Title: Energy and Light
Author: Oracle
Classification: XRA 
Key Words: Mulder/Scully Romance, slightly AU
Spoilers: The cancer arc, Detour 
Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns them, I don't, 
so no profit for me. 
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before 
archiving elsewhere. I don't see why I'd refuse.
Summary: Four girls have vanished, each one on 
a different night. Each one by the light of a 
full moon. Is it just a coincidence? 

Notes: Before anything else, I'd like to thank 
my wonderful beta, Artemis, who somehow found 
time to work on this during the hectic holiday 
season. Without her encouragement, corrections 
and advice, this story would be in a sorry state 
indeed--probably never to be finished on my 
hard drive <g>

Also, a big thanks to Lib, who beta-ed this story's
first part and helped me get started. Good luck 
with college, Lib!

Thanks to Tamra, for helping me to revise this story
and make it work better!

And thanks to Circe Invidiosa, for providing me
with such a beautiful web page :)
www.invidiosa.com/oracle

Now, about the story...I had an idea, I ran with 
it, and then I realised it wouldn't fit exactly 
into the show's canon. I didn't want to change 
anything, so I decided to make it AU. What this 
means is--the story is set in Season Five sometime 
after Patient X/The Red and the Black (I wanted 
Mulder as a believer)--but there is no mention of 
Emily. Also, ignore everything Scully said about 
the occult in Chinga (a.k.a. Bunghoney in some 
countries). 

--------------------

He is radiant. She wonders if he is a flame, 
but he doesn't flicker, doesn't move. 

He glows. 

She squints because the darkness is blinding. He
seems to have been cut into it--one slit in a 
black canvas. She is part of the darkness, and he 
is the only light, the only difference. 

She has always wanted him.

There is no choice--she walks closer. Silently,
steadily, she walks closer, afraid to startle
him. Closer.

But then he vanishes. Was he ever there at all?

She is left wanting him even more.

--------------------

*MONDAY*


"What are we looking for, Mulder?" asks Scully, 
the words sounding clipped and civilised in the 
pagan wilderness. 

It's a quiet day, even with a gentle wind swirling 
through the forest. The clearing in front of 
them is lush with tiger lilies, swaying softly and 
nodding their vibrant heads. Golden sunlight 
reflects from every surface, making Scully feel 
fuzzy and light-headed. The leaves glimmer 
emerald-green, and the scents of flowers, crisp 
greenery and mouldering earth have mingled together 
in the air, drugging her senses.

Mulder is gazing into the field of lilies, but his
attention is focused inward. She can't understand
why he suddenly walked off the road, into the forest, 
but she knows that somewhere in his mind, an idea 
has been sown. Now he'll nurture it until it can 
block out her rationalizations. 

"I'm not sure, Scully," he says, after a time. "I
just have a feeling about this place. The girls all
lived near here."

Four girls, she thinks. Their faces appear in her 
mind's eye, one by one. Smiling schoolgirl faces--one 
with braces, one with a pierced nose. Four girls 
who have vanished, each one on a different night. 
Each one by the light of a full moon.

It sounds melodramatic and enchanting, but it's
probably it's just a coincidence. At least, that's
what she thinks. Mulder has other ideas.

"We have to get going, Mulder. The Sheriff's expecting
us in -" she checks her watch "- five minutes." She's
annoyed by her prim tone, and feels like she did as
a child, trying to get Melissa to school on time.
She looks up at Mulder, shielding her eyes from the
sun. She wonders if he thinks of her as straight-laced, 
sensible, and precisely on time. 

He suddenly shifts his attention to her. "I just
want to check this place out, Scully. There's
something about this place...I don't know how
to describe it. We'll only be a few minutes 
late." His stare is both penetrating and welcome, 
and she forgets what she was thinking.

She tries to be irked but feels pleased instead.
Mulder has once again shunned rational thought to
chase a hunch, and it has brought the two of them
to this beautiful clearing. He often demonstrates a
keen, secret knowledge of places like this. Places 
with an underlying mystery. Once he arrives, he's 
never afraid to explore what he finds, even if it 
reeks of ugliness and decay. 

Resentful of having to follow him, Scully is too
addicted to back away. Alone, she would never be
able to discover the world like this. Had she been 
by herself, she would have walked straight from 
the motel to the Sheriff's office, maybe admiring 
the scenery a little along the way. But she's with 
Mulder, and something always catches his eye. He 
always manages to tug her away from the beaten path.  

Mulder is wading through the lilies, looking
around. Searching for something he cannot name or
define. Something that might not even exist. She
wades after him, cool petals brushing her thighs.

He bends gracefully and plucks a flower from the
ground. When she reaches him, he turns and hands
it to her. "M'lady," he says, smiling and bowing
slightly.

She returns the smile but refrains from replying
in kind. His gaze is dangerous, as it often is these
days, so she focuses instead on his gift. The lily
stem is soft and slightly furred against her palm,
and the magnificent flower leans towards her face.
Its bittersweet fragrance is barely there, but she
catches a hint of it. "Thank you," she says finally,
almost shyly.

Looking up, she sees he's glancing around again,
prying into the atmosphere of this place. But then
he stops and shakes his head, "Maybe I'm wrong,
Scully. I can't see anything."

She gives their surroundings another once-over. A
lily-choked clearing, surrounded by forest, with a
clear blue sky overhead. Nothing more.

As they're walking back to the road, she pauses to 
leave her lily on a gnarled tree root, and gives it 
a glance of regret. When she stands up, she sees 
Mulder gazing over his shoulder. He's staring past 
her, into the forest.

"Did you notice something?" 

He looks baffled for a moment, but then slowly 
shakes his head. "A trick of the light," he says, 
and they keep walking.

Behind them, the breeze remains calm, but the 
forest begins to rustle and creak.   

--------------------

Scully expects Sheriff Jenkins to be gruff and 
sneering. He's a big, burly man, wearing a uniform 
pulled tight by muscles. His mouth is a thin line 
beneath a bristling moustache and his beady eyes 
seem slightly ferocious. Faced with this bulk of 
a man, sitting behind his massive oak desk, Scully 
feels as small as a gnat. 

Until he speaks. He has the disarming, jovial voice 
of a radio DJ, and Scully isn't sure whether to laugh
or to sigh with relief. "I'm Mike," he says, leaning
across his desk to shake hands with Mulder, "we spoke
on the phone."

"This is my partner, Agent Scully." 

Scully smiles politely, and extends her hand, somehow
managing not to wince when Mike's big paw clamps
over it. 

"I'm so glad you folks could make it down here," says
Mike, beaming like a kid on the fourth of July. "We've 
been working this case for months, ever since the
second girl disappeared, and we still haven't found
a trace of them. We don't know the whys, the hows or
the whos of this one, I'm afraid. All we have is the
goddamn full moon."

"Do you have any theories?" asks Mulder, leaning
forward slightly. He looks like he has several already,
and is just waiting to spin them out.

"We think they've been kidnapped, because we can't see
why four young girls would run away in such a pattern.
But then again, there's no evidence of kidnapping. No
ransom notes, no telephone calls--nothing like that -"
the Sheriff lowers his voice a little "- I heard you
have a reputation for cracking cases like these. That's
why I called you in. I think I'd better warn you
now--my deputy doesn't agree with me. She's a real
firecracker."

Scully bristles, shooting both men a sharp look. 

"No offence, ma'am," says the Sheriff, abashed. "It's
just this case...we're getting on each others nerves
about it. No one has a clue what to do. That's the
other reason I called you in--I think some people in
my department need a break. My deputy is obsessing
about this case. She'll call me up at night about
it, always spouting another wild theory."

Scully clears her throat, trying not to look at
Mulder. "Well, Sheriff, we'll certainly do
everything possible to help."

"I'm sure you will," he says, smiling broadly. "My
deputy will take you to each of the girls' houses
this afternoon--she wants to speak to the parents
again. After that you'll be on your own. But if you
need any help at all, just come by my office."

"Thank you," they say automatically, as they stand. For
a second Scully fears another handshake, but is saved
when the Sheriff's phone rings. He gives them a wave as
they walk out.

--------------------

"I think you've done it this time, Mulder," she 
says, eyeing his French fries.

"Done what?"

"Found an unsolvable case." She turns her attention
back to the file, which is packed with information
about the four missing girls, and little else. "Mulder,
there's no evidence. There's no motive. There's nothing
but four missing girls, all of whom were seemingly
well-adjusted."

He shrugs, "You never know, Scully. Maybe they did
run away. There's only so much digging you can do,
into the private life of a family." 

"You think they were abused?"

"Not necessarily. I just think we should look into
their family situations. And their social situations.
Perhaps they were outcasts at school, and relied on
each other for support. They might have formed a group
together--a secret club, or maybe some kind of cult.
It could be that the full moon was a significant
symbol to them." She snags one of his fries, and he
pretends to ignore the theft. "What do you think,
Scully?"

"I think you're getting way ahead of yourself there,
partner -" she's cut off when he snatches her
half-finished soda and starts sucking it down "- hey,
Mulder! Give that back!"

He smirks, his lips curving around the straw. "Fair's
fair, G-woman," he says when he's done, handing her
an empty glass.

"I hardly think one measly slice of potato is worth
half a soda!"

A waitress suddenly materialises beside the table,
and they both blink at her. Scully realises that ever
since she sat down, her entire attention has been 
focused on Mulder and the case file. How she's managed 
to tune out the bustling diner is beyond her. It's 
brimming with the lunchtime crowd, consisting of 
everyone from roughened farm workers to real estate 
agents. Harried young mothers are gathered at one 
table, alternately calming and feeding their fussing 
babies. The table beside them is packed with Hell's 
Angels, scowling and drinking beer. 

Scully thinks that it's strange, how in one moment
Mulder will be showing her something new and wonderful,
and in the next the world will be passing her by
because she's so fixated on him. 

With a sigh, Scully looks to the waitress, who is
probably twenty but could pass for fifty. Her watery
blue eyes are dwarfed by the bags beneath them. "How're
you folks doing?" she asks, her face and voice devoid
of expression.

"We're fi -" Scully begins, automatically.

"We'd like another orange soda," says Mulder, turning
on the charm. The waitress offers him a wispy smile
as she jots down the order.

"Mulder," hisses Scully, when they're alone. "I can't
drink another soda."

"Who said you get to drink it all?" 

He grins at her, and she grins back helplessly. 

How did things become like this between them? She
remembers last year's diners, when their conversations
were filled with stops and starts, and she would
shovel her food around to make it look like she was
eating. Last year they would have been arguing right
now, with him smug and hurt, and her avoiding his
depthless eyes.

But right now, in the present, he's flashing smiles
at her and "accidentally" nudging her foot beneath
the table. 

She "accidentally" nudges back.

--------------------

They meet the deputy on the sidewalk outside the
police department, in the blinding sun. 

"Agents Mulder and Scully? I'm Officer June Curtis."

Curtis is a lithe, handsome woman, probably in her
early fifties. Scully sizes her up as they shake
hands, and can't help respond to the woman's warm
smile and sparkling grey eyes.

"I suppose Sheriff Jenkins has already told you all
about me," says Curtis, with more than a touch of
sarcasm. Her friendly expression darkens a little.
"He's not the most open-minded of men."

Although he's wearing sunglasses, Scully can sense
Mulder's amusement. "There's a lot of that going
around these days," he says, directing a smirk in
Scully's direction. She resists a childish urge to
elbow him in the ribs.

"Sheriff Jenkins told us you're reluctant to work
with us," Scully says, confused by Curtis' amicable
behaviour. 

"Hogwash. That man needs to uncross his wires. You
see, he called you in without consulting me--I only
found out through his secretary. Naturally, I was
pissed off, and I'm not the kind of woman to keep
quiet when I've been given the run-around. But then
I ran a background check on the two of you." 

"And?" asks Mulder, as they begin walking to Curtis'
car. 

"Well, I have to admit, I'm intrigued. From what I've 
read about your work, you certainly don't fit into the 
FBI's mainstream. You have an individual approach to 
your investigations, with each of you coming at a case
from a different angle. Plus, you're not afraid to
explore the unexplained. I like it." Curtis flicks a
button on her key chain, unlocking the car. Scully
starts when she realises it's a Mercedes Benz.

"Old money," says Curtis, noticing Scully's inspection
of the leather upholstery as they buckle in. Scully
nods, embarrassed, and there's a short silence.

"So I gather we're going to the first girl's house?
Bianca Greenwood's?" asks Scully, to alleviate the
awkwardness.  

Curtis smiles sadly, "Yep, the one and only. I used to
babysit her, when she was younger -" she clears her
throat "- anyway, I guess Jenkins told you I want to
interview the parents again?" They nod. "Well, I don't.
I've spoken to those poor people so many times now; it's
like listening to a broken record."

"Then why are you driving us around?" Mulder asks from
the backseat, watching Curtis' eyes in the rear-view
mirror.

"I know it sounds odd, but I want to check out the
plants in their backyards," she replies, pulling into
the drive of a large, white house. "I've been looking
into herbal lore, especially into the use of plants in
spells. It's possible the girls were part of a coven
and needed plants to perform certain rites. I think
their involvement in an alternative religion could have
brought about their disappearances."

As they step out of the car, Mulder stares at Curtis
in awe, and Scully rolls her eyes at him.

"Oh," says Curtis, turning to face them. "Before we go
in, I should tell you that the parents have decided to
give us free reign. Even though this case isn't a
confirmed kidnapping, you can do a thorough search of
the girls' rooms."

Scully frowns, "Isn't that a little...intrusive?"

Curtis gives them a grim look. "These people are
desperate to find their daughters. They'll do whatever
it takes."

-------------------

Bianca's room is plush and pale. Scully eyes the heavy,
rose-petalled curtains with distaste, as Mulder roots
around under the bed. He disturbs a pile of magenta
pillows, which cascade onto the floor around him. Scully
tries not to giggle.

"Nothing," he announces, standing up and glancing
around. "Hey Scully, where did you hide your secret
diary, when you were a girl?"

"You're assuming I had a secret diary."

He starts in on the chest of drawers, and she watches
with mild amusement. "Aw, come on, Scully. Every girl
has a diary." He turns to look at her, panting
slightly, and she quirks her eyebrows at him. "What?"

She shrugs and pulls a chair over to the tallest
cupboard. When she climbs up she sees it, lying right
against the wall. A sparkly pink diary, coated with
dust. Scully tries not to gloat when she takes it
down and shows Mulder. It's not often that she
out-investigates him. Usually she's playing Watson
to his Holmes.

"How did you know?" he asks, agape.

"It's where Melissa always kept her diary. One day
I saw her hiding it, so as soon as I had the chance I
took it down and read it, cover to cover. Most of
it was a whiny diatribe about our conservative parents."
Whenever Scully mentions her sister, Mulder's face
droops with guilt and regret, and this time is no
exception. But this time, she has the means to cease
his wallowing. "Here," she says, "you want to read?"
She hands him the small book, and brushes off her
dusty hands.

He perks up immediately, getting back into sleuth-mode.
"Ah..." he flips through it a bit "...let's see.
Something about her annoying best friend, her parents,
a C on a project. Oh, listen to this - 'I hate myself.
I wish I was prettier, and my nose wasn't so big, and
I didn't have braces. I'm so ugly and the guys all laugh
at me. I see them, in the school corridor and the
cafeteria. Robert is the worst. And it's terrible because
he's so hot. I have the most unbelievable crush on him'."

"It sounds like something out of 'Sweet Valley High'."
Scully takes the diary and peers at Bianca's outrageously
curly script. "Do you think we should speak to this
Robert?"

"Maybe," says Mulder, discarding the diary to nose around
in the homework papers on Bianca's desk. The room seems
to have been left exactly as it was when Bianca still
inhabited it. The clutter, combined with the fine sheen
of dust over everything, is faintly disturbing.

"Come on," says Scully, bagging the diary. "Three
to go."

--------------------

"I think this proves the existence of alternate
universes," says Scully, after stepping out of the
Jones' ordinary suburban home, into their daughter
Sara's room.

The room features torn 'Korn' posters, piles of black
clothes, a dog collar on the bedside table, a huge
stereo system, and shelves packed with strange jars
and velvet-coated books. A black pentacle has been
hastily etched on the ceiling.

"I think we've hit the jackpot, Scully. Sara was
obviously involved in some kind of alternative religion.
Possibly a mild form of satanism." He walks over to a
shelf and starts picking everything up, studying the
odd little books, carved candles and other paraphernalia.
"Or maybe not satanism..." he says, surprised. "It
looks like she did a lot of love spells. Maybe she was
a Wicca and a Goth. "

"Love spells? Wiccan Goths?" For the second time, Scully
thinks of her sister, although this version of Melissa
is an adult, decked in a flowing velvet dress with a
crystal dangling from her necklace. "Missy would give
me spiritual advice, but I never knew where it was coming
from. I don't know what she would have called herself."

Before his guilt can make an appearance, she steps over
to him and takes a scarlet candle from his hand, brushing
her thumb against his palm. Their eyes lock.

"How do you know about this stuff, anyway?" she asks,
ending the moment.

"General knowledge. Although, I probably know as much
about paganism as Sara did, if not more."

"What makes you say that?" Scully sniffs the candle,
recoiling at its musty, sickly aroma. Patchouli? She
puts it down and turns to a stack of CDs. 

"Well, there are numerous versions of modern paganism. 
Pagans practice magic through many different mediums. 
Although conservatives tend to brand it all under 
"Devil-worshipping black arts", methods of practicing 
magic vary greatly, and paganism doesn't involve 
devil-worship. Lucifer was a Catholic invention, after 
all."

"Your point being?" asks Scully, deciding to ignore
the dig at conservatives.

"Judging by the conglomeration of various symbols and
spells in her room, Sara didn't understand the
differences between numerous pagan beliefs. She must
have decided to become a witch without doing much
research. It looks like she was desperate to start
practicing magic -" he pauses, then adds, ominously
"- and maybe she stumbled upon something she couldn't
control."

"You're speaking of her in the past tense," says
Scully, as she starts checking out the CDs. They
include every Korn album, 'Ava Adore' by the Smashing
Pumpkins, a quaint looking album by a band called
Rasputina and several Sepultura singles. Scully chuckles
when she finds a Natalie Imbruglia album, right at the
bottom of the stack. Then she realises Mulder hasn't
spoken for some time. "Mulder?"

He's sitting on the rumpled bed, leafing through a
large, leather-bound book. "Check it out, Scully. This
was Sara's private spell book. There are journal entries,
too. She talks a lot about her chemistry teacher--a
Mr. Samuel Kirk."

"Interesting," says Scully, coming to sit beside him.
She sees that Sara's writing is a hasty scrawl, written
in blood red Sharpie. The differences between Sara and
Bianca are astounding. The two girls seem to have
nothing in common. Or had nothing in common, as the
case might be.

"Listen to this--'Mr. Kirk is like some dark angel, who
has come to save me from this most mundane existence.
My life is a black hole, slowly sucking me under, but
his passionate dark eyes will save me. Alas, my magic
is the only thing that can bind us together.'"

"We should definitely have a word with him," says Scully,
"that is, if the local police haven't already discovered
this."

"I don't think they have, Scully," he says. "There are
so many books in this room, and they all look so similar.
The police probably didn't read through all of this--they
don't have the time, or the manpower. I found this book
at the bottom of a pile." He turns the expensive-looking
book over in his hands, to reveal its spine, which has
some kind of polished, pearly stone stuck onto it.

"What is it?"

"A moon stone," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the
opaque gem.

--------------------

They've had incredible luck so far, but this kind of 
providence never lasts. Scully isn't surprised when 
Hannah's room yields nothing but a window box cache 
of well-read Harlequin romance novels, frilly lingerie 
with price tags still attached, and an unopened box of 
flavoured condoms.

"A girl after my own heart," says Mulder. 

--------------------

Jennifer Kiel's room is deceptively girlish, with 
big posters of a boy band on the walls, and a fluffy 
throw rug on the floor. However, her collection of 
books and CDs instantly dispels the stereotype.

"Amazing," Mulder exclaims, running a finger along 
the spines of several novels. "She's got Dostoyevsky, 
Dickens, Tolstoy and the Bronte sisters...and Sylvia 
Plath, Margaret Atwood, J.D. Salinger, Mark Twain..." 
his voice trails off.

"Jen's an avid reader," says her father, who insisted
on coming into the room with them. "Ever since she was
seven years old, she's read everything she can get her
hands on. She loves poetry too." He takes one of the
books down, handing it to Mulder. "Alfred, Lord Tennyson
is her favourite. But she's also fond of modern poets,
like e.e. cummings and Ezra Pound."
 
Scully watches the man as he speaks, noting his tired
green eyes and the deep lines of sadness carved at the
corners of his mouth. His voice attempts brevity, but
he only manages weariness. Before, when she realised
he was determined to accompany them into his daughter's
room, she'd had her suspicions. Now she realises he
just wants to be part of the investigation. He's a
single parent--a widower. With Jennifer gone, he's
all alone in the house.

"Does Jennifer keep a diary?" she asks, giving him a
purpose.  

"I've searched this room from top to bottom, several 
times, but I haven't found anything. I've even checked 
her laptop--every single file. All I discovered is 
that she's been working on a novel for quite a while."

"Really?" Mulder asks, clearly fascinated. "She's only 
fifteen. Is it any good?"

"I didn't read all of it, but you have my blessing to 
take the laptop and see what you think. If there's 
anything I can do to help--anything at all--I'll 
do it..." for an instant, Scully thinks he might lose 
his composure, but he doesn't break down. "I just want 
her found," he continues, after a pause. "None of this 
makes sense to me. I don't think she has a connection 
to the other missing girls, and she certainly doesn't 
have a sordid secret. I know her. She would never have 
run away."

Scully exchanges a glance with Mulder. The other 
parents have told them roughly the same thing. 

"We'll keep you informed," she says, tenderness 
softening her polite tone.

--------------------

"Did you turn up anything?" asks Curtis, as they
pull out of the Kiels' drive.

"I was about to ask you the same question," says 
Mulder, absently stroking his stubbled jaw. Scully 
tries not to envy his hand. "Listen, Curtis," he 
continues, "I have a very similar theory to yours, 
and I agree with a lot of what you said earlier. But 
I don't think plants are the place to look."

Curtis laughs quietly, "You're telling me now? I'm
going to be scrubbing my nails for weeks to get rid
of the grime, and I didn't find a thing. Aside from
the Greenwoods' cat, which leapt out of a hydrangea
bush."

"I think it's highly unlikely these girls were part
of a coven," says Scully. 

"Oh come on, Scully," Mulder responds, shaking his
head in disbelief. "You saw Sara's room."

"Yes, but that's only one girl, Mulder. One. And
the second girl to disappear, I might add. You can't
say she started off a chain reaction by vanishing
into a cloud of smoke."

"So what's your theory, Scully?"

She stares out the window for a beat, annoyed by his
slightly mocking tone. "I think the girls mimicked
each other," she says, at last. "I think Bianca ran
away first--for whatever reason--and just happened
to leave on the night of a full moon. Sara heard about
her and decided to copycat, thinking it was a "cool"
idea. The next two girls did the same."

"Maybe," says Curtis, finally breaking into the
argument, "but Agent Scully, those girls had no good
reason to run away...well, possibly aside from Sara.
And if they did leave on their own volition, why
didn't they leave a note? Or at least take some
money?" 

Scully looks to Mulder, who raises his eyebrows at
her, expecting her to keep arguing. But she doesn't
know what else to say.  

--------------------

"I've arranged interviews at the high school for
tomorrow." 

"Hmm?" Mulder looks up from his laptop, tired eyes
peering at her through his glasses.

"I said, I've arranged interviews at the high school
for tomorrow," Scully repeats, flopping onto his bed.
"With Mr. Kirk, and with the once mysterious Robert.
His last name is Bradbury."

"I wonder if he's related to Ray," says Mulder, taking
off his glasses and wiping them on the edge of his
grey T-shirt. Scully sucks in a sigh of disappointment.
She's developed a strange fetish for him in glasses.

She discards her thoughts and gets straight to the
point. "Mulder, are you making any progress? Because
I'm not." She sits and perches on the edge of the bed,
staring down at her folded hands. "I've read some of
Jen's novel, and it's pretty good, considering it was
written by someone so young."

"What's it about?"

Scully sighs and looks up at him. "A lonely young
woman, pining after a married man. It's a period drama,
reminiscent of Jane Austen novels. So far, it's very
depressing. And I don't think it will help us at all."
She never wants to look at it again. It reminded her of
her relationship with Daniel.

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe it could help us."

She raises her eyebrows in query and his eyes dart
away, almost nervously. He seems embarrassed by what
he's about to say, and she's startled. Mulder is never 
embarrassed. Maybe, she thinks, he's uncomfortable for 
some reason. 

"Scully, it seems the only thing these girls had in 
common was their loneliness. Hannah was obsessed with 
becoming sexually active, but she didn't have a 
boyfriend. Sara was trying to seduce Mr. Kirk with 
potions and incantations. Bianca was experiencing 
self-esteem issues and had a crush on the unattainable 
Robert. And Jen was writing a novel about a lonely 
woman."

A lonely woman. Scully stares down at her hands again. 
"You've got a point Mulder, however I don't see what 
it has to do with our investigation."

"Neither do I." He yawns dramatically and rubs his 
eyes. "I've just got a feeling about it...it's the 
only thing linking the disappearances, aside from 
the moon."

"Speaking of the moon, how's your research coming 
along?" 

"Well..." he turns to his laptop and opens a window, 
displaying a site called 'Esoteric Moon Maidens'. 
Scully gives an unladylike snort. "Mock me all you like, 
Scully, but this site is run by Moira Ravenwaves."

"Who?" 

"Moira Ravenwaves. I've heard of her before--she's 
a leading practitioner of Wicca, and has written 
several novels on the subject. She's also a university 
lecturer at Berkley, teaching anthropology."

"So what does this Ravenwaves woman have to say about 
the moon?"

" 'The moon is a symbol of energy and light, and moves 
in a cycle of energy. As the moon waxes, the energy 
field available to practitioners increases in intensity. 
Thus, it is wise to complete spells of creation and 
renewal under a waxing moon...The cycle is completed 
while the moon wanes and energy levels decrease. This 
time should be utilised for spells of destruction, such 
as a spell to break an already completed charm...It is 
important to note that beneath a full moon, energy levels 
are at their highest. This is a time of great power--a 
time when practitioners must be wise in their use of 
magic. It is also a time when energy, negative or 
positive, can be drawn easily from one source to another.' "

He looks at her, and she sees that his weariness is only 
a facade. Beneath it burns the fire of enthusiasm. Oh no. 
"Mulder, surely you don't believe..."

"...that the girls' energy--their life force--has been 
taken to another plane somehow? A higher plane?"

"Something like that," she mumbles, yawning herself. 
"Mulder, I don't believe in any of this. I mean...don't 
energy fields go with things like chakras and auras? 
You sound like an aging hippie Mulder. Even if you're 
right, how come thousands of teenage girls and boys don't 
disappear every year? Why hasn't this happened before?"

"Maybe it has. It wouldn't be a common occurrence, 
Scully."

She yawns again, then smiles softly. "Look Mulder,
I'm tired, and I don't think we should get into this
right now." 

"Are you backing out of an argument, Scully?"

She stands and moves over to him, their knees almost
brushing. "I thought we were having a discussion,
Mulder. And it can wait till tomorrow."

"Uh-uh, Scully. Time is ticking. There'll be another 
full moon on Tuesday."

"You Spidey sense picking up a change in energy
Mulder?" Scully asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He grins at her. "Yes. And I checked the paper this 
morning." He pauses, clearly thinking hard about 
something, "Look, Scully, I'm not expecting you to 
believe any of this, I just think we should treat
it as a possibility. There's a high chance someone
else's daughter will disappear on Tuesday night, but
there should be a way of preventing it. We have to
explore all avenues."

"I know," she says simply. On the spur of the moment,
she decides to ask him something she wasn't sure she
should mention. "Mulder, have you thought that maybe
they've been, ah...taken." She often finds it difficult
to say the word "Samantha", or even "abduction", but
that's okay. He knows what she means.

"No, Scully." His eyes shine with pain, and she regrets
saying anything. "There's no evidence these girls were
abducted. No unusual scorch marks or other abnormalities.
Plus, no recent UFO sightings. I checked into it before
we left--the last sighting in this area was reported
in 1950, and it turned out to be Venus." They both smile
faintly at that. "I also got the guys to run a thorough
background check on the girls' families, and they dug up
nothing. No ties to the government and no links to
other abductees." 

"And you're okay? You're okay with this case?"

He nods, his lips quirking slightly. She's surprised
to realise he's slightly amused. Too tired to even
attempt comprehension, she mutters a "good night, see
you tomorrow", and starts for the door.

Mulder reaches up and gently enfolds her hand, pulling 
her back. "I am okay, Scully," he says, his voice softly, 
strangely dark. "I'm more than okay. I want you to know 
that." His skin is always so smooth and warm; she thinks
it must taste of cocoa, or maybe cappuccino. "Scully?"
   
"Well then..." she tries to respond, utterly confused,
and utterly aroused. Their contact zings through her
blood, as heat blossoms around her heart. "That's
um..."

He grins and drops her hand, obviously sensing her
discomfort. "It's fine, Scully, don't worry about it.
Go get your beauty sleep."

"'Night, Mulder."

She misses their eye contact as soon as it breaks.

--------------------

*TUESDAY*


Mulder traces a rib with his index finger, his
thumb pressing into her navel. She writhes like a
fish on a hook, gasping for oxygen as he nips at
her throat. His lips travel around her mouth, his
hands moving to draw lines beneath her breasts. She
arches her back, straining to press her belly against
him, but he's too high above her. His tongue flickers
against her cheek, lizard-like. His hot breath
lingers on her lips, but he won't follow it with
his mouth. His nose brushes hers, an Eskimo kiss.

"Kiss me," she tries. 

Thumbs stroke her belly, lips move across her jaw,
for hours, for days. He won't kiss her; he'll never
kiss her.



"Shit," Scully gasps, into the empty motel room. Her
head is throbbing, and her leg is hovering in midair.

When she sits up she almost falls off the edge of the
bed. She rubs her sore scalp as she reaches to switch
on the lamp. 

"Damn it," she mutters, realising that she's hit her
head on the bedside table. She stares at the mess of
tangled sheets around her legs, and wonders how it's
possible--she started the night on top of the
comforter. Her pyjamas are askew and her hair seems
to have transformed into a bird's nest. 

The digital clock numbers gleam in the darkness, like
the red eyes of a goblin peering out of a cave. 4:43.

She combs fingers through her hair, cursing under her
breath. It feels good to curse in the wee hours of the
morning, well before the sun comes up. In daylight
she's punctual, respectable and mature. There's never
a hair out of place, never a smudge of lipstick on her
shiny front teeth, and never a button undone...well,
except in extreme circumstances. 

But at this hour she is wild. Her imagination roams
free, a panther prowling through her rational mind,
shredding her thoughts. Her desires are not only
allowed, but welcomed. 

As always, she thinks of Mulder. She imagines how the
muscles of his back might ripple beneath her
fingernails. Working herself with her fingers, she
moans into the pillow, hoping she won't be ashamed
later on.

After, she can't get back to sleep. The ratty motel
curtains resemble gossamer shrouds in the moonlight.
She sits on a chair beside the window, her face
pressed against the glass until her nose turns cold.
Gradually, she dozes off.

--------------------

Scully looks out the car window as they inch along
Main St., stuck behind a farmer's cabbage
laden pick-up truck. They pass an old-fashioned
bakery, with plump cakes and pies displayed
in the window. Then a clothes store, a supermarket, 
a pharmacist, and a gift store called 'Trash and
Treasure'. The last store in the line has an unusual
name--'The Tortoiseshell Cat'--written in large
purple calligraphy. There's also a painting of said
cat, wearing a black witch's hat and cape. 

"Hey Mulder, check it out," she points as they go
past. "That must be the New Age store where Sara
bought her supplies."

"We can look into it this afternoon," he replies,
his voice grating and his knuckles white on the
steering wheel. He's casting an evil eye at the
pick-up truck.

"Mulder, calm down." Instinctively, she places a
hand on one of his, but when he flinches she quickly
withdraws it. "Sorry," she mutters, turning to gaze
out the window again, berating herself. 

The pick-up turns off down an unpaved track, and she
senses Mulder relaxing beside her. "No Scully, I'm
sorry," he says, and his long fingers twine with her
own. "I think I need Road Rage Anonymous meetings,"
he jokes weakly, but she smiles at him anyway. 

She strokes the pad of her thumb across his pulse
point, and he gives her an unreadable look. 

--------------------

The school is an ordinary brick building, much like
any other school in a small town. A utility for
learning, with bitumen basketball courts out the
front and a football field on the side. Inside, it's
a maze of cream corridors with the occasional--'Say
No to Drugs'--poster stuck onto a wall. 

As Scully passes classrooms she looks through the
glass panes in their doors, watching students smile
and joke during class. Their teachers are similarly
relaxed. It's late spring and the exams are over, so
school is just a formality for them. Scully recalls
the anticipation that came before summer, when she'd
looked forward to swimming at the local pool,
stargazing with her latest boyfriend, or lazing around
at home in the heat, eating popsicles. Simple, normal
activities.

Activities she's happily traded to co-exist with
Mulder in his dangerous world. She wonders if he knows
about her lack of regrets. She remembers her past life
with nostalgia, but deep down she can't even imagine
living that life again. Although terrible things have
been done to her and her family since she started
working with Mulder, she has found a purpose in her life
that could not be replaced with a safe, yet humdrum,
existence. She wishes Mulder would notice how she usually
feels about the X-files, instead of dwelling on the
occasional pang of melancholy she expresses at losing
her chance for a normal life. 

And she wishes Mulder would see that it's not only
their work she can no longer live without.

When they get to Samuel Kirk's classroom, where he's
agreed to meet them during a spare period, Scully puts
these thoughts out of her mind. She tells herself 
to focus on the investigation, and the interrogation 
she and Mulder are about to do. 

Kirk greets them warmly when they walk in, and she sees 
immediately that he could put Heathcliff to shame. He's 
a mixture of cliched tall-dark-handsome and rugged good 
looks, and Sara's probably not the only one in his class 
with a schoolgirl crush. 

Even Scully might have found him attractive once...before 
Mulder. Now all she sees are ways Kirk doesn't measure up. 
His smaller hands, his paler skin, his duller eyes. Scully's 
not sure when she found herself unable to date--it just 
happened. Aside from Ed Jerse, she hasn't been with a man 
in four years. She's not even sure if Jerse counts.

Mulder doesn't know she feels this way, and she hopes 
he'll remain ignorant. She's never seen him glance at 
a beautiful woman with disdain. 

Suddenly she catches herself, and captures her waning 
attention. Lately her firm control has been slipping, 
and she worries she might start daydreaming if she doesn't 
reign herself in. She focuses on Kirk's classroom 
--the chalk equations on the board, the neat rows of 
desks, and Kirk's cluttered workspace between them. Her 
traitorous emotions flow away. 
 
"We'd like to ask you a few questions about one of your 
students," Mulder begins, after they sit down. "Do you 
remember Sara Jones?"

Kirk looks sad, but that's it. Sad. Scully sees no passion 
flare in his expression, or even any pain. There's just 
the suitable, expected grief of a teacher who has lost a 
student.

"I heard about her disappearance," Kirk says, his voice 
slightly sorrowful. "What a terrible thing, especially 
for her family. I met her mother earlier in the year, 
during parent/teacher interviews--a very kind woman. And 
Sara is an exceptionally bright girl." He gives them a 
querulous look, "I was under the impression she ran away. 
Are you treating this as a kidnapping?"

"The cause of Sara's disappearance is as yet unknown," says 
Scully. "At the moment we're simply checking into 
everything." 

"Did you know Sara well?" Mulder asks quickly, trying to 
catch Kirk off guard. 

But the man is utterly unperturbed. "Just as well as my 
other students." He seems puzzled by Mulder's question, 
but then his eyes narrow and fill with anger. "Is this an 
interrogation? Am I a suspect?"

Scully glances at Mulder, meeting his eyes. Her expression 
tells him she doesn't think this is their perp, and he 
lifts his eyebrows slightly in agreement. There's nothing 
amiss about Kirk--no unusual reactions or behaviour. 

Mulder smiles politely, "Like Agent Scully said, we're just 
checking into everything. We'd appreciate it if you could 
tell us anything you know about Sara."

Kirk seems to relax a little, although his eyes remain wary. 
"She was a gifted student--almost obsessed with obtaining 
the highest grades. Unfortunately, this made her a bit of 
a social outcast. Her unusual sense of humour and alternative 
dress sense just made things worse for her. She often seemed 
very lonely--she'd stay after class to help me pack up 
experiments." He smiles fondly, adding, "I hope she's okay."    

"We'll find her," says Mulder, although for once it doesn't 
sound like he entirely believes it.

--------------------

They've decided not to drag Robert out of class. With 
nothing but Bianca's vague allusions to go on, they're 
not treating him as a suspect just yet. As they wait 
outside his classroom, they take the opportunity to 
discuss Kirk. Or rather, to concur about Kirk.

"I just don't think it's him, Mulder. I know some of the 
things he said sounded suspicious, like the fact Sara 
often stayed after class to help him. But there was nothing 
in his manner to suggest they were anything more than 
teacher and student."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Scully," says Mulder, for once 
without sarcasm. He looks a bit sheepish, as though by 
rights he should be arguing with her.  

"Wow, can I quote you on that?"

"Sure, just as long as I get to tell people about that 
time you -"

"Save it, Mulder."

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog, Scully."

Scully sighs, pretending to be exasperated. Really
she's trying to stop blushing, embarrassed at both her
tuneless singing and the state of arousal she'd found
herself in that night, sitting in the forest with him
cradled in her lap. 

"Anyway Mulder," she says, "aside from Sara's obvious
infatuation, there was nothing in her diary to implicate
him -"

"Nada."

"- so even if we did suspect something, we'd have
nothing but speculation. Mulder, we're not getting
anywhere." Frustration ebbs through her mind, and he
sees it in her eyes.

"It's only a couple more days, Scully." She notes that,
predictably, he's blaming himself. He probably thinks
she blames him too.

"I know," she says, "and I don't mind, Mulder, really.
It's just I can't remember the last time we landed a
case with so few leads."

Now he definitely looks contrite, "I'm sor -"

She cuts him off. "There's no way you could have known.
Besides," she says, trying to lighten things up, "we've
still got Robert, and 'The Tortoiseshell Cat'."

"But even if we solve this, what are the chances we
find those missing girls? I think their life force has
been transported to another dimension, Scully. Or perhaps
to the astral plane itself. My theory hasn't changed,
and I don't think it will. And unless we start practicing
witchcraft..." his meaning is clear, and although she
doesn't believe what he's saying, she gets chills just
thinking about it. 

"I think you're jinxing us, Mulder," she says, trying to 
make a joke but sounding serious instead.

Mulder's eyebrows suddenly pull together in thought. "You
know, Scully, even Kirk recognised that Sara was lonely."

"So?" she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"So now we know she was not only longing for a man she
couldn't have, she was also virtually friendless."

"I thought we decided the girls' loneliness has nothing
to do with their case. That it's just a coincidence."

"Maybe we're wrong. Look, Scully, the girls all wanted a
fulfilling relationship, and they were all bereft. You
couldn't simply call it loneliness, especially not in an
adolescent. It would have been a deep, painful ache."

"Do you have a theory to go with this?"

"Actually...there's something I've been thinking about.
You remember what we were reading about the moon--the
rising and falling energy levels?" She nods. "Well, I'm
thinking that the girls' loneliness and despair could have
been sending out negative energy. If they were practicing
witchcraft by the light of a full moon, their energy could
have disrupted the strong positive powers used in their
magic...but I don't know how."

"Mulder, it doesn't make sense. If the girls were part
of a coven, then why were they so lonely? They might have
been an isolated group, like you said originally, but
wouldn't they have relied on one another for support?
They wouldn't have been as lonely as you say, much
less lonely enough to emit some kind of negative
energy field." 

Mulder worries his lower lip, "Maybe there's another power
involved. Some other energy force that influenced theirs."
She sees her frustration reflected back at her in his eyes.
"Scully, there has to be a way of stopping this -"

Just then, the electronic bell rings through the speakers,
heralding a rustling of papers and opening of doors. Students
pour into the corridor, none of them paying attention to
Mulder and Scully, who stand with their backs to a wall.
Noise levels rise to a cacophony, punctuated by raucous 
laughter and catcalls.

Scully takes Mulder by the wrist and pulls him into the
classroom beside them. She feels like deadbolting the
door behind her.

"So you're the FBI Agents," says a boy's voice. He's slouched 
on a desk in the front row. "I haven't done anything wrong."  

"We're not accusing you of anything, Robert," assures Mulder. 
"We just want to ask you some questions."

Robert snorts, "Yeah right, that's what they always say 
in the movies." Sunlight is slanting through the window, 
coating his face, and Scully moves closer to see him better. 
She perches on the edge of the teacher's desk and takes a 
brief inventory. He's fair-haired, with big baby blues, 
and probably tall. Unfortunately, his posture--combined 
with his XXL tee-shirt and baggy pants--makes him look 
like a little boy dressed up in his father's clothes.

His tough-guy attitude, however, is reminiscent of John 
Wayne in an early Western. He meets Scully's eyes without 
flinching.

"Robert, we're not the bad guys," says Scully, taking him 
down a notch with a patronising tone. "We're simply making 
inquiries into Bianca Greenwood's disappearance, and we'd 
like you to tell us anything you know about her. Anything 
at all."

Robert drops his eyes, scuffing his foot against a desk 
leg. "Why are you asking me?" he mumbles. "I hardly knew 
her." 

Scully sees she's cowed him, and she's not sure why. She 
knows she can give anyone a run for their money with 
her steely glare and iceberg voice, but she didn't think 
Robert would back down so easily. Maybe there's more to it 
than that, she thinks. Maybe he's ashamed.

"We have reason to believe that you bullied her, 
actually," says Mulder, sitting beside Scully and casually 
crossing his legs at the knee. "Mind if you tell us 
about it?" 

"You got any proof?" Robert asks, still whittling away at 
the desk with his basketball shoe. 

"We have evidence, yes," replies Scully. Definitely shame, 
she thinks, glancing up at Mulder. He nods--he's noticed 
too. 

Robert looks up at them then, and she can't believe the 
fury of self-pity and guilt in his eyes. He's too young 
for that kind of pain. "I wanted to fit in," he confesses. 
"I didn't want to hurt her--I mean, I didn't hurt her. 
I laughed at her, sure, but it was just me and the guys, 
joking around. She knew that."

His voice trembles whenever he says 'she' or 'her', and 
he never mentions Bianca's name. Scully immediately senses 
what's going on, but wishes she hadn't. Robert's pain is 
too private, and too familiar. 

"That's all we needed to know," she says, quickly and 
quietly. "Thanks for your time, Robert." 

--------------------

Like yesterday, the diner is bustling to the brim. But 
unlike yesterday, Mulder and Scully have arrived too 
late to get seats. They stand beside the door, waiting 
for a free table. A mixed smell of baking pies and black 
coffee clouds the air, and Scully's mouth fills with 
drool. But what's worse is the sound of people eating-- 
forking and spooning up steaming food, then chewing and 
swallowing, accompanied by sounds of pleasure.

"I know I've survived severe frostbite, Scully, but my 
body can't take any more of this," says Mulder, with a 
dazed, ravenous look in his eyes. 

She's about to suggest they go pay a visit to the bakery 
down the street, when a table against the back wall 
catches her eye. "Hey Mulder, isn't that Jenkins and 
Curtis?" 

"I can't see past all the food, Scully," Mulder whines, 
pouting like a little boy. "Let's go, okay?"

"I really think it's them," she says, peering past a 
gaggle of tea-sipping old biddies.

"Scully, did I ever ask you that hypothetical question 
about being stranded on a desert island with your best 
friend and nothing to eat? Well -"

"Mulder, it's them." She takes his hand and starts 
tugging him through the crowd, eyes focused on the 
Sheriff's khaki sleeve.

"What if they don't want us to sit with them?"

Scully shoots him a Look. "Mulder, they're friendly 
people and I want some pie. Don't you?" He's too 
hungry to do anything but nod emphatically.

However, when they arrive at their destination they 
stop short, surveying the scene. Curtis is tearing 
paper napkins into strips, but her eyes are glaring 
right at Sheriff Jenkins, who seems to be sweating a 
little. He's nervously tapping his fingers on the 
tabletop as he speaks.
   
"Scully, we've been cloned!" Mulder whispers, right 
into her ear. She ignores him, instead paying attention 
to Jenkins. The man seems to be going off on a major 
tangent.

"...you think I don't know what you're trying to prove, 
June? I know exactly what you'd like. And I want you to 
know, I respect your beliefs. There's not many who could
say that. But honestly, June, you've got to listen to 
me on this one--you've got to look at this with common 
sense. The girls didn't vanish into thin air, because 
it's not possible. I'm tired of you calling me at two in 
the morning, yapping about spells and potions and the 
full moon. I mean, what exactly do you believe?"

"I think the girls have accidentally transported 
themselves out of this world."

Scully looks up at Mulder, watching his eyes widen. 

Jenkins sighs, "It wouldn't make sense, even if it was 
possible. Why would the girls have kept attempting the 
same spell, over and over again, even as their numbers 
dwindled? June, I gotta confess, sometimes I think 
you're mad as a hatter."

"Like I said before, the girls were desperate to complete 
the spell. I don't know what it was..."

"An anti-loneliness charm?" Mulder asks, nearly 
breathless with excitement. 

He's broken the tense connection between Curtis and 
Jenkins, and for an instant a deep silence descends. 
They turn to stare at him in bewilderment, as though 
he's severed a physical bond that was binding them 
together.

The Sheriff recovers first. "Agents!" he exclaims 
in a pleasant voice, although he's still coloured 
with anger. "It's a pleasure to meet you here."

Scully's not sure she wants in on the table now, but she 
certainly doesn't want to seem ridiculous. "Nice to see 
you too, Sheriff. We were wondering if we could share 
your table."

The Sheriff's expression brightens tenfold. "Why, it's 
Officer Curtis you should be asking. I was just leaving 
--I've got some work to do, back at the station." He 
pushes his chair back and stands up, sending Curtis an 
inscrutable, unpleasant glance as he picks his hat off 
the table. 

He edges past Mulder and Scully, giving them 
a courteous smile whilst narrowly avoiding a plate-stacked 
waitress. "See you around, Agents." They return his 
smile before he's lost in the ocean of customers.

"You'll have to grab another chair," says Curtis, 
flatly. Her cheeks are flushed cherry blossom pink. 

"That's okay," says Mulder, glancing sideways at his 
partner. "Scully can sit on my lap."

Scully's not sure whether to sink a stiletto heel onto 
his big toe, or to congratulate him for making Curtis 
crack a smile. Many of his jokes would sound like sexual 
harassment coming out of another man's mouth. But Mulder's 
well acquainted with a deadpan delivery. 

Scully ends up quirking a smile at him too. "I'll find a 
chair," she says, moving off to search. 

She ponders the irony of Mulder's innuendoes. He's been 
making them since the beginning of their partnership, and 
she's always firmly rebuked him. At the same time, she's 
never minded them--in fact, quite the opposite. Quite 
the opposite indeed. 

When she returns to the table, Mulder and Curtis are deep in
a wild discussion. She'd predicted as much.

"...your idea about loneliness never crossed my mind, Agent
Mulder. I think you might have cracked this."

Mulder shakes his head, "The theory still has some flaws...
for instance, as Scully pointed out, why was Sara's room
the only one containing evidence of paganism?"

"I think that's where they stored all their supplies. The
other three girls must have wanted to completely hide it
from their parents. Or maybe they were in denial--or they'd
been coerced." Curtis is flushed again, but this time in
enthusiasm, not anger. "I think the question we should be
asking is, are there more than four girls in the coven?"

"I'm still not sure if we're right about the coven," says
Mulder. "I still think there might be another explanation."

Scully sits quietly, sipping a root beer and eating pie,
unwilling to contribute. Mulder alone she can handle, but
the ranting of theories concerning paganism--a belief
system her religion completely rejects--doesn't seem worth
tangling in. She's just starting to feel like a third wheel
when Mulder turns to ask her opinion. 

"I still think there's no need for your wild theories," she
replies, calm and cool as a snowflake. "Just because the
full moon is involved, and just because Sara is a pagan,
it doesn't mean the girls were spirited away on a beam of
magical energy. I'm afraid I have to agree with Sheriff
Jenkins." 

Scully gives Curtis an apologetic look, and the woman 
shrugs, her lips curving in a smile. "I'm sorry about 
earlier," she says. "I guess Jenkins and I get a bit
carried away sometimes. We go way back."

"I know the feeling," says Scully, dryly.

"Yeah, I never thought Scully'd stick around this
long," Mulder hits back, but he can't seem to help a
fond smile. 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, draining
their coffee and polishing their plates. The caffeine hasn't
kicked in yet, so Scully feels drowsy and full. When her
head starts lolling towards Mulder's shoulder, she knows
it's time to leave. She looks at Mulder, who nods his
agreement.

"Well, it's been nice speaking with you," Scully says, as she
and Mulder stand up. 

Curtis follows suite and Mulder grins at her, "Feel free to
call me anytime with those insane theories of yours. Don't
waste them on Jenkins." 

Curtis looks ready to echo his sentiment, but one glance
at Scully makes her reconsider. "I think I'm all theoried
out," she says instead. "Hey, where are you two staying?"

"Motel 6," Scully replies. "With the cockroaches."

"God, that awful dump. Why don't you stay at my place for
the night? I've got plenty of room, and it's certainly not
too much trouble."

Scully answers automatically--"I'm afraid we can't 
possibly acc-"

"Scully and I would never turn down such a generous
offer...would we, Scully?" 

"Great," says Curtis, handing Mulder her card. "Arrive 
whenever you want--the key's under the doormat."

--------------------

'The Tortoiseshell Cat' is a deceptive store. At
first, dazed and blinking from the sunlight outside,
Scully is reminded of a tornado ground zero or a
nuclear blast site. But as her eyes adjust, she
begins to see that everything is arranged in a kind
of organised chaos. 

Along two walls run rickety black shelves, stacked
with dusty jars, large polished stones, misshapen
flasks and leather-bound books. The third wall is
entirely covered with paintings and photographs, of
all colours and sizes, depicting various mystical
images and symbols. In a quick glance, Scully sees
Stonehenge lit by a golden sunrise, two Hindu deities
locked in an unspeakable act, and a faerie dance
in a moonlit forest. 

A long mahogany table sits several feet in front of
the fourth wall, and doubles as the cashier's desk.
It is stacked with books, knickknacks, candles and
children's toys. Behind it, lining the wall, are
glass cabinets displaying the jewelry of seemingly
all cultures and tastes.

Even the ceiling and floor are put to good use--the
ceiling hung with crystals, glass beads, dried herbs
and chiles, glass teardrops, silk scarves, and wind
chimes; the floor concealed by rugs and bamboo mats.

Scully and Mulder stand in the doorway for a few
minutes, trying to take it all in. Scully feels
like Ali Baba, the man who shouted "open sesame"
and stepped out of the desert sun, into a cavern
of treasure. At the same time she's reminded of
fairytales about witches lurking in forbidden
woods, luring children to their doorsteps. The
store certainly smells like witches' brew--
a spicy mixture of beeswax, dried herbs, incense
sticks and scented candles.  

The store's owner, however, does not resemble one
of these make-believe hags. She's a tall, graceful
woman wearing school-marmish spectacles and an
ordinary linen dress. Her only consent to witchdom,
it seems, is a small pentacle charm dangling from a
chain around her neck.

She's involved in writing something onto a creamy
sheet of parchment, and doesn't look up when Mulder
and Scully walk up to the counter. She only notices
them when Mulder clears his throat.

"How may I help you?" she asks, smiling kindly.

When they take out their badges and introduce
themselves, the woman is strangely unaffected, as
though she's been expecting them. Scully gets the
impression that very little could shock this
woman--that she gracefully accepts whatever life
brings her. 

"I'm Clara Goldsmith," she says, folding up her
parchment. Her voice reminds Scully of Melissa's--
flowing and musical, but with a wise edge to it.
"What would you like to ask me about?"

"We're making enquiries about Sara Jones, and about
the three other girls who recently went missing," says
Scully. "Did they ever come to this store?"

Clara's smile fades, but her eyes remain calm. "I've
already spoken with June about this."

"We'd like to hear your opinions first-hand," says
Scully.

"Oh, that's fine," Clara assures them, "It's no bother
for me; I just didn't want to waste your time. And in
answer to your question--Sara was the only girl out
of the missing four to visit my store."

"What did she buy?" Mulder asks.

Clara considers this, glancing around her store as
if for clues. "Sara was a curious child," she says.
"Curious in both senses of the word. She came in here
often, about four times a week, although she didn't
always buy something. When she did make a purchase, it
was usually an ingredient for a love spell. Once she
bought a pink velvet robe -" Clara points to a clothes
rack, half-hidden behind the shelves in the corner.
"Pink is an important colour in love spells, because
it invites true romance. Sara bought many pink
items--like candles, ribbons and beads. There are
certain aromas that attract love, too, such as
ylang-ylang, rose and patchouli, and Sara bought
anything scented with these."

"Did she speak to you often?" asks Scully.

Clara's smile returns. "Very rarely. That's why I 
thought she was curious--a strange girl. I have 
many regular customers, and they've all become dear 
friends. All except Sara. She had an aura of distance 
around her, but also an aura of sorrow. It was as 
though she was very lonely, yet incapable of letting 
anyone in." 

Mulder's eyes light up when they latch onto something 
in the room. "Ms. Goldsmith," he says, pointing to a 
row of books, "we found one of those in Sara's room. 
It had a moonstone attached to its spine."

"Ah," says Clara, "those can be used for anything. 
Notes on magic, spells, or simply as a journal. Each 
one has a gemstone on its spine." 

She walks out from behind her desk and over to the 
books, gesturing for the agents to follow. She 
plucks one from its shelf and turns its spine to 
Mulder, displaying a small green stone. "Each of 
these books has a modern birthstone stuck to its 
spine," she explains. "Sara was born in the month 
of June, and so according to modern practices, her 
birthstone is a moonstone. This one represents an 
emerald, for the month of May."  

Mulder nods, tongue-tied with disappointment. Scully 
remembers his excitement over the moonstone. She'd 
even shared it to a degree. Now, like every other 
lead they've had, the stone's been proven meaningless. 
Scully's not quite at her wits end, but she's getting 
there. On the one hand she's worried that they'll 
never find the missing girls. On the other, she's 
afraid the coming full moon will somehow steal away 
another girl. The worst of it is, she can't do 
anything about either concern. 

Scully realises she must look flustered and tries to 
calm down, but she can't pull the wool over Clara's 
eyes. The woman casts Scully a sober look, but doesn't 
comment, as though sensing Scully's dislike of 
emotional discussion. 

"June's told me a bit about the case," says Clara. 
"Nothing specific, mind you, but enough for me to know 
it must be difficult. It sounds like all you've caught 
are red herrings." 

"That we have," Mulder replies. "Big, juicy ones, too."

Clara's expression softens into serenity. "Maybe you 
should stop looking for the answers," she says. "Maybe, 
if you wait long enough, they'll find you." She speaks 
these words as though she's stating a fact, not giving 
advice. 

Scully frowns and raises her eyebrows, "Are you asking 
us to 'go with the flow'?"   

"Something like that," Clara responds, grinning at 
Scully's terminology. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've 
got some work to finish before I close up shop. It's 
been a pleasure speaking with you."  

"Thanks for your time, Ms. Goldsmith," Mulder says with 
a smile, as he turns to walk out the door. 
 
Scully smiles too and moves to follow him, but stops 
when something presses against her palm. She looks 
down to see Clara pushing a pink candle into her hand. 

"On the house," the woman whispers, dropping a sly 
wink. "Just in case."

Mortified, Scully's not sure how to respond--not 
with Mulder watching them from the doorway. She hopes 
he hasn't seen the candle, but she knows he will if 
she doesn't do something quickly. 

"Thanks," she murmurs, swiftly tucking it into her 
deepest pocket. She dearly hopes the dry-cleaner will 
be able to get rid of its sickly-sweet smell. "Here's 
our card," she says in a louder tone, handing it to 
Clara. "Call Agent Mulder or myself if you think of 
anything else."

She tries not to bolt outside and barely succeeds. 
Mulder gives her a curious look that she takes no 
notice of.

"Blessed be!" calls Clara, as the door snicks shut 
behind them. 

--------------------

Digging through her suitcase, Scully finally finds
a blue T-shirt that's perfect for the steamy weather.
She's already tried taking a cold shower--she
emerged feeling ready for anything, only to wilt
again a few minutes later. Even though the sun set
half an hour ago, the temperature seems to have
risen, and the night is sultrier than the day.

Scully doesn't know how she'll sleep in the heat.
She pictures herself a few hours from now, with bed
sheets twisted around her ankles like clinging ivy
and sweat dribbling into her eyes. Completely
incapable of sleep.

And right now, she thinks wryly, I need sleep more than
anything else. She's so drained and tired, she'd trade
practically anything for a few decent hours of shuteye.

The case has been niggling at her constantly. It's even
bugging her now, as she fixes her hair into a loose
ponytail. Mulder's not the only one who gets obsessive 
about tough cases--Scully can be just as tenacious and 
thorough, although usually not by choice. Mulder actively 
slips into obsession, as though it's an old pair of jeans. 
Scully, however, becomes haunted by details of the case.

They keep running through her mind, over and over
again. She feels like the words "change in energy
flow" have been superglued to her brain. But she
can't make head or tail of them, or of anything
else for that matter.

The strangest thing is, Mulder's frustration with
the case seems to have lessened while her's has
grown. Maybe he's been influenced by Clara's advice,
or maybe he just copes better with the heat. Either
way, with her T-shirt already sticking to her back
and her mind buzzing with impossible possibilities,
Scully can't help a surge of resentment towards him.
Especially when she walks out onto the porch and
sees him chatting animatedly with Curtis.

Curtis' house is a massive weatherboard, built right
in the heart of the forest. It's a somewhat decrepit
building, swamped by glory vines and wysteria, and
entirely surrounded by the sagging porch. Scully
gingerly treads across worn wooden boards, making her
way to the cluster of deck chairs where Mulder and
Curtis are sitting.

As she nears them, Scully goes for a Zen Buddhist
approach and tries to count her blessings. At least
Mulder and I are safe and well, she thinks. At least
we got out of that rattrap motel. At least Curtis is
friendly and Mulder's having a good time for once.

She's just starting to feel better when she bangs her
pinkie toe on a loose nail. "Damn it!" she mutters,
pain shooting up her leg. So much for positive thought.

She wants to hobble back into the house and regain her
composure, but Mulder catches sight of her before she
can make a move. He grins and beckons her over, his
eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Despite herself, warmth
spreads through Scully's body, melting her irritation.
She grins back and sinks into the chair beside his,
as though she can't control her own movements.

"Hey Scully," he says, handing her a large, earthenware
bowl. "Have some of these." She notices a bluish-purple
stain around his lips, like a bruise.

She tilts the bowl towards the night sky, illuminating
its contents. It's piled high with ripe blueberries,
raspberries and blackberries, sweating their
own juices. She hasn't seen so many fresh berries
since the sixth grade, when she and her family went
strawberry picking in midsummer. She recalls lush juice
dribbling down her chin, and the feel of her siblings' 
sticky hands as they all tried to grab their share
from the bucket. 

Curtis smiles at her, "I picked them this afternoon."

"Thank you," Scully replies, slightly awed. She wants
to devour the whole lot in dripping, glutinous
handfuls, but begins to pick at them daintily instead.
It seems there's always a wide gulf between what she
wants to do and what she actually does.

Mulder and Curtis are talking about Wicca, and Scully
isn't surprised to learn that Curtis is a practitioner.
Although Scully's never considered paganism to be a
valid religion, she finds herself listening to Curtis.
The woman speaks of her twenty years as a Wiccan with
pure warmth, her voice brimming with joy. After a
while, Scully begins to ask questions, hoping she
doesn't sound too ignorant. Curtis answers them all
without taking offence, even when their discussion
becomes more a theological debate.

As Scully munches on tart, sweet berries and questions
pagan philosophy, she gradually realises that Mulder
is watching her. He's not doing it directly, of course,
although he's sneaking glances now and then. Melissa
once told her that the only way to see a fairy is to
watch it from the corner of your eye, and that's what
Mulder's doing now. Gazing at her from the side, as
though if he looks straight at her she'll disappear.

Maybe it's her tight T-shirt, drawing his attention
to her figure. Periwinkle blue, she remembers reading
on its tag. She bought it thinking of him--wondering
if he'd like it on her. Maybe he does.

She drops out of the conversation, suddenly unable
to form words. An intense feeling washes over her
and settles in her gut.

Although it seems impossible, the idea that Mulder
is in love with her strikes her from time to
time. Occasionally Mulder will say something or
do something, and she'll wonder--what if?

Until her rationality takes control and the feeling
passes, of course. Logic sweeps her emotions under
the rug, and soon everything has returned to the
status quo. 

Mulder is speaking to Curtis now, asking about the
importance of the summer solstice, and Scully finds
herself watching him in the same way he's been
watching her. She finishes the berries but their
tang remains in her mouth, stimulating her senses.
Every inch of her skin tingles in the humid night
air. She can feel individual beads of sweat glide
down her neck and pool in the runnel beneath her
nose.

Mulder and Curtis' conversation is a steady murmur
in her ears, like the flow of a river. It drowns out
all other sound. She listens especially to Mulder's
deep, smooth tones. His voice comforts her like
nothing else.

Drowsy, she lolls in her chair and half-closes her
eyes. She doesn't notice when Mulder abruptly stops
speaking, or when he leans towards her.

But she does notice his vice-like grip on her wrist.
"Hey!" She opens her eyes, intending to glare at
him. "What's going on, Mulder?"

He's staring at her so intently, she's unable to do
anything but gawk back at him. She recognises his
look almost immediately. It's been about a year since
she's seen him like this. His eyes are desolate and
his mouth is pulled tight. Every second his face
grows a shade paler.

"Scully..." he croaks, kneeling in front of her. He
isn't looking into her eyes. He's looking below them,
at her nose.

His grip tightens and shocks her into action. She
pulls away from his touch and her wrist throbs.
"Mulder," she says, reaching up to touch the liquid
beneath her nose. Her voice trembles slightly.
"Mulder, is my nose bleeding?"

He closes his eyes and slowly nods his head. Oh God.

Not again, Scully thinks, numbly. Please not again.

Mulder opens his eyes, watching her as she looks
down at her blood-streaked fingers. There's
something obscene about the dark red that's smudged
into her white skin. She can't believe her own body
has done this to her. Has betrayed her like this.
She can smell her blood's salty, rusty-iron scent,
and when she licks her lips and tastes it, she feels
like she might be sick.

"Scully, this can't be happening," says Mulder. She
can sense he's on the verge of panic.

A cold, hard logic takes over her mind. It's the
same kind of logic she experienced a year ago, under
similar circumstances. The same need to blot out
any and all emotion as though it doesn't exist.

"It isn't happening, Mulder. I'm fine. It's just
the heat."

Mulder's eyes lose their devastation, his expression
hardening into anger. "We're going to a hospital to
get it checked out. Right now." He grabs her hand
and stands, yanking her to her feet. "Right now,
Scully."

Now it's her turn for anger. "Don't be ridiculous, 
Mulder," she says coolly, flicking away his hand. 
"When and if I get this checked out, I will go 
myself. I'll take care of it myself." She doesn't 
care if she sounds shrill--she needs to handle this 
on her own. If pushing him away is going to do the 
trick, then so be it.

"You can't ignore this, Scully." He crowds into 
her personal space. "You can't pretend nothing 
happened. I'm not going to let you do that."

Her anger rises into fury. "I'm not sick, Mulder!
Everyone gets the occasional nosebleed. You don't
have to mother me. I'm not going to take up valuable
space at the ER just to satisfy you."

She turns on her heel and stalks off, heading for
the front door. More than anything, she wants to
curl up in bed and bawl her eyes out, and not have
to worry about breaking down in front of Mulder.
And Curtis, for that matter, who probably thinks
they're both insane by now.

"You think this is about me, Scully?" Mulder shouts
after her. His voice is rough and she can tell
he's trying not to cry. "This isn't about my
satisfaction. This is about your life, Scully -"

She steps into the house and slams the door, just as
hot tears begin to flow down her face.

--------------------

*WEDNESDAY*

It's two in the morning when Scully realises she
has to come to grips with reality.

There's no way she's going to be sleeping tonight.
For one thing, her room is a stifling hellhole. For
another, she's been obsessing about her nosebleed
and subsequent fight with Mulder for the past few
hours, all the while trying to forget random facts
from the case that keep popping into her mind. To
top it all off she's got a cramp in her left ankle.

She's tried counting sheep, tried drifting away to
the monotonous sound of crickets chirping in the
forest outside, tried pacing around her room, and
tried to avoid the heat by stripping naked and
ditching her pillow. But all to no avail.

Right now she's lying on her stomach, carrying
out an internal monologue fragility of her and 
Mulder's relationship.

"...both of us are the problem," she thinks, face
pressed into her mattress, "all the unresolved 
issues between us...our inability to agree...and 
he wants to control my whole life...but his 
intentions are good..." Her mind goes on like 
this for about half and hour more, without 
reaching any conclusions.

Then she starts craving a glass of milk.

The idea of running into Mulder at two thirty in
the morning seems remote, at least to her exhausted
mind. Besides, another argument would be a small
price to pay for the sweet, ice-cold liquid sliding
down her throat. As she pulls on a floppy T-shirt
and boxer shorts, Mulder's habitual insomnia
doesn't even cross her mind.

"Too hot," she murmurs, stumbling out into the
darkened corridor.

Curtis gave them a tour of the sprawling house when
they arrived, but in Scully's current state she can't
tell left from right, let alone where the kitchen is.
First she stumbles into the bathroom, where she
splashes her face with cold water. Then through the
dining room, somehow navigating around chairs in the
dark. When she reaches the living room she doesn't
notice the flickering light beneath the door--until
it's too late and she's opened it.

Mulder's sitting on the sofa, watching a 'Twilight
Zone' re-run. He looks up at her as soon as she walks
in the room, and when their eyes meet she knows
there's no escape. Although surprisingly, he doesn't
look like he has the thirst for a fight.

"Hey Scully," he says, picking up the remote and
switching off the TV. He looks as tired as she feels,
with his mussed hair, sweat-shiny face and drooping
eyelids. "Don't just stand there--come sit down."
His voice wavers from tone to tone. "C'mere, Scully,
I wanna talk to you."

She walks over and plops down beside him, and he
loops an arm around her shoulders. In such close
quarters she can smell his rich, earthy scent, but
she's too tired to be either aroused or repulsed
by it.

"Hey Mulder," she says, leaning her head against
his side and stifling a yawn.

They sit for a while in a silence that should be
awkward but somehow isn't. Mulder's fingers stroke up
her arm and tangle in her damp hair, while she moves
to press her palm over his heart.

Scully reflects on the fact of their friendship. Even
though she considers him the love of her life, Mulder
is first and foremost her best friend. Whatever happens
between them and however many problems they have, this
will always be their one certainty. Their one truth.

"I was out of line, earlier," Mulder mumbles, lips
brushing her hair. "But I can't apologise, Scully. I
was scared and I still am." He's not being particularly
articulate, but his raw emotions say more than words
ever could. "I know your nosebleed was probably
caused by the heat, but what if it wasn't?"

"You know it was," she says, her voice gentle.
"Mulder...I'm cured. You cured me."

"I thought you thought it was a miracle."

She smiles indulgently, into his shirt. "Yes. You are
a miracle, Mulder."

For a second he stills, his heartbeat speeding up
beneath her hand.

"So are you, Scully," he whispers, shifting to pull
her closer. He presses a clumsy kiss to her forehead,
then another to the side of her nose. "If you only
knew a fraction of how much you mean to me, Scully.
If you only knew..." He strokes his thumb along her
jaw and kisses her temple.

His caresses lull her into even greater drowsiness.
She's too tired for whatever he's trying to say. A
revelation, maybe? A part of her wants to sigh with
relief and another part wants to rejoice. But she
doesn't know what she's celebrating.

"Tell me tomorrow," she murmurs, closing her eyes.
"I don't know what you're saying, Mulder...this
isn't a good time..." she yawns deeply and nuzzles
into his embrace.

Mulder watches her as she falls asleep, sifting her
hair through his gentle fingers. 

--------------------

Darkness closes in around Scully. All she knows is
that Mulder's calling her name, over and over. He
sounds like he needs her.

"Mulder, what's happening? Are you okay?"

She looks around, trying to find him, but all she
can see is the thick, pitiless gloom.

"I don't know where you are!" she yells, cupping
her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound.
"Mulder, tell me where you are! Talk to me!"

That's when she sees the light, far off in the
distance. A bright speck, warm and sharp--so
different from the darkness. Instinctively, she
knows it's Mulder. Somehow, he's become a beacon,
shining for her in the dark. 

She has to get to him.

He is radiant.

--------------------

The kitchen door creaks closed, waking Mulder.
He sits up and glances around with sleep-glazed
eyes, at first wondering where he is. The
curtains are glowing with moonlight, illuminating
his surroundings, and it doesn't take him
long to figure it out.

He remembers his conversation with Scully and
starts wondering why he's alone. Wasn't Scully
just here? Didn't she just fall asleep in his
arms? It feels like only a few seconds have
passed since her soft hair was tickling his
jaw and her breathing was soothing him into
slumber.

Mulder would put it down to a vivid dream, except
for the fact he can still smell her. A heady
combination of her shampoo, soap and sweat
lingers in the air around him. He's sure she was
with him only moments ago.

"Scully?" he calls, standing and glancing into
the dining room. The house seems unbearably dark
and silent, although he knows Curtis is asleep
in her room and Scully is probably asleep in hers.

She must have woken up and decided to go back to
bed. It's not like she'd want to share the sofa
with him, anyway. He currently stinks like old,
dog-chewed sneakers, and besides, it's too hot
to be cuddling with anyone.

Although he certainly hadn't minded.

Mulder debates over whether to lie back down on
the sofa or go check on Scully. The latter would
be for purely selfish reasons, of course. He
envisions her draped across her bed, her face
smoothed in sleep and dappled by moonlight. Her
lips slightly parted as she breathes, deep and
even. He could spend the rest of the night
watching her breathe.

His decision is easy. He moves swiftly and
silently through the shadowy house, carefully
avoiding furniture and throw rugs. When he
reaches her door he's afraid to walk in,
picturing her sitting on the edge of the bed,
glaring at him. But he can't stop thinking about
the fine bones of her ankles, her petal-soft
eyelashes, her hair in curls across the pillow,
and the steady rise and fall of her chest. So he
walks into the room.

She isn't there.

"Scully?" he whispers, moving in further and
looking around. There's a desk, some shelves,
a chest of drawers and a chair that are all
grey in the light. Nothing more.

He backtracks, softly calling her name. By the
time he reaches the kitchen, he's starting to
suspect she's up and left. Possibly waking up
in his arms was too traumatic an experience for
her to handle.

After checking the microwave clock--3:03 a.m.--
he rethinks his paranoia. Scully's probably gone
outside to get some air, that's all. She's probably
settled on the porch, gazing out into the moonlit
forest and deep in thought.

Company is almost certainly the last thing she
needs, but he can't help himself. He steps out
the kitchen door and slowly shuts it, then starts
walking quietly across the rickety boards. He peers
into the night, pausing to admire the forest's
beauty. Every leaf, it seems, is glinting in the
brilliant light.

That's when something catches his eye. A flash of
white, fifty yards or so down the road that winds
past Curtis's house. The white shape disappears
behind a black clump of trees before he can make
out what it is. When it reappears he sees it's
slowly moving forward. It seems to be gliding along,
graceful and blurred, like a spectre.

Wait...wasn't Scully wearing a white T-shirt?
 
"What the...?" he mutters, forgetting his bare feet
as he runs down the porch steps. He winces when he
reaches the gravel drive, picking his way across
the sharp grey stones. He's not going to risk
racing back to grab his sneakers, because Scully
could be long gone by then.

What the hell is she thinking, running off in the
middle of the night? Surely waking up beside him
didn't upset her that much. "Scully?" he calls
after her, stage whispering because he doesn't
want to rouse Curtis. The situation is bad enough
without the added embarrassment of someone finding
them out here.

As Mulder draws closer he sees it's definitely
her. Her whole body is dyed silver by the moonlight,
except for her luminous T-shirt. She's moving at
such a leisurely pace that she's hardly making any
progress. He wonders if she wants to get away
from him or just to really piss him off. 

"Hey, Scully!" he calls, louder now. She doesn't
turn around.

When he gets right up next to her, his features 
tight with anger, he finally realises something's 
wrong. There's something off about the whole 
situation, but he can't quite put his finger on 
it. Scully stares stonily ahead, still walking 
forward, acting as though he isn't beside her. Her 
angelic face gleams like a pearl, accentuating 
the softness of her skin. But her eyes are shadowed 
and sharp, and her mouth is a rigid line. 

"Scully?" he murmurs, squeezing her shoulder but 
getting no reaction. He finally catches on to 
what's happening. "You're sleepwalking, aren't 
you Scully?"

His question is answered perfectly when she doesn't
respond. He's not sure whether to be relieved she's
not mad at him or worried about her present state.
Why would Scully suddenly start sleepwalking,
tonight of all nights? As far as he knows, she's
never demonstrated somnambulistic tendencies in
the past. Plus, she seems to be going somewhere
definite, judging by her careful steps along
the road.

When he glances up at the full moon, it all
clicks into place. 

For some reason, Scully has been selected to join
the ranks of the four missing girls. By who--or
what--he has no idea. All he knows is that if he
hadn't come outside to check on her, Scully would
have vanished forever.

Mulder wraps his fingers around her small, warm
hand. He's going to follow her, wherever she leads.
And he's not going to let go. 

--------------------

>From Curtis's porch the forest looked like a
fairyland, but beneath the canopy it's more like a
Grimm's fairytale. Ten minutes ago, Scully turned 
off the road into the trees, and since then their
travels have been decidedly less pleasant. Mulder
feels like Hansel, unwittingly tiptoeing towards
the gingerbread house with Gretel by his side. The
forest around them, peaceful and inviting during
the day, has become a tangled, spooky labyrinth by
night.

More than once Mulder's been given a fright by
curled blackberry brambles clinging to his ankles
or leaves tickling his forehead. His free hand is
constantly shoving vegetation out of their path.
He does his best to protect them both from
overhanging branches and sharp twigs, but isn't
always successful. Scully's already got an angry
red scratch down one cheek.

All the while, Mulder fears poison ivy welts and
swollen insect bites. When Scully walks them
through a spider web, Mulder has to brush away
the sticky threads and wriggling arachnid,
shuddering with distaste. Momentarily he's glad
Scully isn't awake to see his girly behaviour,
although otherwise his need for her company grows
with every step. He craves her rationalism and
wisdom, the wake-up call to reality she always
gives him, and her quick wit. Her blank eyes 
unnerve him more than anything else.

Fortunately, he thinks, the ordeal will be over
soon. The closer they get to their destination,
the quicker Scully walks. Forty-odd minutes since
they left Curtis's house and she's practically
running; sliding and tripping across the humus
of the forest floor. But despite Scully's
quickening pace, he's starting to wonder if
they'll finish their journey before dawn.

That is, until he sees the light. 

It's definitely not the silver light of the moon,
which has been illuminating their way so far. No,
this new light is a warm, sunset orange haze that
seems concentrated in one area, almost like a dome.
The colour darkens and heats as they get closer,
and a fresh, citrus scent fills the air. Mulder is
reminded of eating tangerine flesh, with its tangy
sweetness and dribbling juice. 

Orange seems a more appropriate colour for the
balmy night than silver moonlight. It's soft and
heavy, just like the heat, and Mulder finds it hard
to distinguish between the two. He starts to feel
the orange light's irresistible pull--its strange
hypnotic qualities. For a second he almost falls
into a lull, but recovers quickly, squeezing
Scully's limp hand. 

Mulder realises that around them, the forest is
completely silent and still, like a cardboard
backdrop. He feels as though he's looking at it
through tinted glasses. The colour deepens and 
reddens, and then suddenly...

Suddenly it's familiar. Deja vu washes over him,
gradually replaced by the clarity of knowledge. 

"The field of tiger lilies..." he mutters,
tightening his hold on Scully's hand. "I should
have known...should have trusted my instincts."

He wants to shake Scully awake right away, but
there's no room for mistakes--not where the
missing girls are concerned. Mulder keeps walking
with her, waiting until he can see the clearing
through the trees. The concentration of light
grows so intense it's almost blinding, but Mulder
can't risk shielding his eyes. He tries not to
think of retinal damage as he looks around,
searching for the clearing. Finally he sees 
it--long grass dotted with sharp-petalled flower
heads--and that's when he turns to Scully, 
gripping her shoulders and trying to shake
her into consciousness.

Only she doesn't wake up. "Scully!" he yells,
his lips grazing the shell of her ear. His voice
seems amplified in the deathly silence, but she
doesn't react. He clamps down harder, knowing 
he'll bruise her but somehow managing not 
to care.

"Scully, wake up! The girls are in the field--
we have to find them!"

Now she's struggling with him, clawing and
twisting. She's even gnashing her teeth and he
doesn't doubt she'd bite him if she could. Her
eyes lose their passivity, becoming infused with
rage until they glow with a rabid hostility. But
there's still a dullness to them, letting him
know she hasn't awoken. 

"Let me go!" she screams, her voice sounding
foreign and harsh, almost a growl. "I have to get
to him, have to see him..." Her eyes fix on a
point past Mulder's shoulder, and he realises with
growing horror that she's gazing straight into
the light. 

It's more than a light, he realises. It's an entity 
of some kind. 

And Scully's calling to it. "Mulder! Mulder, help me!
He won't let me get to you."

She's calling to it and she's using his name?

In shock, his hands loosen slightly on her shoulders. 
At the same time, she shoves both of her palms 
against his chest. 

"Get away," she hisses, as he flies backwards. 
His shock has increased tenfold by the time 
he smacks into the ground. Where did she
get the strength to hurl all six-feet of him
through the air?

Mulder lies on the ground, trying to catch his breath 
while he watches her stride towards the clearing.
He sees that her body is lit from within--that her skin 
is radiating the orange light. 

Scully's been infected by this entity, whatever it is, 
and he let go of her hand. He let her go.

"Scully, no!" He gets to his feet and runs after
her, stopping her just at the tree line. "No," he
says, knuckles white where he grips her upper-arms.

He tries to meet her eyes but she's not looking at
him. All her concentration is focused on the entity 
behind him. The light has become so thick now--it's 
no longer warm and comforting. It's a terrible, 
sickly, boiling light. 

Yet even now Mulder can feel its seductive tug.
Scully is struggling in his arms again, jabbering
at him to let her go, and his eyes are stinging
from the brightness. But there's a force wrenching
at his heart, compelling him to turn around and 
face the entity. 

He rests his forehead against Scully's, whispering 
and murmuring a steady stream of words, almost a
prayer--"Please no, Scully, stop, don't keep
doing this, stop for me, don't do this Scully..."
on and on, until he can stand it no longer.

He has to turn around, and when he does, he's
frozen in disbelief. This has to be the strangest thing
he's ever seen, bar none.

Standing right in front of him is...himself. 
It's his own body, juxtaposed in the centre of all 
the light, energy and heat. 

At first he thinks he's looking into some kind of 
mirror. But then he sees it's just a version of him--a
replica. Its emotionless eyes are filled with scalding
power.  

Mulder hears his own voice coming from the
entity, faint and soothing. "Scully," it says, "Scully,
that man is trying to stop you. I'll help you. You
just let me give you what you need, and then you
can do it. You can kill him. It's the only way he'll
let you reach me."

Scully's voice sounds from behind him. "Anything,
Mulder," she whispers. "I love you. I'd do anything
for you."

She's clearly in a trance, Mulder thinks. She
doesn't know what the hell she's saying.

But her words have an effect on him that he
doesn't try to ignore. They awaken him from
the magic-induced stupor he's been bogged in
since he saw the entity, and now he's got a chance
to fight.

He knows he's going to have to think fast, but
that's never been a problem before.

He keeps himself alert by imagining that Scully's
presence behind him is a deep, bright warmth,
and he starts concentrating on the way she's filled the
empty places in him. Whenever he's felt broken or
jaded, she's effortlessly restored him, and he knows
he's done the same for her. 

And yet Scully's been summoned here for a reason.
She has something in common with the missing girls,
and all he can think is that she's lonely. Although
they share a bond stronger than any he's ever known,
there's still something missing from their relationship.

It's the only explanation he can come up with and
it also provides the only solution. There's one
way to end her loneliness. One way to give her
what she needs from him and what he's needed from
her for a long time.   
      
"You're not alone, Scully," he says softly, tearing
his eyes from his imitator.

He turns around to see her pulsing with light,
her eyes dark and violent, but he pulls her
towards him before she can act, wrapping her in
his arms and crushing her mouth beneath his. 

For a few seconds she freezes, completely
unresponsive to his stroking tongue and the
rough press of his lips. He's terrified it isn't
going to work--that she's going to burn him
to charcoal in her arms.

But then she's kissing him back and murmuring
against him, reaching up to lock her hands around
his neck. She pulls him closer, slowly licking
his lips and the inside of his mouth. Drunk on
her salty sweet taste and scent, Mulder thinks 
this is the most exquisite thing that's ever 
happened to him.  

Around them, unnoticed, a sharp wind swirls through
the field as the ground quakes and the light
flashes, and screams and moans of every pitch echo
shrilly through the air.

All of this is drowned out by a thunderous,
tearing sound, the air shimmering and boiling for a
moment, molecules glittering like stars. A tension 
that's been building is suddenly released, bright 
sparks shoot out in all directions. Directly overhead, 
the sky gleams golden with energy for an instant, 
then quickly dims and fades.

The gaudy orange light finally flickers out, leaving
nothing but the moon's silver. At the same time, all
of the ear-splitting noise ceases. The field of
lilies becomes shadowy and quiet, as it would be
under normal circumstances.

Mulder takes his mouth from Scully's just as she goes
limp in his arms. He looks around at the field and
then down at her, panting and comprehending nothing.
His mind traces a seemingly random sequence of events:
There was a light and they were kissing and there was
some kind of noise...and now Scully's passed out in
his arms.

"Oh shit." He lowers her onto the grass, panicking
until he finds a strong pulse in her wrist. He presses
a kiss to it, tasting her warm skin, feeling secure in
the knowledge that she only fainted.

He never thought he'd see Scully--FBI Agent, dedicated
stoic and control freak extraordinaire--swoon in his
arms like a storybook princess. He knows she'll kick his
ass when she wakes up and realises what happened, and
the thought makes him weak with relief. Thank God she's
okay.

Careful not to manhandle her, he scoops her up into his
arms and tries to balance her weight, making her as
comfortable as possible. He brushes his lips across her
forehead before he starts moving, staring down at
her smoothed features for a moment and memorising
the way she looks in sleep. 

Sometimes, like now, his love for her is aching
and absolute.

--------------------

He's carrying Scully out of the field when his foot
connects with something in the grass. Something soft
and solid, like an over-stuffed cushion. Or a child's
body.

Mulder looks down to see Bianca Greenwood sprawled 
at his feet, her face bathed in moonlight. 

Lowering Scully to the ground again, he glances around
and sights three other body-shaped dark patches, all
in the same area. The four missing girls have been
returned. But are they still alive?

With a lump in his throat, Mulder crouches beside
Bianca and tentatively takes her pulse. He needn't
have bothered--her eyes snapping open with the
first touch of his fingers to her bare skin. He
squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in his
hands, relieved beyond measure.

"Where am I?" Bianca asks.

--------------------

Surrounded by beeping metal equipment and
the reek of disinfectant, Mulder is reminded
of why he hates hospital rooms. With their
blank walls and sealed windows, they give
him a faint, unsettled feeling of
claustrophobia.

He finds it hard to concentrate on the
interview, but knows it has to be completed
right now, before exact details can blur
around the edges.

"Tell me more about how you felt. Were you
in pain?" Mulder asks, directing a neutral,
calming look at his interviewee.

Sara Jones is sitting up on the bed, her
cheeks flushed with health and her nose ring
sparkling in the fluorescent light. Her eyes
seem too old for her young face, with its
firm curves and smattering of pimples. This
isn't really surprising, given she's been
missing for months in a place outside human 
understanding. 

Mulder waits patiently for her to respond. 
She's a private person who's obviously ill 
at ease with his questions, but she's doing 
her best to answer truthfully. 

She lowers her eyes, her hands fidgeting with
the sheets. "It was too quick to hurt," she
says finally, her voice husky with disuse.
Amazingly, it's the only part of her that's
changed, in all the time she's been gone. "It
was like a needle prick, you know? An injection.
And it was like a dream too. I went to bed and
fell asleep, and then I heard him calling me."

This is new. "Who was calling you, Sara?" he 
asks gently, watching a rosy blush spread up 
her neck and over her face.

"Um..." she bites her lip, shifting 
uncomfortably. "I don't really want to say. 
He's a teacher at my school, and I kind of
...like him." 

Mulder decides not to press any further, 
afraid she's going to balk. He jots down 
'Fell asleep in bed as usual. Heard Kirk 
calling her' in his notebook, then asks, 
"So, what happened after you heard this man 
calling you?"

"I walked towards him," she whispers. "He
seemed very far away. There was a bright,
golden light. Actually..." her brow wrinkles
in thought "...it was almost orange.
Halloweeny. But I told you about this
already, didn't I?" She lifts her eyes to
meet his again. 

"Yes, we've been though that," he replies,
giving her a kind smile. "Is there anything
else you remember?" 

"Just waking up in the field last night." She 
smiles shyly back at him. "Can I see my parents 
now?"

"There's just one more thing," he says, his 
eyes growing solemn. "Sara, I know you're 
involved in paganism. I was wondering--before 
Bianca disappeared, did you ever do a spell in 
the clearing where we found you?"

She blushes again, turning to gaze out the 
window. "Yeah, I did do a spell there one day."

"What kind of spell?"

"A love spell. Something I wrote myself."

"Did you notice anything unusual, when you 
did the spell?" He leans forward slightly, 
anticipating her answer.

"Nope," she says, her voice flat. "Nothing
happened, just like always. But then again, I
didn't wait very long. I had to get to school."
Then she sucks in a breath, suddenly making
sense of what he's getting at. She turns back
to him, her eyes darkened with terrible guilt.
Her mouth trembles slightly. "I did it, didn't
I? I caused the disappearances. I made those
families suffer. All because of my stupid
crush." Her voice goes sharp with
self-recrimination.

"There's no proof either way," Mulder responds,
his voice utterly sincere. "And even if there
was--even if you were responsible, or partly
responsible--there's no way you could have
known."

"Oh, you mean like manslaughter?" Sara rolls
her eyes at him, just as they start leaking
tears. "Come on, Agent Mulder--I was messing
with forces beyond my control. I should have
taken precautions." She lowers her voice, "The 
thing is, I didn't believe in the spells until 
now. I wasn't careful with them at all; I just 
did as many as I could. I didn't think about 
consequences...well, except for getting what 
I wanted." 

She pauses, closing her eyes and dragging a 
hand through her hair.  

"I guess I love him too much," she whispers.

--------------------

Scully opens her eyes, remnants of her dream 
still loitering in her head. 

*An orange light, like candle in a jack-o'-lantern, 
but brighter and more inviting. Mulder's voice 
calling her, but something standing in her way, 
trying to stop her from reaching him. Hot breath 
on her lips. Comparing the taste of Mulder's 
mouth to bitter mocha*

As her vision focuses, these mental images melt 
and fade into the back of her mind.

The daisy is the first thing she sees. Pale 
pink petals radiating from a round, golden centre, 
completely perfect and whole. Her mind admires 
its precision and symmetry, but her heart worships 
its delicate softness. Touching petals is unlike 
touching anything else--except maybe butterfly 
wings--and there's something magical and 
irresistible about it. Her hand moves on its
own volition, fingertips grazing across the
starched linen sheets.

Sheets?

"Hey Scully," says Mulder's voice. Is the 
daisy speaking? A talking daisy wouldn't be 
the weirdest thing she's ever witnessed.

But when she turns her head she sees Mulder,
peering at her from above, as though she's a
specimen. Then she notices the cracked white wall
behind him and the fake potted plant on a bedside
table. Ah, they're stuck in another hospital room,
and it's her turn to be the invalid. How the hell
did she end up here? 

Mulder's sitting in a chair, right up next to the
bed, the daisy cradled in his lap. "How're you
feeling?" he asks, brushing wayward hair out of
her eyes. 

"What happened?" she croaks, not wanting to irk
him with an 'I'm fine' but not wanting to tell
the truth, either. Her limbs feel like concrete
blocks, her throat itches, and she wants to be
in another body. 

He lets it rest. "We accidentally solved the case,
Scully. Congratulations." Holding up the daisy,
he offers her a weak smile. "I brought this 
for you."

A pink daisy, she thinks. Now why is that 
important?

"You fainted," he continues, "so that's why 
we're here."

"I what?"

"You fainted..." he trails off at her incredulous
expression "...um, anyway, that was the bad news.
There's good news too." His smile widens into a 
broad grin. "The girls are back, Scully. Safe 
and sound. It's like they've been frozen in time."

Her incredulity reaches new heights. "What?" 

"They were returned--I don't know how."

Scully starts struggling to sit up, but can't quite
get her muscles to work. He gently presses a hand
to her shoulder and she settles down, trying not
to pout. 

She can't believe it. One moment she's asleep on
Mulder's shoulder, too tired to worry about the case
anymore. The next, the case is solved with no loose
ends and she's somehow wound up in a hospital bed,
unable to move. All she has to link these two events
is a half-remembered dream, which she definitely
shouldn't be dwelling on at the moment. Thoughts of
Mulder's mouth always lead her sanity down a
rocky road.

She focuses on annoyance instead of lust. Mulder's
the only one who knows what's happened to her, and
so far he hasn't done a very good job filling her in.
He's taking things slowly, probably out of concern
for her mental wellbeing. Of course, this just makes
her feel like he's underestimating her, and it pisses
her off to no end.

"It's okay, Scully," he says, trying to placate her.
She hates it when he does that. "The girls are
fine--mentally and physically. They've been checked 
out with every medical test imaginable and nothing 
came up. Oh, and I've already interviewed them." His 
last sentence is spoken almost as an afterthought
--deliberately, she thinks. 

Her mouth tightens in annoyance. "You could have 
woken me up." 

"I wanted to let you rest," he says, his voice
serious. "Look, Scully, don't start in on me -" she
raises her eyebrows "- until you've heard the whole
lurid, uncut version of what transpired early this
morning. Because if you've been shaken by the weird 
stuff we've seen before...well, this is going to 
knock you ass over teakettle. Believe me."   

She nods, curiosity overcoming her irritation at
him, and for the next ten minutes she listens as
he recounts the tale. She's torn between believing
him on trust and dismissing it all as a shared
hallucinated of some kind. Maybe they were both
sleepwalking on the same night--a highly unlikely
coincidence. Maybe Curtis drugged them and tricked
Mulder into believing this insanity. Or maybe
Mulder's just insane.

Unfortunately, her rationalizations don't explain
the disappearance of the girls, or their return. 

Mulder is up to the part where "the entity" is
instructing her to kill him, when he suddenly
freezes, his eyes shifting to avoid hers.  

"Um...Scully, this is very important. Do you
remember anything about what happened? Because
the girls all told me they had...dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" Her own dream comes back
in a series of vivid, disjointed pictures, and she
hopes it isn't the kind of dream he's asking about.

He stares down at the daisy as though it's the 
most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "In the
dreams, the girls all witnessed the orange light
I described to you. Also, each girl heard a man
calling her name and telling her to come to him.
In Bianca's case it was Robert Bradbury and in
Sara's it was Samuel Kirk. Hannah and Jen both 
heard famous rock stars whom they...admire."

*There's an orange light. Mulder is calling her,
far off in the distance. There's so much darkness
and she's alone, wanting to find him. She's walking
towards him and shouting out to him and struggling
against something. And then...then she's kissing
him...*

"Scully?"

Knowledge hits her deep in the gut.

This case has seen her unravelling. She's
the same as the girls in one respect--alone 
and pining for a man she loves--and Mulder 
understands this. He knows how she feels 
about him. After years of hiding this from 
him, deeper than any other unwanted emotion, 
Scully isn't sure how to function now that 
he knows. She feels obscenely exposed to him. 
Throughout the years he's uncovered something 
of all her mysteries, except this one. 
Until now. 

She's so numb she doesn't think she can move.
But she has to answer him somehow. 

"I had the same dream as the girls." 

She tries to say more but finds she's unable
to elaborate. It doesn't matter anyway--his
mind is capable of fitting this final piece
into the puzzle. This final proof of her secret.

Mulder's still not meeting her eyes, and she
thinks he's trying not to hurt her with rejection.
His next words seem to settle this. "I'm not sure
you want to hear my theory, Scully. Or the rest
of what happened."

She's forced to ignore her personal feelings,
the case taking precedence. 

"I'm always willing to hear the truth,
Mulder," she says, somehow keeping a tremor out
of her voice. "Whatever it is." She wishes
there wasn't a double meaning to her words,
and hopes he doesn't see it.

Mulder clears his throat, glancing around
nervously. She's never seen him so hesitant with
a theory. When he begins, he actually stutters a
little. "A-as we established, each girl was lonely, 
and it turns out that each was fixated on one man. 
I think the entity--whatever it is--assumed the 
shapes and voices of these men to lure the girls 
while they were sleeping. I remember Moira 
Ravenwaves's site saying that not only do energy 
levels reach their peak during a full moon, there 
is also an easier transferral of energy from one 
source to another at this time. So because of the 
former, the entity was able to send out feelers 
to the girls, and because of the latter it was 
able to reel their energy in. I've spoken to Clara 
about this and she agrees."

"Do you think it was malevolent?"

"Not by paganism's standards. Pagans don't believe 
in good or evil--they believe that every creature 
is natural and will behave in its natural way. In 
this case, I have to agree. The entity was simply 
trying to survive. It took the girls for the same 
reason a cheetah stalks a gazelle. We can only 
guess at its motivations, but personally, I think 
it was feeding on their extreme feelings of 
despair and loneliness. It's a dog eat dog 
world, Scully."

Scully resists raising an amused eyebrow. He 
wouldn't notice it, anyway. His eyes are currently 
fixed on his shirt cuff. "Other than the fact I 
find it hard to accept any of this," she says, 
"there are two things I don't understand at all. 
The first is--how did the entity come into 
existence?"

"Sara told me she did a love spell in the field 
of tiger lilies, sometime before the first 
disappearance, and this could have either created 
or awakened the entity. The entity itself may 
have been some kind of force from the astral plane, 
but maybe it was just an elemental wood spirit. 
Either way, it's gone now--destroyed."

"That's the second thing I wanted to ask you, 
Mulder. How was the entity destroyed, exactly?" 

Mulder literally squirms, and Scully can see he's 
itching to race out the door right about now. She 
can't say she blames him. Here they are, sitting 
in a bleak hospital room--Agent Scully filled with 
unrequited love and Agent Mulder wishing he'd never 
met her. What a wonderful, healthy relationship 
they have, she thinks bitterly.

"You say you want the truth, Scully, but I just 
can't--I don't know how to tell you this, since 
you obviously don't remember." He clasps his hands 
and rubs his thumbs together. "Scully, just listen 
to me. Don't say anything until I've finished 
explaining. You see -" he sucks in a breath "- I 
kissed you -"

That was the last thing she'd expected to hear. 
"You what?" 

*Her lips plied open by his tongue, at first she 
doesn't know how to respond. There's a perfect 
amount of passion--he isn't too rough and he isn't 
too gentle. She gives herself over to the 
sensations...*

"I kissed you," he says softly, gazing at the 
bedpost. "It was the only thing I could do. I had 
to think quickly and I just...kissed you. The entity
wanted to take you because you were lonely, so by
kissing you and ending your loneliness I disrupted 
its energy flow." He closes his eyes for a moment, 
gathering strength. "I'm sorry, Scully. I went by 
my instincts and didn't consider other options. 
Maybe I could have done something differently. I 
should have called for back up in the first place, 
but I wasn't thinking clearly. I knew we had to find 
the girls and everything else just went -"

"Stop making excuses, Mulder, and look at me." 

Although he stops short at her sharp tone, he 
doesn't seem surprised by it. And he still doesn't 
look at her.

She opts for a more gentle approach.  "Mulder, why 
do you think I'm angry?"

He winces, raking a hand across the back of his 
head. "You were put in a situation beyond your 
control, by both me and this case, and I completely 
understand your anger. I know you hate any invasion 
of your privacy, and I know you hate being 
manipulated. After everything that's happened to 
you, Scully, I can't help but understand."

"But I'm not angry, Mulder," she says, simply and 
quietly. "You're wrong."

He doesn't breathe for a moment, his eyes widening. 
Then comprehension dawns. His shoulders sag with 
relief and his jaw relaxes. He finally looks 
at her, into her eyes, and she sees it now. His 
final secret, hidden from her for so long, completely 
revealed in his dark eyes. Desire, she sees, but 
more than that, love. A mirror image of her own 
emotions, creating the perfect equilibrium between 
the two of them. It's so much more than she expected, 
and she wants to wrap him up in her heart.

When she holds her hand out to him, her fingers 
brush the daisy petals.

A pink daisy. Pink. 

Now she knows. 

--------------------

Mulder's sitting on a plastic chair in the waiting 
room, gripping a magazine so tightly it looks 
ready to fuse with his skin. He's staring straight 
out in front of himself, his unfocused eyes 
spinning with possibilities. Standing in front of 
him, she sees every terrible outcome flicker in 
their depths. Once or twice they fill with hope, 
but other than that he looks ready to compose 
Gothic poetry. Mulder is often prone to 
pessimism.  

Scully likes to think of herself as a realist. For
her, the past three hours have been a nightmare of 
intrusive tests and questions, organised by doctors 
on a hunt for cancerous cells. The process has been 
stomach-clenching, hair-raising, teeth-gritting 
scary, but she's bourn it all with dignity, as she 
bears everything. And now the expected outcome has 
been reached. 

"All negative," she tells him when he finally looks 
up at her, dazed from his thoughts. For a few seconds 
he stares at her dumbly and she thinks he hasn't 
heard. "The tests were all negative," she repeats, 
with a comforting smile. "We're free to go, partner."

Mulder practically flies out of his seat, his arms 
around her before she can take an automatic step 
back. As he kisses her hairline and murmurs--"Thank 
God, Scully, thank God"--she stiffens at his public 
display. Then she remembers the pink daisy, and she 
thinks maybe this is okay right now, this kind of 
emotion.  

People are staring at them, but for once she doesn't 
care. "Shhh," she whispers, reaching up to stroke 
his hair. "I'm fine, Mulder. We're fine." 

He chuckles softly at both the hated words and her 
new spin on them. "We?" he whispers back, kissing 
her forehead now.

"Yes, Mulder. We."

--------------------

Scully has a curiosity, almost a desire, 
to see the girls with her own eyes--the 
people she and Mulder were searching for. 
She visits their rooms, one by one, while 
Mulder waits outside.  

Jen's father seems unable to stop saying 
"Thank you", although Scully doesn't think 
she and Mulder deserve it. They worked the 
case but its solution stumbled upon them, 
not the other way around. She's not sure
what to say to Jen's dad--she's glad the
case is solved, but she still struggles
with the how and why of it. So she doesn't
say much to him, smiling politely and 
feeling inadequate. 

Bianca's room is last in line down the
sterile hospital corridor. Scully is about to
enter when she pauses, her eyes widening. She 
beckons Mulder over and together they peer 
through the door's small round window, voyeurs 
to the poignant scene within. 

Propped up by pillows on the bed, Bianca is
holding a huge bunch of wildflowers. She 
breathes in their perfume, a beatific smile 
on her face. 

Robert is sitting beside her, his blue eyes 
filmy with unshed tears and his mouth 
trembling slightly in a grin. When he 
speaks and Bianca turns her attention to 
him, he looks more nervous than he did under 
interrogation. Her smile doesn't fade--it 
only grows brighter.

The two agents stand watching for a few minutes, 
smiles touching their lips, until Scully turns 
to go. 

She takes Mulder's hand as they walk out of 
the hospital, into the golden evening. 

--------------------

*THURSDAY*

After staying up well into the night, talking 
to Curtis about the case and drinking vintage 
red wine from her cellar, they decline an offer 
of Cointreau and say goodnight. They've been 
giving each other looks since they sat down in 
opposite armchairs--covert, under-lashes glances 
that have lit Scully's blood into a slow burn. 
With some satisfaction, she notes that Mulder's 
pupils have slightly dilated.

They walk through the house without a word, 
their warm fingers brushing occasionally. 
Tonight has been much cooler than the previous, 
with a stronger wind rushing through the forest 
outside, drowning out the crickets' song. On 
some unspoken agreement they both head for 
Scully's room, which has a bigger window to let 
in the night air. It also has a larger bed.

But when they get into the room, the door clicking 
shut behind Mulder and the window pulled open 
by Scully, neither of them know how to proceed. 
They sit side by side on the bed, first staring at 
each other, then down at their hands. Time passes 
while Scully wonders how to make the first move.

Mulder speaks first. "You've been pretty quiet 
all night."

Mostly, I've been considering everything I'd like 
to do to you, she thinks. Everything sinful and 
delicious, everything sensuous. Things you won't 
ever forget.

Her lips curl in a barely-there, unreadable smile. 
She's not going to throw herself at him just yet. 
"I've been thinking about the case," she says, 
"trying to make sense of it. I've come up with a 
theory, Mulder." 

"It wouldn't happen to be a rational, scientific 
explanation for what happened, would it?"

"As opposed to the irrational, kooky version?" She 
tempers her snarky tone by shooting him a grin.

"Ouch," Mulder gasps, bulging his eyes and clutching 
his heart for a second. It's astounding how 
mercurial he can be, when he wants to be, because 
the next second he's perfectly serious. "Tell me 
your theory, Scully. Go on."

"I think the disappearances were caused by some kind 
of anomaly--a loophole in the space/time continuum 
that somehow draws people towards it, then takes 
them out of time. We've seen this before, Mulder--
we've experienced missing time ourselves."

He shakes his head. "That's different, Scully. 
Missing time is brought on by alien technology, 
not natural phenomena. And I don't see how the 
full moon fits in to any of this." 

Mulder doesn't sound dismissive, but she knows 
that's what he's doing. Dismissing her theory. She 
hadn't been in the mood for a discussion before, 
obviously, but now she's raring to argue all night. 
The temperature of her voice goes down a notch. 
"I believe that the technology you mentioned--be 
it alien or otherwise--harnesses the kind of 
loophole I'm talking about. As for the full moon, 
I think it somehow activated the phenomenon. 
Although we've been aware of the moon's effect on 
the tides for thousands of years, we may still 
have much to learn about its role in our lives. 
Some scientists say it might even affect our 
brain chemistry." 

"All right," he concedes, "but explain this--why 
did the loophole take only one person per night 
it was activated? And how did it select them?"

"It could probably only affect one person at a 
time, Mulder--it wasn't very powerful. And I've 
been thinking the girls and I were either affected 
because we'd all recently been in the vicinity of 
the loophole, or affected because of a certain 
trait in our brain chemistry. The latter would 
fit nicely with the link to the full moon."

Mulder looks down, plucking at his jeans, and she 
realises she's upset him somehow. He's keeping 
his expression blank, and when he speaks, his calm 
voice doesn't sound natural. "There's still a 
flaw, Scully. Your theory doesn't explain what 
I saw."

"Well, the pull of the force on your brain could 
have caused hallucinations. Maybe you saw what 
you'd subconsciously been expecting to see."

"And the dreams?" His voice is somehow both 
hopeful and hopeless. He swiftly glances up at 
her face, then back down, still fidgeting. 

Does he think she's going to deny all that's 
happened between them? Could he possibly think 
that? She realises she's said few words of 
reassurance to him, and Mulder is a man who 
needs words. His mind doesn't need every piece 
of the puzzle, but his heart does.

"The dreams were also hallucinations...although 
in their case, I believe, the girls and I saw 
what we wanted to see."

It was so easy to say, she thinks. So much easier 
than she'd thought it would be.

Mulder's eyes close. "So this is what you want, 
Scully?" His voice is tender, scrubbed raw with 
emotion.  "Really?" 

She stands up and moves in front of him, then 
reaches down, taking his hand and knitting their 
fingers together. All she sees are his eyes, 
when she nudges his legs apart, when she takes 
his face in her hands, when she leans closer. 
She feels his hot breath on her lips, his jeans 
scraping her legs, his rough jaw itching the 
pads of her fingers, but she only sees his eyes. 
And his eyes crave.

"You know I do," she says quietly, their lips 
brushing, "you know I always will."

Mulder releases her hand, wraps his arms around 
her and pulls her closer, closer, until their 
noses bump and he chuckles. She silences him 
with her lips, carefully nipping his mouth, 
making him moan and slide his warm palms beneath 
her shirt. They move up across her bare back, 
spreading goosebumbs and electric shivers through 
her skin. 

Scully lets herself be turned around and gently 
pushed onto the bed. She lies with legs spread 
and clothes askew, watching Mulder remove his 
shirt. He takes his time, as button by button 
her heart beats faster and her skin flushes 
darker. He has bronze skin and burnished, golden 
eyes, and when she sits up to undo his jeans, 
she runs hot kisses over his belly. 

They undress each other slowly. Mulder is 
particularly careful, almost reverent, with her 
flesh-toned stockings. He kisses down her legs 
as each inch is uncovered, as her gasps turn 
breathy and she's too aroused to be embarrassed. 

The depth of his self-control astounds her. How 
can he do this? she wonders, when her hands are 
full of his hair, his tongue curled inside her. 
How can he make it ache like this?

She wonders this, just before she breaks and 
scatters. Just before she sobs his name.

They've lost track of time long ago, it seems, 
but still, time slows down when he moves inside 
her. She hears him whispering as he pulls out and 
pushes in, hears him saying, over and over--"I 
never want to stop kissing you, Scully, I never 
want to stop." His lips roam over her upper body, 
her neck, her breasts, her collar bone, until she 
pulls him up to meet her eyes and devour her mouth.
 
She has to assure herself this is really happening
--that he's really inside her--so her hands and 
tongue explore every part of him they can reach. 
Wanting more, she flips him onto his back, taking 
control so she can learn the planes of his chest. 
She plays with his taut nipples and the dip of 
his navel, and he turns his head to groan into 
the pillow. 

Their speed increases now, as he grows harder and 
she starts breathing in tiny pants. Her vision 
distorts and blurs, so she shuts her eyes, 
concentrating on the deep pleasure she feels 
spreading again. Mulder glides a hand along her 
sweaty thigh, stroking softly, but she's gone 
before he reaches his goal. 

Her thoughts are swept up and cast into the sky. 
She sees the stars sparkle around her, white 
shining light, before she sinks back down to 
earth, to feel him slam into her one last time 
and to watch his own release. 
 
Moments later, lying in his arms, nose pressed 
against his heart, she remembers the pink candle 
in her coat pocket.  

Next time we'll use it, she thinks, as her mind 
succumbs to sleep. Next time we'll burn it 
beside the bed.
 
--------------------

END 

--------------------

"And even when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the dusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'"
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 'Mariana'

--------------------

Personal Disclaimer: This story contains some 
information about paganism that is necessary to 
the plot. I'm not a pagan myself, and though I 
have done some research I don't claim to be an 
authority on the subject. Whatever your beliefs, 
I'm truly not trying to offend or to cause
controversy.   

Also, please note that all science in this story 
is totally bogus. I study biology, not physics :)

Subconscious inspiration for this story came 
from Sha-na-na's "Blue Moon" on the Grease
soundtrack <g>

American tiger lilies do bloom in late 
spring. They are a.k.a. Oregon lilies, so 
let's just say this story is set in the very 
plausible state of Oregon. 

All my knowledge about birthstones came 
from-- 
http://www.gems4friends.com/birthstones.html 
so it may not be reliable. 
 
Ray Bradbury is an American author who's 
written many famous sci-fi novels. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem, 'Mariana', 
was written about Shakespeare's lonely 
heroine in 'Measure for Measure'. 

Moira Ravenwaves and her website are
purely ficitional.

The being-stranded-on-desert-island-
with-bestfriend hypothetical can be found 
in www.thespark.com's best friend test. I
highly recommend all their quizzes :)

I don't know how long it takes to be checked
out for cancer, so I apologise if my timeline
is completely innacurate for this. 

Best wishes to everyone for the coming year!

Oracle
Jan. 2003
-------
Liked it? Hated it? Do you think I'm spooky?
Feed me back: apollostemple@yahoo.com
And for more of my fic, visit my website: 
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