor, some catching on the 
blood that covered the body and tainting the edges 
with crimson.

"White? White roses this time?" Mulder croaked. 
"White," he repeated, softer this time, to himself.

"Still seem to be the cheap discount store type silk 
flowers," Kresge offered. "We bagged several for 
analysis, but that got us nowhere last time."

Mulder frowned and reached for the victim's hands. 
He checked the backs of both hands before pointing 
to the left one. "Stamp," he said in an explosive 
breath and coughed once. 

"Yeah. We'll have to check but I would suspect the 
Palace again. So we know where, but we still don't 
know whom," Scully said, crossing her arms. Just at 
that moment, her cell phone chirped in her pocket. 
"Excuse me."

While Scully walked away to answer her phone, 
Mulder stood and started taking in the crime scene. 
"His apartment?" he squawked, then made the 
mistake of trying to clear his throat. It only caused 
him to cough.

"Yeah," Kresge said, visibly ill at ease around 
Mulder's condition. "Victim's name is George 
Townsend, 29. He's an auto mechanic, or he was. 
Didn't show up at the Lexus Dealership and the boss 
got worried, sent someone over. They found him 
about 8:15 this morning."

"Tough boss," Mulder jeered. 

"He'd been dead about 6 hours, according to the 
ME. Who would really like to get the body over to 
the morgue soon," Kresge said, closing his 
notebook. 

Mulder waved his hand, indicating he had no 
objections. Scully closed her phone and walked 
over beside him. He gave her a look and she nodded 
to a corner of the room.

"That was Mom. She's invited us to dinner." At his 
sigh, she held up her hand. "I tried to beg off, but 
we're in San Diego -- Mulder, I didn't have the heart 
to say no. Besides, she pointed out we both need to 
eat. You, especially." At that comment he screwed 
up his face in a sour expression. "Two hours, tops. 
We'll tell them we have to leave to go over notes for 
tomorrow. OK?"

He shrugged a non-comment with one shoulder. 

"Great," she said with a nod of her head. "Bill said 
he'd come by the hotel to pick us up at 6." And with 
that she whisked off to oversee the removal of the 
body and arrange for her place at the autopsy. 
Mulder was left to stand in the corner, 
contemplating his luck in life, or lack thereof.

Bill Scully hated him, of that he was absolutely 
certain. Honestly, Mulder suspected that Billy boy 
had been overjoyed at Mulder's recent illness, 
hoping for a final resolution to the 'Mulder Problem' 
in his sister's life. Sitting across the table from Bill 
Scully was not something he relished even when he 
was in top form; how much less enjoyable would it 
be when Mulder couldn't adequately defend 
himself?

Kresge broke into his thoughts, coming up beside 
him. "I just called the station. We have the list of 
employees, and one seems a likely candidate. 
Bartender, former Army Ranger, drummed out after 
getting into one too many brawls. Killed a guy at 
Fort Leonard Wood, did 6 years in Leavenworth. 
He worked every night the murders took place, 
including last night."

"Are you bringing him in?" Mulder rasped. 

"We have an APB on him but he wasn't at his trailer 
home just now. Don't worry, we'll have check 
points down on the border in fifteen minutes. The 
airport and train and bus station are covered. We'll 
find him."

Mulder nodded, but frowned. That was so simple. 
Could it be the bartender? Almost as bad as having 
the butler do it in the old movies. But at least it 
would make Kresge happy. Or would it? Mulder 
looked over at the detective. For all the world, he 
didn't look like a guy who was hot on the heels of 
probably one of the biggest collars of his life. 

"So, we get this sewn up, you'll be heading back to 
Washington," Kresge said irritably.

It's where we live, asshole, Mulder wanted to say. 
But it wouldn't sound nearly as well spoken in a 
broken voice as it sounded in his head. So he 
merely nodded in agreement.

"Of course we'll have a couple of days, clearing up 
the paperwork," Kresge continued, his dark 
expression lightening. Mulder could almost hear the 
little hamster run in his wheel inside the detective's 
beady little brain.

Mulder gave a half shoulder shrug. Wasn't there 
always paperwork?

"But it really wouldn't be necessary for you to stick 
around, Agent Mulder. I mean, if you're still under 
the weather after your -- ah, illness."

The light shone brightly over Mulder's head. Aha! 
The guy was just trying to figure out a way to get 
him back to DC so that the path to Scully was free 
and clear! Not so fast, hotshot, Mulder thought 
angrily. 

"Help with report," he ground out, and patted 
Kresge amiably on the shoulder. "Glad to," he 
added with a wink and a plastic grin. 

San Diego Police Department
5:35 pm

Mulder sat on the wobbly chair, chewing on the end 
of a pencil already pocked with impressions of his 
back molars and stared at the mass of fungi growing 
on the wall. He wasn't really looking at the mold, 
just using it as a focal point for his internal 
processing.

The Department had issued an All Points Bulletin 
on Darren Edward Dodds, DOB 04/15/74, last 
known address 1453 Waller Court, Lot 6, San 
Diego early that morning and had yet to get a 
handle on the man's whereabouts. That seemed to 
bother the hell out of Detective John Kresge, who 
made a point of storming up and down the hallway 
whenever one more report of a false lead came 
through. It even seemed to disturb Scully, but she 
had her hands full with the lunch hour autopsy of 
George Townsend. 

He had seen her briefly after the slice and dice 
session. She'd cajoled him into joining her 'and 
John' in grabbing a bite to eat at the burrito stand on 
the corner. Mulder hoped Kresge was regretting that 
action as much as he was. But after eating and 
ensuring that Mulder was encamped in the office 
with its own ecosystem, she'd vanished for the rest 
of the afternoon.

"Mulder, you ready to head back to the hotel?" Her 
voice came to him out of the blue and he almost bit 
the pencil in half. 

"Ready as I'll ever be," he rasped out and gave her a 
timid smile.

She gave him her patented 'Mulder-it-won't-be-that-
bad' roll of the eyes, guaranteed to ensure his 
continued reluctance. Usually when she wore that 
look, the ass-chewing they got from Skinner went a 
few feet up Mulder's spine.

She ignored his sigh and gathered the papers he'd 
carelessly strewn on the desktop. "Do you want to 
take these back to the hotel?" she asked, holding the 
now-straightened pile in her hand. At his 
affirmative nod she tucked them in his briefcase and 
clipped it shut. "What were you looking at, Mulder? 
It sounds like we know who this guy is now."

Mulder screwed up his face and swallowed around a 
particularly sore spot in his throat. "Too easy," he 
replied in a hoarse whisper.

"Easy? He's running. We can't find him. How is that 
easy?"

Mulder shrugged. "Doesn't feel right, Scully," he 
ground out painfully. The combination s and hard c 
seemed to cause him a lot of trouble. It didn't stop 
him from saying her name, however.

"You don't think it's someone from the Palace 
now?" she asked, holding the door to the hallway 
for him.

"Don't think it's the bartender," he tried to explain.

"Well, I think you're missing a few facts, then," 
Kresge's voice came from behind them in the hall. 
"Like this." He handed Scully some faxed papers. 
She held them out so that Mulder could read over 
her shoulder.

"He's a suspect in murders in Los Angeles, too," 
Scully noted, skimming the report. "And Denver?"

"We have stumbled on a serial after all," Kresge 
said with a proud voice. 

"MO?" Mulder asked, taking the papers from Scully 
and reading quickly. He started shaking his head 
before he even finished the second page. "He shot 
them." He handed the papers back to Kresge. "Not 
our guy," he added.

"Look, Agent Mulder, we have a known murderer 
in contact with each of the victims immediately 
preceding their murders," Kresge argued loudly. 

Mulder rolled his eyes and shook his head again. He 
started to walk down the hall, but Kresge grabbed 
his shoulder and spun him around. "What the hell 
more do you need to convince you this is our guy?"

Mulder snorted out a breath and looked the 
detective in the eye. "Motive. Evidence. Rose 
petals," he ticked off his fingers. "Not the guy," he 
repeated and this time when he walked away, 
Kresge didn't try to stop him.

"Your partner is crazy," Mulder heard him say to 
Scully. He didn't wait around to hear what response 
she had to that statement.

**

En Route to Embassy Suites Hotel
5:46 p.m.

As much as it pained her, Scully asked John Kresge 
to ferry her and Mulder back to their hotel. She'd 
just let Kresge have it for that crack about her 
partner's sanity when the realization hit her that 
with less than twenty minutes to get back to the 
hotel and be ready by 6, they were at the detective's 
mercy. There were no cabs to be found in this area, 
and they didn't have the time to call and wait for 
one. So she swallowed her pride and watched 
Mulder close his eyes and sigh in defeat as they 
both accepted the inevitable. 

Apparently, the detective had an affinity for 
redheads with tempers because her tirade hadn't had 
the least effect on him. He was his genial, polite self 
as he agreed to be their chauffer, and he graciously 
offered her the front seat. For some reason she 
couldn't fathom, this pissed her off.

Mulder seemed content to crawl into the cramped 
back seat, and when Kresge held the door for her 
yet again, she resisted the urge to emulate her 
partner's action of less than a minute ago. Instead 
she glared at Mulder -- simply because he'd felt free 
to display his emotions, and she couldn't -- and 
smiled at Kresge, insincere though it was. While the 
detective was scampering back to his own side of 
the car, she took the opportunity to finally give in 
and heave a 'give me strength' sigh.

Mulder's attempt at a chuckle turned into a gurgling 
cough, and she turned around to, first, make sure he 
was okay, and, second, chide him for laughing at 
her. But when she saw him, all she could do was 
stare at him in awe, reflecting that until that point in 
time she'd never seen his body in quite that position. 
"Oh, Mulder . . ."

She searched under the seat until she found the 
lever, then moved her seat forward as much as she 
could. "Better?" she asked, as her partner removed 
his knees from his armpits.

He nodded. "Thanks," he said, more as an 
exhalation of breath than as a spoken word.

She smiled at him, then her attention was stolen by 
Kresge as he got in. 

"Sorry about the lack of leg room, Agent Mulder," 
the detective said. "The back seat's not exactly 
designed for someone of your height."

Scully gave the man a hard look. Then why the hell 
did he have Mulder sit in back while she should 
have been the obvious choice to sit there? She 
shook her head. When would men ever start 
thinking with their brains?

"It's fine," Mulder grated out. "Now."

Kresge swiveled his head to take in her more 
comfortable-looking partner, then to the position of 
Scully's seat, then back to Mulder, and finally back 
to her. "Oh. Right. Good."

Scully looked at Mulder and exchanged a glance 
with him, seeing her amusement mirrored in his 
eyes. She carried that image with her as she settled 
into her seat once again.

The two of them spent the rest of the short ride in 
silence as John recounted all the efforts the SDPD 
was expending to locate their perp. When Kresge 
reinforced his view that Darren Edward Dodds was 
their man, and Mulder didn't utter a peep, she knew 
he'd tuned the detective out. God, she wished she 
could do the same, but one of them had to be polite, 
and it sure as hell wasn't going to be her partner.

At last the hotel was in sight, and Scully sat up 
straighter in her seat. Out the corner of her eye, she 
saw Mulder doing the same. He looked ready to 
leap out at the first opportunity.

She knew how he felt. Sure, John Kresge was nice, 
and sure it was sweet of him to be so attentive to 
her, but he was starting to get on her nerves. She 
could take only so much chivalry from one man, 
and she'd just about reached her limit.

"Well, here we are," John announced unnecessarily.

She waited for some remark from Mulder, but he 
merely said, "Thanks, Detective. We appreciate the 
lift."

Relieved that he hadn't seen fit to belittle the 
detective, Scully smiled. "Yes, thanks, John. We 
should have a car tomorrow, so we won't have to 
bother you anymore."

John's smile almost hurt her eyes. "It's no trouble, 
Dana. I don't mind at all. In fact, if your partner 
needs to use the car, I'll be glad to give you a ride. 
Any time."

Seeing no need to mention that that wasn't likely to 
happen (thank God) since Mulder wasn't allowed to 
drive yet, she said, "Thanks, John. I'll keep that in 
mind." She gave him one last parting smile as she 
got out of the car and stood next to Mulder. "Good 
night."

"Good night," Kresge returned. "Have a good 
evening."

As the detective drove away, she gazed up at her 
partner. He gave her a weak smile as they made 
their way into the hotel. "You don't suppose they 
got you a non-smoking room, do you?" she asked 
him.

Mulder shrugged. "Probably not, but we may as 
well ask."

Too tired to be frustrated by the negative answer, 
they trudged to the elevators. They boarded the car, 
and Scully pressed the button for Mulder's floor. At 
his questioning look, she said, "Let's get you packed 
and moved into my room. Bill can wait a few 
minutes."

Mulder hesitated a moment, then said quietly, "Will 
you be staying there, too?"

She nodded. "I don't want to sleep in an ashtray, 
either."

He looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry -- "

"Don't, Mulder. None of this is your fault."

He nodded. "I don't like being needy, Scully," he 
said softly.

All set to let loose a barrage of encouraging words, 
she took one look at the defeat on his face and said, 
"I know."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, but Mulder 
took hold of her hand and didn't let it go.

**end of part 3**