~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

LAWS OF MOTION

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Nine: You're All the Things I've Got to Remember


Seated at a rickety table in a low-lit warehouse, it was 
hard for Mulder to believe he was in the presence of a 
diabolical terrorist.  

Jacob Steven Haley drank cheap American beer and rambled 
on about how the prison system was sham, locking up thugs 
while the true evildoers rose to power in the Capitol. He 
had a receding hairline and wore an expensive brown leather 
coat over an ugly gray MIT T-shirt.  In short, he was a 
nerd.  Hardly an image designed to strike terror into the 
hearts of Americans.

Mulder leaned on one arm and sneaked a look at his 
wristwatch, which read close to midnight.  He sipped his 
own beer, long gone warm and flat, and waited with growing 
impatience for his host to get to the point. 

If it weren't for the bald Neanderthal with the gun who 
watched them from the corner, it was like any other 
Saturday night conspiracy theory party with the Gunmen. 

Mulder could still feel the imprint of the gun barrel 
against his ribs.  Baldy had been waiting for him to step 
out of the apartment, and his message was clear: Haley 
required his immediate presence at the warehouse, or else 
he became Baldy's plaything for the evening.

Scully, Mulder thought as he propped his head on one hand 
again, I'm so sorry.

"We're getting closer to the day of reckoning," Haley 
said.  "Tomorrow I have to complete an essential but 
delicate transaction to procure the supplies we need to go 
forward.  This is where you come in."

"Hmm?" Mulder jerked to attention.  

"This transaction requires contact with a drug dealer named 
Cadre, who comes with his own checkered history.  I don't 
need him showing up with the FBI or DEA behind him."

"You want me to make sure there's no sting," Mulder said.

"I want you to make sure the transaction goes down without 
any sort of audience.  I can't stress this enough, Mulder.  
Our whole operation hinges on the success of this deal.  If 
there's even a hint of government interference, I expect to 
hear it from you."

"I haven't heard anything," Mulder said, because it was the 
truth.  "What sort of transaction are you making with this 
Cadre?"

"None of your business."

"If you want my help, you have to give me details to work 
with here."

"You have all the details you need," Haley said, and the 
punk with the gun stepped forward in case Mulder needed 
further reminding about the chain of command.

"Where is the meeting?"

"Tomorrow at two in Folger Park.  I expect to hear from you 
ahead of time for the all clear."  He slid a piece of paper 
across to Mulder.  "Call that number no later than noon. 
Someone will ask you what the weather is like in D.C..  If 
we're a go, you say it's sunny and warm.  If there's 
trouble, you say it looks like rain."

"What if it's partly cloudy?" Mulder asked.

Haley scowled at him.  "For your sake, you'd better pray 
for sun."

Baldy stuck a hood on him and escorted him home.  Mulder 
kept his breathing shallow and tried to track the street 
sounds to figure out where they had taken him.  He guessed 
they were at least forty-five minutes outside the city, but 
it also seemed to him that they drove in circles to ensure 
his confusion.  Around two, the SUV lurched to a halt by 
his apartment, and Baldy yanked the hood off, taking a 
chunk of Mulder's hair with it.

"Thanks for the ride," Mulder said, rubbing the side of his 
head as the tires squealed away.

He trudged up the stairs to the fourth floor and fumbled 
with his keys.  Inside, he saw the red light flashing on 
his answering machine.  Mulder weighed the keys in his hand 
a moment before punching the "play" key.

"Mulder, it's me.  I--I'm at the hotel waiting.  If you're 
not coming, could you please let me know?"

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.  She 
sounded hurt, confused and angry all at once, and he 
couldn't blame her.  He also couldn't explain.

Mulder uttered a string of curses as he covered his face 
with both hands, the keys scraping his cheek like metal 
spikes.  He had not the first idea what he could say to her 
that might sound even remotely plausible.  Car trouble?  
Flu?  Cell phone accidentally fell in the toilet?  

The New Spartans wouldn't have to execute him.  Scully 
would save them the effort.

With a sigh, Mulder picked up the phone and punched some 
numbers.  Skinner answered a moment later, his gruff voice 
even rougher from sleep.

"Sir," Mulder said, "we've got a situation here.  There's 
some sort of meeting happening in the park tomorrow with a 
an arms dealer named Cadre, and I think Haley might make 
the exchange himself.  If you still want a shot at him, 
this might be the time."

"I'm on my way in now.  This is good work, Mulder.  But 
nailing Haley won't get it done.  He's high up, but he's 
still a foot soldier.  Bremer's the one we want."

"Well, then you're out of luck, because I didn't see 
Bremer's name on the guest list for tomorrow."

"What do they want from Cadre?  More guns?"

"That's my guess."

"To what end?"  

Mulder could hear his boss getting dressed.  "I still don't 
know.  They haven't exactly filled me in on the grand plan 
yet."

"They wouldn't risk getting you into this mess just to play 
lookout for a gun deal."

"Agreed.  But I can't get anymore from them unless they 
decide to let me in on the secret handshake."

"Well, maybe there's a way we can encourage that," Skinner 
said thoughtfully.  "Meet me downtown in an hour."

~*~*~

Scully slept little that night, dozing fitfully and waking 
up with a heavy heart around dawn.  She pulled aside the 
sheer curtain and noted the weather reflected her mood: 
gray and drizzling.  

She did not bother to get dressed, instead curling up in 
her pajamas and robe with a cup of coffee.  Huddled on one 
end of the couch, as though she could make herself small 
enough to disappear, Scully leg the hot coffee mug burn 
warmth into her numbed fingers.

She looked every so often at her silent phone.  This was 
the worst part, truly, that he had not even bothered to 
call her.  He was probably too chicken, she thought.  This 
way his message is clear and he didn't even have to say 
anything.  

A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her.  You would 
think it was a big clue, she told herself, that he never 
mentioned the night in Puerto Rico.  What more did he have 
to do, draw you a picture?

Her phone rang, rattling her.  Scully sloshed coffee on her 
knee and scrambled over the couch before her answering 
machine could pick up.  "Hello?"  She held her breath in 
anticipation.

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother you at such an early hour," 
Skinner said.

"Oh, no bother."  Scully grabbed her robe closed with one 
hand, as if she were standing in his office instead of her 
own living room.  "What can I do for you, sir?"

"We have a developing situation and your assistance is 
needed immediately.  Can you meet me in the main conference 
room as soon as possible?"

"Of course," Scully said, and then hesitated.  "Sir, this 
doesn't have anything to do with Mulder, does it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"No reason," she answered quickly.  For the briefest 
moment, she thought maybe he had gotten caught up in a 
case.  Maybe even got hurt.

"Agent Mulder will be at the meeting," Skinner said.  "I'll 
explain more then."

So Scully hopped in and out of the shower, threw on the 
first non-wrinkled suit she could find, and drove through 
the wet streets to the Hoover building.  She found two 
dozen other agents already milling around in the conference 
room, but no sign of Mulder.

He entered a few minutes later, just behind Skinner, 
drinking something from a paper cup and not meeting her 
eyes.  Unlike most of the other suited agents, Mulder wore 
jogging clothes.  Scully allowed herself a moment of relief 
when she realized that he truly wasn't hurt.

There was an empty seat next to her, but Mulder sat farther 
up the long conference table. Scully dropped her gaze to 
the pad of paper in front of her and said nothing as the 
other agents took their seats.

Skinner explained that Jacob Steven Haley, number two man 
in the New Spartans organization, would possibly be 
surfacing that afternoon in Folger Park.  Their job was to 
capture Haley after he completed his transaction with 
Julio Cadre.

Scully gathered this explained Mulder's casual attire.

As the meeting broke and everyone filed into the hall, 
Scully jogged to catch up with Mulder.  She called his name 
but he did not turn around.  Despite the many footfalls, 
she knew he had to have heard her.  Scully stopped short, 
realizing he meant to shrug her off.  Her stomach clenched 
and her mouth went dry.  She stood rooted like a rock in 
the riverbed as the other agents streamed past in a sea of 
black suits.

Mulder got into the elevator and did not look back.  Scully 
turned around so she wouldn't see the doors closing between 
them.

~*~

Scully got to work the van with Skinner and two other 
agents.  They monitored the cameras stationed at various 
points around Folger park, keeping an eye out for Haley's 
appearance.  She was not sure how she merited this 
particular job, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her 
small size factored into the equation; space was tight in 
the van.

She watched Mulder do slow loops from monitor to monitor. 
As he disappeared from the range of camera two, he would 
materialize in front of camera three.

"Mulder, can you hear me?" she said, and he scratched the 
back of his head to indicate he'd heard.  Scully considered 
the irony.  She finally had his attention but couldn't 
really talk to him.

Haley showed up on schedule, looking like an ordinary 
schlub out for a Sunday walk.  He wore drab clothes and 
sported a slight paunch.  Scully kept a close eye on him as 
he crossed to the bench where Cadre sat.

Mulder was about fifty feet away, doing stretching 
exercises.  Haley seemed to spot him.  "Mulder, be 
careful," Scully told Mulder over the microphone.  "He's 
watching you."

Mulder backed off, but a moment later, everything went to 
hell.  Cadre fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and 
Haley started screaming for a doctor.  Agents rushed in, 
but in the confusion, Haley ran for the exit.  Mulder ran 
after him.

"Mulder, he's armed!" Scully yelled as he disappeared 
behind some flowering trees.  Mulder did not answer.

Scully bit back a curse and tore out of the van.  Whatever 
poison Haley had given Cadre, it could kill in a few 
seconds.  She ran at full speed, trying to intercept Mulder 
before he could come in contact with the poison, her lungs 
on fire with each sharp breath. 

She heard Mulder running, recognized his footsteps, and 
picked up her pace even further.  "Mulder!" she yelled, but 
again, he did not answer.

Scully cleared the trees just in time to see Haley 
vanishing over the hill.  Mulder doubled back, apparently 
coming from the same direction.  He looked pale but not as 
winded as she expected.

"What happened?" she demanded.

Mulder wouldn't quite look at her.  "I lost him."

"What do you mean?"  This explanation seemed impossible.

Mulder gave a half shrug and started jogging back towards 
the others.  "He got away."

~*~*~

Scully reviewed the tapes from all the cameras to confirm 
her suspicions, and while she couldn't prove it was Mulder 
helping Haley get away, the silhouette certainly looked 
like him.

Mulder said he had no idea what she was talking about.

By the end of the day, she knew why.  For the second time 
in two months, Scully found herself run off the road, this 
time courtesy of the US government.

Mulder was deep undercover, they told her.  You could 
endanger his life by following him further.

Scully promised she wouldn't interfere, but she had 
exchanged one horrible premise -- that Mulder was aiding 
and abetting terrorists -- for another, namely that Mulder 
was deceiving these terrorists into thinking he was one of 
them, and if they found out, he was a dead man.

So she went to his apartment to wait for him in the dark.  
She kept her coat on as she wandered the empty rooms.  The 
fish looked hungry, lips smacking as they nosed the front 
of the glass, so she sprinkled some food into their tank.  

She checked his machine and there were no messages.  On the 
pad by the phone, however, was a note written in Mulder's 
handwriting: 8PM Scully.  It was underlined three times.

She gave a melancholy smile as she stroked the letters with 
one finger.

Just then, she heard the scrape of a key in the lock and 
she crossed to the front door. "Don't be alarmed," she said 
as Mulder entered.

His shoulders slumped.  "Scully, get out of here."

"Mulder..."

"Get out of here!"

"I know what you're doing.  Skinner told me everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He walked past 
her without turning on the lights, and she noticed he was 
holding his left hand close to his body. 

"What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing."

She grasped it gently and examined his fingers as best she 
could in the dim light. His pinky appeared to be broken.  
She maneuvered it gently and Mulder let out a low hiss. 
"Oh, Mulder.  What did they do to you?  God, this needs to 
be set.  You're in pain."

"Yeah, if you keep pulling it around like that."

Mulder sank down onto his couch as she went to the kitchen.  
He had a half dozen TV dinners and a bag of ice in the 
freezer.  She removed some cubes and wrapped them in a soft 
dish towel.

Scully sat on the coffee table across from him so their 
knees mingled.  "Let's the get the swelling down," she said 
as she set the towel carefully over his injured hand.  
Mulder winced but didn't say anything.

"They've killed again, Mulder -- fourteen people in a movie 
theatre in Ohio.  The same toxin they released in the 
park."

"Fourteen people?  That doesn't make any sense."

"Unless it was a test for something bigger."

Scully kept light pressure on the ice pack and slipped her 
other hand beneath his to hold him steady. "Why do this to 
you, Mulder?"

"They're testing me too.  Haley's paranoid...and spooked.  
I was sure he was going to kill me."

"What stopped him?"

"They still need something from me... and I'm sensing 
there's someone Haley trusts even less -- the man giving 
him his orders.  Someone I haven't met yet.  A man named 
August Bremer."

Scully pulled the ice pack back to study their progress.  
Tenderly, she probed Mulder's pinky joints.  "This is 
definitely broken, Mulder.  You need to see a doctor and 
have this set."

"I've got an old splint around here somewhere from a 
basketball injury.  It'll be fine."  He sounded exhausted, 
and Scully felt guilty for all the evil thoughts she had 
been having the past few days.

As if reading her thoughts, Mulder reached out with his 
good hand and captured one of hers.  "I'm sorry about the 
other night," he said.

Scully looked down at their joined hands and squeezed him.  
"It seems now like you had a good excuse."

"There was no way I could tell you, not without putting you 
in danger."  His thumb rubbed hypnotically over the back of 
her wrist.  

Scully nodded, her hair falling forward to curtain her 
face.  "I know that now.  I just... when you didn't 
show..."

"Hey, I was going to show.  I was on my way out the door, I 
swear."

She nodded again, trying to believe him.  "I saw your 
note," she said, indicating his phone pad with the tilt of 
her chin.

"See?" he said with a smile.  "I even wrote it down."

Their eyes met and as she searched his face she realized 
with a pang how close she might have come to losing him.  
She bowed her head so he wouldn't see her tears.

"Scully?"  He leaned forward, his head touching hers, his 
voice soft against her cheek.  "It's okay.  It's over."

She put both hands on his knees.  "They could have killed 
you."

"Me?  Nah.  I'm strong like bull."

She gave a watery laugh, and his hand came up to cup the 
side of her face.  His thumb smudged a tear away, sending a 
shiver down her spine.  She lifted her head up the same 
time he was ducking down, and their noses bumped.

"Oh!" Scully said softly, but then nothing else because 
Mulder was kissing her.

His mouth was gentle, barely moving, and Scully couldn't 
quite believe it was happening. He smelled like rain and 
leather, and the ice pack slipped from her lap to the 
floor.  She tilted her head a fraction of an inch and his 
mouth settled more fully on hers, catching her bottom lip 
in the middle of her soft sigh.

They kissed for several long minutes, changing angles every 
so often so that his nose rubbed her cheek.  Scully's hands 
crept up from his knees to his thighs, her finger nails 
lightly scoring the denim of his jeans.  Mulder's murmured 
something unintelligible and deepened the kiss, moving to 
the very edge of his sofa and forcing her back to arch.

He cupped the side of her bottom and tried to move closer 
still.  The coffee table feet skidded against the wooden 
floor, causing Scully to gasp and breaking their kiss.  
Quickly, she got up and moved out of the way.  Her mouth 
felt swollen, the blood there warm from his kisses.  She 
put the back of her hand to it as Mulder rose from the 
couch.

"Scully," he said, reaching for her.

"I've got to go."

"Wait a second."  He followed her as she started for the 
front door.  "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I... not like this."

"What do you mean?  Scully, wait."

"It's late.  I'm tired.  You're exhausted and your hand is 
broken."

"Finger."

"We can't do this now, Mulder.  We just... can't."

He leaned against the front door she had opened.  "Then 
when?"

She gave a helpless shrug.  "After this is all over."

"It's never over.  Not for us."

She patted his middle and ducked under his arm.  "Take care 
of that finger, Mulder.  I'll see you tomorrow."

~*~*~

Nearly taking a bullet to the brain did a lot for one's 
perspective.  Mulder still felt the wet, cold earth under 
his knees and the hard muzzle of the gun at the back of his 
head.  Those eternal seconds he had waited to hear the 
sound of his own death seemed to stretch like wire inside 
him.  He couldn't quite believe it hadn't happened.

He padded barefoot around his apartment, a cat on his ninth 
life, and drained a bottle of water straight from the 
container. He wore his dress pants and his white shirttails 
hung out on all sides, waiting to be tidied up for 
presentation at a certain hotel.

It was Saturday again, and he had another date with Scully.  
Mulder dressed up in part to show her he took this whole 
thing seriously, because she was not going to be pleased 
with his answer when he got there.

Mulder shaved and combed his hair, stalling, he supposed, 
but only to a point.  He was making certain not to be late 
this time.  If he had any hope at all of setting things 
straight with Scully, he had to show her he was committed.  
He had to show her the wisdom of doing things his way 
rather than hers.

At seven-thirty, Mulder slipped on his shoes and grabbed a 
bag of trash to toss in the dumpster on the way out.  He 
took the back way down the stairs, to the rear of the 
apartment where his footsteps crunched over the gravel.  He 
flung the bag high and up, pumping his fist when it went 
sailing over the edge without even touching the side.

Then he turned to leave and his head connected with a metal 
pipe.

Mulder hit the ground as pain radiated throughout his 
skull.  Above him a voice said, "I told you to stay out of 
the case."  Mulder tried to look up but the pipe connected 
with his ribs.  "Next time it will be a gun," the man said, 
and Mulder recognized his old phone buddy.

He tried to catch his breath, to get up and fight, but the 
pipe found his shin and Mulder fell to the ground again.  
As he hunched over in pain, he heard his attacker running 
back down the driveway.

Mulder pushed up from the ground, grabbing the dumpster for 
support.  He staggered momentarily before finding his 
footing.  His shin throbbed and his head hurt like hell, 
but otherwise he seemed to be all right.  The blinding pain 
receded somewhat.  Mulder took deep, even breaths to quell 
the nausea.  God damn, the terrorists and the thugs would 
have to start carpooling to his apartment.

Dirt and gravel caked the front of his shirt, and Mulder 
brushed it off with a curse as he began the slow trek to 
his car.

So much, he thought, for a good presentation.


~*~

He was late again, but this time by only twenty minutes.  
The angry lines on Scully's face vanished as she took in 
the sight of him.  "My God," she said, getting up from the 
chair by the bed.  "What happened to you?"

"Apparently, despite our lack of progress on Melinda and 
Rachel's murders, someone still feels that we are too close 
to the investigation."

Mulder knew that doctors prized the personal exam of a 
patient when making a diagnosis.  Don't just read the 
chart, went the teaching.  Make sure you lay hands on the 
person.

He always felt better when it was Scully's hands doing the 
laying.

She stood on tiptoe and touched the lump on his head.  
"That looks serious, Mulder."

"It felt pretty serious too."

"Sit down and I'll get some ice."

So once again, he was left sitting there in pain as Scully 
tended to him.  Gently, she applied the ice wrapped in a 
towel.  He flinched and she grimaced in sympathy pain.  
"Sorry," she murmured.

She was standing close to him and he could smell her 
perfume.  She had dressed nicely, too, he saw, in a 
flattering pencil black skirt and a blue silk blouse.  But 
it was nothing she wouldn't wear to the office.

"Did you lose consciousness?" she asked, her voice low and 
soft.

"No."

It was almost enough to make him change his mind about 
sleeping with her.  If she had shown up at the hotel 
dressed in a come-hither outfit, all made up like some sex-
pot, he could have resisted easily.  But here she was, 
looking and smelling just like Scully, the woman he'd been 
mad for going on five years now.  Sensible but feminine.  
Gentle.  Always there to bandage his wounds.

"Is it any better?" she asked him.

He took her hand down.  "Much."

"Ethan's attorney dropped off a bunch of notes and tapes 
Ethan made for me earlier.  Maybe that's what set this guy 
off again."

"I wish I'd gotten a look at him.  All I saw was the 
driveway."

"Your poor head."  She examined it again, her fingers 
sifting through his hair.  "He doesn't seem to have broken 
the skin."

Mulder closed his eyes under her deft touch and imagined 
her hands elsewhere on his body.  He was really going to 
say no to this?

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" she asked.

"Hmm?"  

"Are you hurt anywhere else?  Mulder, you seem a bit 
disoriented.  Maybe we should get you to the hospital."

"No, no.  I'm okay."

Her brow furrowed, looking doubtful.  "I can't believe you 
drove here with a head injury."

"Scully, driving across the city is about the least of the 
things I've done with a head injury," he said, and she gave 
a half-smile.

"I suppose that's true," she replied, ruffling the non-
bumpy side of his head.  She handed him the ice pack and 
Mulder put it back to the goose egg growing near his 
temple.  Scully's shoulders rose and fell with her great 
sigh.  "I guess this room goes to waste again," she said.  
"At least you have some place to rest and recover."

Mulder leaned back against the pillows.  As his head made 
contact, it started throbbing again.  Scully appeared with 
a hotel glass and a pair of Tylenol.  He accepted both 
gratefully.

Scully turned on the TV and took the other side of the bed.  
He admired her nylon-covered toes before she tucked them 
under herself to keep warm.

"Sports Center?" he asked when he noted what channel she 
had selected.

Scully shrugged.  "You're hurt."

Mulder really, really, couldn't believe he was going to 
turn down sex with her.  "You know, I had a thought about 
Ethan's case," he said.

"Oh?"

"What if... what if what got Melinda and Rachel killed was 
the same thing?"

Scully frowned as she shifted to face him.  "I think we 
already decided that, didn't we?  It's the same person."

"I'm talking the same motive.  We've been operating under 
the assumption that Melinda and Ethan got too close to 
uncovering Rachel's murderer.  Maybe what they uncovered 
was something else, and it's that something that also got 
Rachel killed."

"Huh.  Any idea what?"

"No.  Just a theory."

"Well, Ethan gave me a lot of notes to sort through.  Maybe 
the answer is in there somewhere."

"I hope so," Mulder answered as he eased the ice pack away 
from his head.  "Because I'm getting damned sick of the 
message man."

Scully yawned against her hand.  "You want anything from 
room service?" she asked as she picked up the nearby menu.

"I could go for a pizza."

So instead of sex they had pizza.  Veggies on her half, 
sausage on his, and they met in the middle of a king-sized 
bed.  Somewhere around midnight, they crawled beneath the 
covers to watch the late-late movie and that's where Mulder 
fell asleep.

When he woke, light was filtering in through the cracks in 
the heavy drape.  He touched his tender head and diagnosed 
himself: he'd live.  Scully lay curled nearby, not quite 
touching him, still fast asleep.

He smiled and brushed a sticky lock of hair from her cheek.  
Her blouse had come unbuttoned during the night, revealing 
a lacy bit of underwear beneath it.

She stirred slightly and blinked at him.  "Oh," she said, 
sounding surprised.  "What time is it?"

"Don't know.  Looks like morning."  

She lifted her head to look around and her hair had totally 
flattened on one side.  She squinted like a naked mole rat 
and he could make out the corner of a pillow mark on her 
cheek.  She was a mess but he loved her more than ever.  
This was the problem.

"I think breakfast comes with the room," she was saying.

"Scully."

"But only the continental.  If you want more, it's extra."

"Scully," he said again, and grabbed for her hand.

"What?"

"I'm sorry about last night," he began, and she pulled her 
hand away.

"Don't worry about it.  We can always try again next week, 
right?  Third time's the charm?"

He shook his head, hair rustling on the pillow.  "I don't 
think so."

"What do you mean?"  She sat up and looked down at him.

Mulder sat up too so that she didn't look so huge.  "I 
can't do this," he said softly, "not the way you want.  I 
thought I could.  I thought maybe I owed it to you, but I 
can't go through with it."

"I see," she said, eyes downcast.  "Well, thank you for 
telling me, at least."  She started to get out of bed, but 
he grabbed her wrist.

"Scully, wait.  You need to listen to me."

"I have."

"No, you haven't.  Not one time.  You just give the orders 
and expect me to show up here to obey."

She stiffened and tried to pull away, but Mulder held fast.

"I am sorry I didn't tell you about Arecibo. Truly, I am.  
I see now I should have found some way to get the words 
out, but sometimes, Scully, I wasn't sure if maybe you 
already knew.  I thought you might have remembered and 
never said anything."

"I didn't," she bit out.

"I know that now."  He rubbed her wrist with his thumb, 
trying to gentle her, but she remained rigid.  "We can't go 
back," he told her.  "We can only go forward.  I think you 
want to put this thing between us into a box, as if this 
room can contain it, but it doesn't work that way.  You 
can't make rules about this sort of thing, Scully."

"I see.  You get to make all the rules, is that it?"

She was listening, but she wasn't hearing him.  "I can't 
spend the night with you and walk away again.  I know you.  
I know you think you can fix this by analyzing it, by 
controlling it, by trying to put it in a defined, 
circumscribed place, but you can't.  Trust me, I tried it 
that way once and you can see where it got us both."

Tears had started leaking down her cheeks, and she wouldn't 
look at him.  Mulder continued: "I know it feels like you 
have no control over what happens in your life right now, 
but that's not true."

She swiped at her face with her free hand.

"You can either go all in with me here or you decide not 
to.  That's your choice, Scully, and nothing and no one can 
make it for you."

~*~*~*~

End chapter nine.  Continued in chapter ten.

Oodles of thanks to Amanda for her eagle eyes.

This year's lyric guessing contest: name the song the 
chapter title is lifted from and win a cookie! ;)

Please feed the writer: syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Cheers, syn